"Retreat!"
"Back into cover, men! Regroup!"
"No! If we stop the advance, we are finished!"
"Ah, I'm hit!"
He ran. He didn't know what else he could do, not under conditions like this.
The dead littered the small clearing. Every step he took, every single time his foot connected with the ground, he had to avoid the traps of the dead, trying to drag him down with them. It was a harsh way to look at it, but no less true. One little mess up, one little fall, and he was more likely than not dead.
It was an absolutely chaotic and rapidly deteriorating military situation. He didn't need to be a general or a seasoned vet to see that. The advance had gone well. The center thrust had surprised the enemy in their camp and the flanks converged and surrounded, and all was looking like a pigeon-shoot… up until the Britannia's deployed their reserve units hidden in the "abandoned" storage units, got their planes up in the air, and targeted the left flank.
The left flank...no longer existed. The enemy cut through it like a hot knife through butter.
It was a slaughter. The Cambodians, armed with simply produced and moderately maintained SRS's bought from the Federation and AK-47's from the E.U., were simply unable to counter the Britannians superior artillery and R-75 rifles. The surprise had done them well in the beginning, as had been expected, but the coming of dawn had seen the enemy's reorganization and their own disaster. After nearly a day of hard fought combat, the end was nearing.
He didn't know where to run. He lost his rifle long ago, in a hand-to-hand fight with a Britannian who managed to kick his gun away before he was able to finish the job.
"Regroup behind the river line, men, and give 'em hell!"
Colonel Hûang, brave as ever, ran amongst the men, zigzagging across the battlefield in a desperate attempt to get men to listen to him.
"Come on, Sergeant, in line, on the double!"
Coming to the slow realization that the Colonel was looking directly at him, he changed course and directed himself towards the small, spread out force that the Colonel had amassed. About 4 squads worth of men.
He still felt hesitant. Everything was collapsing around him, but he was still far enough away from the front line that he was relatively safe from ground fire. The center was entering the final stand, resisting with all it had left. Which was enough to last atleast an hour, as it was the strongest sector of the line. The left flank… the left flank had practically disintegrated, being the enemy's first target. The right flank still held, if by a thread, which gave him and the group some more time to get out. The line couldn't hold forever.
And neither could his country. The country he had served for over a decade. The country he loved.
General Hâi, the greatest war hero and accomplished soldier that kept morale going, killed in an air strike last week. Perhaps their last chance to actually win this war, the tactical mind of Lieutenant General Zhöu, captured by a Britannian raid.
Even President Duang, last in the legal chain of command left, saw his life cut short by an assassin's blade just a day ago as he attempted to enter into negotiations with the Federation.
Without the head, the body dies. And, with the way the last of the at least semi-organized chain of command had deteriorated in the preceding days, the end was near.
Before he knew what had happened, he made it to the river. He was only the fourth or fifth to make it, the Colonel still giving all he had left to make himself heard over the sound of the ever-increasing gunfire. "Cross now, assume defensive positions! The front line has fallen!"
Out of breath, he crossed the small river using the hidden, underwater bridge. He knew everything was going to shit, but to have it confirmed...only made it that much harder.
About 80 of the men had been rounded up, many in terrible shape. Cuts, bruises, and gunshots to the limbs were plentiful, and the morphine was most decidedly not so. Taking out the last needle from his pack, he wordlessly handed it to a guy bleeding profusely from his leg. He needed it more.
Before long, the Colonel had made it back. Marching in double-step over the bridge, he immediately crushed the connection to the bank. They wouldn't get across easy.
Looking back to the men, he stood tall. Grime, blood, and sweat or not, he still was as imposing and tough as ever. He inhaled.
"Men, this will be my last address to you all."
"We ordered this attack thinking we could avenge our brothers, our leaders, and our families slain by the Britannian dogs. We were wrong. We thought we could kick out the Britannians from our land. We were wrong. We believed in the surprise attack, and that the Britannians must be at the end of their rope. We were wrong."
He sharply inhaled, and continued as the gunfire drew ever nearer. "But one thing we believe in, and know to be true, is that Khmer will not go down without a fight! We won't sit like dogs and beg for mercy!"
"We will kill these sons of bitches for what they've done! We will go down fighting! Think of all those lost, our brothers and sisters who were bombed by the Britannian firebombs! Those killed in bed as the Britannians stabbed us in the back! The children, orphaned! The elderly, burned! And our weak, executed where they stood!"
The morale was at an all time low, but it was replaced now with seething anger, as all remembered what they lost.
"I don't care how many of them you kill! How many of this foreign devil you slaughter! How much of our supplies you use! I ask that you simply try, for your friends, family, brothers-in-arms, and for the Republic! We won't die without a fight! WE WILL NEVER SURRENDER!"
And with that, the speech was finished. And the men, knowing the hopeless situation, were ready to die. But not without some retribution.
"NEVER SURRENDER!"
"RESIST!"
"KILL!"
They were in a frenzy now. He checked his ammo one last time, looking around as his able comrades did the same. It was do or die time.
The Colonel then rejoined his men. Having access to one of the few remaining divisional radios, he attempted to determine the time they had left.
Another soldier, a Junior Lieutenant, meanwhile, pulled some explosives out of his bag. Looking back and forth towards the opposite shore and the nearby forest, he seemed to contemplate. And then, he placed the stick of death at the base of a single, thick tree.
"Everyone stand back! Now!"
As everybody did so, he lit. After hastily running back behind another tree, eyes covered and body on the ground like the other surrounding men, the base of the tree exploded, violently.
BOOM!
As chunks of bark exploded out towards the soldiers (one hit himself in the arm and caused considerable pain), the remainder of the tree fell in one swift motion. Right onto where the firing line would form. As several men looked at the damage, the Colonel straight stared. And smiled.
"Don't you lazy fucks sit there, get these goddamn trees down! Do you want cover or not?!" The Colonel, clearest seeing the advantages, shouted this.
For the next few minutes, groups of men worked on the surrounding trees, managing to get a very basic defensive line constructed on the banks. Even as the trickle of retreating men turned into an unorganized stampede of green animals, running as fast as their legs could carry them. At this point, they got few additions.
One of the scouts, taken position in the trees with binoculars, suddenly lifted them to his face. Confirming the inevitable, he shouted:
"And here they come!"
The enemy emerged from the shrubs and trees onto the riverbank, a grey wave advancing in a loose spread formation. Upon reaching the bank, they looked around with surprise. Giving them the perfect opening.
"Fuck you!"
"FIRE!"
They had decided to make their stand behind similar shrubbery and trees on the opposite shore, as well as the artificial fortifications. Some non-scout soldiers, in fact, climbed the trees and had an aerial view of the enemy, who sat on a small peninsula jutting into the river and had continued advanced to the bank in hopes of crossing over a bridge. A bridge that their intelligence had likely told them would be there. So when the first volley hit them from above and below, and a few squads worth of men fell dead and wounded, they were shocked.
Panicked, the men began looking wildly for the source. And they found it in short order.
"Return fire you idiots!"
And they did. Say what you will about the Britannians, their weapons were good, and several of the Cambodians fell where they stood, breathing their last.
The firefight continued like that for a little while. Each side would fire blindly onto the opposite shore, and the Britannians had finally wisened up and taken their own cover. They were partially pinned, surrounded on three sides by righteous gunfire and brave patriots. The sound of the river and the distance between them made it hard to quantify the casualties, but each small scream heard signaled another man's life gone or altered permanently.
More screams seemed to be coming from the Britannian side, but more bullets were being fired into the Cambodian side. Thank God for the thick and solid wood of the forest. The forest that had also protected them from the deadly possibility of Britannian bombs. The enemy's planes had been flying overhead but remained silent, perhaps afraid to bomb their own soldiers in the conditions present.
He was firing as quickly as his hands could make him, constantly reloading the clip and pulling back on the bolt. His ammunition had almost dried up during the fight, but he was sure to salvage what he could from the wounded and dead. Making a final stand was not for the faint-of-heart, and he was damned if he would fall easily to these jackals.
Eventually, however, that luck had to run out.
"Got a spare clip Sergeant?"
He fired off another round. A Britannian 2nd Lieutenant fell to the ground, screaming.
He looked at his remaining rounds.
"Just about out myself, Private. Just about out…"
"And just about out of time, as well."
The Private, looking slightly disappointed, simply nodded. "About what I figured, then."
It appeared then as if a lull in the fighting was starting to occur. The Britannians were likely regrouping, deeply hurt, but not obliterated, by the firefight. Even with that, the remnants of the Republic's army knew they were preparing for a final assault to clear the position and continue their advance.
A final assault to kill them all.
"If they dare."
The younger man next to him simply pulled out a cigarette and, after requesting a light, began to smoke it. After taking a drag and breathing out heavily, he said rather matter-of-factly "Well, were fucked, aren't we Sargeant."
As much as the thought disgusted him, he forced himself to be honest and nod. Deep down, he and all the others knew it was the case.
"Yes, Private. Yes we are. Up shits creek without even a boat at this point."
"Well, might as well make it count, then."
Turning to the Private, he felt curious. "What's your name, son."
He gave off a small salute, lazily and uncoordinated, but it's not like anyone gave a damn for military discipline at this point. "Private First Class Nguyễn Nhất Tiến, ready to die, sir!"
"If only it wasn't like this, he might have a future."
He returned the salute, crisp and precise. Surroundings going to Hell in a handbasket didn't mean he would ever forget procedure, even if he forgave others for it. "Hàn Quang Linh, Staff Sergeant, 14 years."
"Ah, so your an old ass sergeant. Don't see many of them these days!"
That drew a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Too many damn battles. Part of me just wants it to end."
"Understandable."
They sat in what was almost silence for several minutes, watching the sunset on the horizon as both sides continued to fire occasionally. Only two men ended up wounded since the lull, but the count wouldn't remain this low for long.
Tiến put out the cigarette with his heel, crushing it beneath his foot. Much like they would soon be crushed under the boot of the Britannians.
"Well, it's been good talking with you Sergeant. It's... nice to talk before...you know…"
Standing back up, he flashed a grenade from the waist of his uniform. Making perfectly clear what he intends to do, he looked to his fellow damned.
"See you on the other side, Sergeant."
He could only nod in return.
"Deploy."
"But, Director, we have no idea what the result will be. The research and tests that are yet to be done…"
"That doesn't matter at this point. We will not find a weaker enemy. Even if they are cornered, they will still be a challenge, however. Using this, the challenge...disappears."
"If this fails…"
"If it fails, then we will simply rebuild with the faults fixed. You forget that our funding is near limitless. This is a perfect combat situation to attempt deployment, and I already have authorization from the Major General. Now, deploy. I trust that I should not need to ask for a third time.
"Yes, sir. Experimental subject 1 prepped and ready. Deployment is authorized and initiated."
"And hopefully, this will work."
It was a warm summer's morning when the Britannians invaded.
Around the semi-independent nation of Cambodia, officially aligned with the Chinese Federation but dependent on them in name only, people were awaking from their slumber. Going to work. Cleaning the house. Spending time with the children.
And then the bombs roared down upon them from the heavens, and they were no more.
The surprise invasion, begun with a massive fleet launched from the Britannian islands of the recently conquered New Zealand, had devastated the nation in the opening salvo.
All government forces attempted to rally the Chinese Federation to their side. With their military might and skill, they could surely fight off the Britannians!
But, it was not to be. A delay here. Excuses of internal conflicts and political intrigue there. Multiple "captures" of equipment by Britannians. Everybody knew the Chinese would be of no help after the first month. Betrayed and ill prepared, the army mobilized.
The fleet, gone within a week. The capital, being a prime target for the Britannians primary invasion force, fell in less than a month. Neary all planes were shot down as soon as they touched the sky, without survivors. And then, everything collapsed, and the resistance and government scattered and fought like hell in the countryside for almost a year. Bravely defying the inevitable.
Until now.
Due to this, the Cambodians were well used to betrayal and surprise. From all sides. So what came next was only a little shock to the troops, at least at first.
It was the scouts that first raised the alarm.
The position of the defense, on a wider scale, was poor. Considering the
Britannians had quite easily taken the central plains and hills of Cambodia, they needed simply to clear out the mountains and forests. Well, "simply" was not as simple as it seemed, as the government declared an end to military operations in clear and open ground after the fall of the capital. Linh's own unit was stationed in the northeast, in one of only three remaining regions of the country (northeastern forests, southeastern mountains, and southwestern mountains).
Considering that the Britannians had cut them off and pushed them to the Federation border, they were technically surrounded, even if the main military forces were ahead of them. Attacks such as the one beginning this battle had attempted to blunt
Britannian envelopment of their position, but had failed. With this being… the last chance.
Anyways, while on the opposite shore of the Britannians, the enemy still held the territory behind them, about 10 kilometers away. It paid to be prepared for any surprise assault or secret operations. So the Colonel had taken some of the… "weaker" men to scout the area for an unexpected surprise.
Which they had signaled in the forms of the sudden screams that broke out from their positions.
Due to the quiet of the dimming battle, the Colonel had quickly heard the quiet screams, explosion, and the accompanying gunfire, and scrambled to unhook his radio. Fumbling with it briefly, he urgently yelled into the box.
"Scouts, report status!"
It was static for several seconds, before a new voice, an old one, rapidly responded in a hushed and panicked tone.
"Colonel, the Britannians… well, I don't know what it is, but they have a ...some machine. Colonel, this thing…. we fired the rocket launcher, and not a scratch! We need immediate reinforce-"
*ghzzt*
Static.
"Fuck!"
Face turning paler by the minute, the leader of the informal band of soldiers quickly looked up and took a count of his command. Excluding the numerous dead that littered their position, very few were still in a condition to fight. A mere 30 made the best decision that he bought he could.
"Squads A and C, take the explosives and find this thing. Kill it dead!"
Quietly, they acknowledged the orders. Quickly running towards the small explosive stash they had hidden behind the leaves of a bush well-obscured from the battle, the men immediately took what they could. It was a meager supply, just 26 sticks, but it should hopefully do the job.
Hopefully.
The squads were soon running off deeper into the jungle, becoming obscured by the deep and wild brush. They had left this battlefield behind to join another.
But...why weren't the Britannians attacking? If this was a rear attack, as seemed to be the working theory, then they should attack from both sides to kill them all, is what he thought. They would give em hell either way, but the second would be presumably easier for them than the first.
"Sergeant."
Yanked from his thoughts, he turned to face the sudden breaker of his thoughts. Colonel Hûang. He quickly saluted. Seeing the man's face immediately frown, that was probably wrong.
"We aren't in the goddamn training camp, Hàn, were in our fucking graves. Least you could do is lose the official shit."
"...yes sir."
He seemed to have regained a little happiness, well, at least as happy as a Colonel could be considering the shitty situation.
"I want you to take Squad D and E downstream about half a mile. There is a cave there, and I want you fuckers in it within the hour."
Was he… ordering him away from battle? Away from his friends?
"Colonel… I can't do that!"
"And why the hell not, soldier! This is the best chance we got!"
"Chance for what! How can sending away half the men make anything better! We will gladly die here with the rest of you, killing those sons of bitches til the last breaths. We won't run, sir!"
Unexpectedly to him, his superior… did not explode. In fact, he smiled, albeit grimly. "You know Sergeant, when I said drop the official shit, I didn't mean for you to drop your decency."
He sighed.
"You got a good heart, soldier. Could have been a general, if this shit didn't go down. But no, I don't want you to piss off with your tail between your legs like an animal."
What?
"Then, what do you want us to do?"
"The cave contains the last weapons we have, at least that I know about. With the way things are going, we will be lucky to be breathing in the next fucking hour, let alone the next day. And I don't want those weapons to be there when we get ourselves shot. So, you will take the weapons, wait til the Britannians win, and then attack. We'll hold 'em off."
He thought about that. It… could work, at least a little. Take them out when their guard is down, and kill as many as they could. It seemed so simple...the same as this morning's attack. Which utterly failed and got their last hope killed by Britannian lead.
"..what weapons are we talking about, Colonel?"
"Well, what don't we got! Everything we could want to blow those Britannian fuckers to bi-"
BOOM!
It came suddenly and out of nowhere, shaking the ground with such a force that the Gods could have sent a lightning bolt and they couldn't tell the difference. Of the twenty of them left, nearly 17 of them were knocked to the ground instantly.
He came down, hard, on his left elbow. It had quite quickly cracked from the pressure of the explosion, hurting like an absolute bitch. His head was next, landing somewhat softer, but still crucially painfully, on his elbow. His neck made a noise that it… shouldn't. Mind-numbing pain seared across his entire body, and he lost feeling, briefly, in much of it.
He couldn't hear, or see. He was trapped within his own mind, without escape, as he heard vibrations. Vibrations that simply increased in intensity and force. Never stopping, never slowing.
Nearly a half-minute later, his vision was returning, and his hearing had improved slightly. What he saw…
17 of the men went to the ground. Almost 12 were down for the rest of eternity, bullets riddling their bodies and ensuring that they were no longer. Blood pooling around their fresh remains. The screams of the remaining men, with no idea what to do. And the monster…
…
He shook. Uncontrollably. He blinked multiple times, attempting to clarify, quantity, somehow define the utter impossibility of the current situation.
He had seen tanks, way back at the beginning of the invasion, battling it out on the shores. He saw AFV's, and even been in the several times, as he fought. Tank destroyers, making paste out of his own men once their own tanks had disintegrated. Huge metal monsters that could kill you quicker than you could an ant.
But none of them were on two legs.
A nearly 30 foot behemoth. It had a human shape, but it was anything but. It's immobile legs were kept up by what was basically a training wheel, with some sort of tread underneath propelling it forwards at a steady pace. Some sort of sensor on what one could consider its face, protected by some presumably bulletproof casing. The most important part, however, were the machine guns that it carried on its arms. Four. All of which were putting so much lead in the air that they were dying in droves.
And a Britannian coat of arms, displayed proudly on the very center of the metal monster.
Those remaining scattered. Everyone took cover behind some trees, which might provide some cover from the ungodly monstrosity. But, wherever they hid, it still found them. The spherical "eye" kept turning, the torso continued revolving, the guns fired, and death kept being served to the unprotected defenders.
It appeared by this time that the Colonel had also recovered from his own brush with death.
"Retreat! Get out while you can, get anywhere but her-"
He had always thought the Colonel to be invulnerable. The way he would strut across the battlefield, confidence in every step and determination in his eyes. The men, including himself, saw him as a being with a near-godlike ability to resist bullets.
The two slugs between the Colonel's fearful and terrified eyes soon liberated him, painfully, of that notion. As it did the rest of the men, as they all viewed the Colonel's brain blown out the back of his skull like mush.
"Shit!"
He ran. Towards the jungle. He didn't care if there were more Britannians there. Anything would be better than this.
"Fuck you!"
But just as he had begun running, fearfully retreating in a way that he had sworn never to do, he was halted. At the sound of the second major explosion in as many minutes, he couldn't help but pause. That was the Private he was talking with earlier. He recognized the voice. The Private who fought.
Looking back, he could barely see through the thick brush, but he found what he was looking for. His eyes were met with the sight of the large machine. Collapsed. It was hit on the back, right where a large pod jutted out of its side. It was crackling with energy and convulsing wildly, before it collapsed…
...right on top of the Private, whose remains…
…
…
Feeling the pressure build up in the pit of his stomach before he knew what was happening, his lunch had soon exited his body. Violently. He had seen men shot in the chest, stabbed, bayoneted, bombed, burned, even cut through the torso with their cattle wire. But seeing a man blown to bits and turned into paste…
He didn't even wish that on the Britannians. No matter what they have done.
Recovering, he tried to banish the image from his mind. He had to focus. Escape. Plan.
Kill as many as those sons of bitches as he could.
Or else they would have died for nothing.
It was then that he remembered his discussion with the Colonel, and remembered the cave. If he could get there…he could have a chance.
He had never took off faster running in his entire life. Not caring about the significant brush at his feet, or the lack of cover, or the proximity to the river, he ran. He didn't even think about it, really. The metal monster was… gone. He was safe. So he ran West. To the weapons. To kill.
"Get him!"
That was, until he was painfully reminded that the Britannians were positioned on the North bank of the river. Looking for any stragglers who had manages to survive the onslaught of the metal machine.
It was completely understandable that he had forgotten, with the recent upheaval of the entire tactical situation within the last ten minutes. However, it being understandable did not mitigate the result. Due to the simple human error of forgetting, his final wish was now drifting slowly and painfully away.
He tried. Really, he did. Zigzagging to the best of his ability with his deteriorating strength as soon as he heard the first gunshots, he broke into a sprint for the deeper forest brush. His foot, at the last possible moment, got caught on some loose brush, right there near the shoreline. He tripped.
No…!
It was then that it fully dawned upon him that he would die. Tired, cold, hungry, and alone in the wilderness.
He felt the first bullet tear through his flesh and lodge in his right forearm. The second, a steaming hot piece of lead fired directly into his lower left abdomen, cut a path through his insignificant amount of fat. That didn't slow the bullet down enough. And finally, as if life were using him as a pincushion at this point, he was hit in the thigh, which brought him crumbling down like a sack of rocks.
He felt the impact of the water on his back. The feeling of the blood exiting his body and diluting into the river. The small cheers from those who were taking all he had left. As he looked up for what he thought would be his last view, he saw the evening sunset of his country. Of Cambodia.
It was then that his feeling left him, and he quietly drifted off into the abyss.
"Sir, the combat results are in. The test… was a failure."
Looking at the results, the opposite man, his superior, simply smiled.
"I would not call it that. Fourth-five rabble killed to one lost? Those are the numbers of victory."
"But sir, the machine is gone. And so is the pilot."
"A machine can be rebuilt to be better. A pilot can be trained to replace him. Faults have been located, and perfection is approaching. Not to mention, the pilot had always been a thorn in my side. Multiple problems have now...disappeared."
"But sir…"
"Enough! Communicate the results to the design team and salvage what you can from the battle site! I want another working model constructed by this time next week, or it's your head!"
"Yes, sir!"
Waiting as his subordinate retreated further into the ship, the man simply chuckled.
"Warfare, reborn…"
Hello all! Offtimeotaku here!
So, new update. Was getting a little tired of following just one storyline, and I needed to set up a side character for the future, so… interlude time!
I have always been fascinated with battles, and this had given me the opportunity to write one myself. And, in a suprise to myself, it seems to be my longest chapter yet!
Now, the Britannians invading Indochina (including Cambodia) is, let's just say, dubious. Different sources say different things, if it is apart of the Federation or if the Britannians took it. So I questioned it. And then I kinda went "fuck it" and did it, since it's my story. Fanfiction, gotta love it.
Anyways. The storyline seen here (the Britannian invasion, Federation's response, Linh, first combat tests of Knightmares) will be touched upon at a later date. Expect to see Alfonso escape from his little… situation next chapter.
Now, onto the review!
JaRjArJar- Why, thank you. I will certainly try my hardest. BTW, bit of a tricky name there, so I hope I transferred it right!
Please leave a review! I like them. They make me happy.
That's all from me. Have a nice day!