Wadi Akarit
Disclaimer: Same as before.
~ ~ ~ ~
April 2143: We have been pushed back from the Mareth Line to our reserve defenses in the Tunisian hills at the Wadi Akarit. Never had life seemed so precious to me as in the summer of 2143. The vast empty terrain of North Africa is only broken by the cemeteries which Graves Registration buries our dead. Still more litter the no-man's land, only to rise again as zombies or even crimson heads if improperly disposed of.
Spring of 2143 was when life was most appreciated. Never before has simply being alive meant anything to me. Never before have had I felt more thankful that I bear a full set of limbs, that I still draw breath, and that I live to see the copper disk of the sun rising over the dunes of the North African desert.
Spring 2143 while the dying continues unabated. Never before have I seen such gruesome displays of death. Time and again I see bodies flung into the sky by explosions, I see men transfixed by ogre's blades or eaten while kicking and struggling by hordes of zombies. We inflict tremendous casualties on our attackers, downing them in droves with machineguns, blasting them into shards with artillery, mortar, air strike, and grenade, and with concentrated rifle fire.
There are but five men remaining in my squad. We receive no more reinforcement, our task is simply to hold out until our relief column clears Algeria and breaks through into Tunisia. This is to happen far from my position here at the Wadi Akarit. This rendezvous is to be at Kasserine Pass.
I duck deep into my machinegun nest as more energy orbs explode around me. The barrage lasts for twenty minutes on end, explosions throwing geysers of earth, flesh, and shrapnel skyward. My helmet is again knocked from my head by the next blast wave. I see Andi's smiling face, so close yet so far away. She was cruelly taken away from me by this same foe that is lavishing shells upon our positions.
The battered remnants of Army Corps Africa are fighting on very few supplies, with fuel running low. Yesterday yet again, after taking all the parts out of a truck we had to blow it up with hand grenades. Our machinegun has only three 250 round belts issued to it on a daily basis. I have to save ammunition for an actual assault. Thus I tell my gunner not to fire until he is absolutely sure he can hit his targets and to fire in controlled bursts.
That's an awful lot to tell a frightened 17 year old boy and he often shoots like there is no tomorrow. I always tell him, fire in short bursts, save our ammunition. He is tethered to that machinegun like it is his only salvation and emptying entire belts into attacking waves is the only way to save his life.
We salvage what ammunition and supplies we can from corpses of zombified soldiers and with our dwindling stockpiles, every round, every grenade, every drop of water is more precious than jewels and diamonds.
Yesterday I saw another post get overwhelmed. They were completely isolated by swarms of zombies with ogres and Gollums dwindling their numbers. I heard their last survivors call in artillery on their coordinates and saw three 90mm howitzer rounds land in their midst, killing the three surviving soldiers out of a group of twelve, and most of their attackers.
Our guns are worn almost to an unserviceable state by constant overuse. Danger from our own artillery is almost as likely as danger from their artillery. Today I saw one of our soldiers, a new recruit, caught like a deer in the headlights in the midst of a barrage. A shell that fell short of its target exploded fifteen yards in front of him. A cloud of shrapnel meant for the charge of ogres that followed the enemy barrage struck him full force and the razor edged fragments tore his body into four bloody chunks.
Our relief force is defeating the enemy in the face of ferocious opposition, but will they reach the Wadi Akarit in time? I think not. Much of Europe has fallen, and the Sicilians are particularly demoralized as Sicily fell towards the end of 2142.
Spring 2143, the smell of mowed grass, the time I never had to sleep with one eye open all the time. Those days are as far away as my deceased beloved. I am worn almost ragged. I have seen enough death, enough dying to last me through the ending of eternity.
I am very quiet, let the years come; they can take nothing away from me that I haven't already lost. I am so alone, so forlorn that I can face them without fear. The fire of life I had within is dying to its embers. I stand up. Let the years come and take me away. I have nothing left to fear.
Disclaimer: Same as before.
~ ~ ~ ~
April 2143: We have been pushed back from the Mareth Line to our reserve defenses in the Tunisian hills at the Wadi Akarit. Never had life seemed so precious to me as in the summer of 2143. The vast empty terrain of North Africa is only broken by the cemeteries which Graves Registration buries our dead. Still more litter the no-man's land, only to rise again as zombies or even crimson heads if improperly disposed of.
Spring of 2143 was when life was most appreciated. Never before has simply being alive meant anything to me. Never before have had I felt more thankful that I bear a full set of limbs, that I still draw breath, and that I live to see the copper disk of the sun rising over the dunes of the North African desert.
Spring 2143 while the dying continues unabated. Never before have I seen such gruesome displays of death. Time and again I see bodies flung into the sky by explosions, I see men transfixed by ogre's blades or eaten while kicking and struggling by hordes of zombies. We inflict tremendous casualties on our attackers, downing them in droves with machineguns, blasting them into shards with artillery, mortar, air strike, and grenade, and with concentrated rifle fire.
There are but five men remaining in my squad. We receive no more reinforcement, our task is simply to hold out until our relief column clears Algeria and breaks through into Tunisia. This is to happen far from my position here at the Wadi Akarit. This rendezvous is to be at Kasserine Pass.
I duck deep into my machinegun nest as more energy orbs explode around me. The barrage lasts for twenty minutes on end, explosions throwing geysers of earth, flesh, and shrapnel skyward. My helmet is again knocked from my head by the next blast wave. I see Andi's smiling face, so close yet so far away. She was cruelly taken away from me by this same foe that is lavishing shells upon our positions.
The battered remnants of Army Corps Africa are fighting on very few supplies, with fuel running low. Yesterday yet again, after taking all the parts out of a truck we had to blow it up with hand grenades. Our machinegun has only three 250 round belts issued to it on a daily basis. I have to save ammunition for an actual assault. Thus I tell my gunner not to fire until he is absolutely sure he can hit his targets and to fire in controlled bursts.
That's an awful lot to tell a frightened 17 year old boy and he often shoots like there is no tomorrow. I always tell him, fire in short bursts, save our ammunition. He is tethered to that machinegun like it is his only salvation and emptying entire belts into attacking waves is the only way to save his life.
We salvage what ammunition and supplies we can from corpses of zombified soldiers and with our dwindling stockpiles, every round, every grenade, every drop of water is more precious than jewels and diamonds.
Yesterday I saw another post get overwhelmed. They were completely isolated by swarms of zombies with ogres and Gollums dwindling their numbers. I heard their last survivors call in artillery on their coordinates and saw three 90mm howitzer rounds land in their midst, killing the three surviving soldiers out of a group of twelve, and most of their attackers.
Our guns are worn almost to an unserviceable state by constant overuse. Danger from our own artillery is almost as likely as danger from their artillery. Today I saw one of our soldiers, a new recruit, caught like a deer in the headlights in the midst of a barrage. A shell that fell short of its target exploded fifteen yards in front of him. A cloud of shrapnel meant for the charge of ogres that followed the enemy barrage struck him full force and the razor edged fragments tore his body into four bloody chunks.
Our relief force is defeating the enemy in the face of ferocious opposition, but will they reach the Wadi Akarit in time? I think not. Much of Europe has fallen, and the Sicilians are particularly demoralized as Sicily fell towards the end of 2142.
Spring 2143, the smell of mowed grass, the time I never had to sleep with one eye open all the time. Those days are as far away as my deceased beloved. I am worn almost ragged. I have seen enough death, enough dying to last me through the ending of eternity.
I am very quiet, let the years come; they can take nothing away from me that I haven't already lost. I am so alone, so forlorn that I can face them without fear. The fire of life I had within is dying to its embers. I stand up. Let the years come and take me away. I have nothing left to fear.