Hey Ink here I've rewritten this chapter to make it a bit more historical, after reading the first version because I really didn't like it and thought I could do better. So I'm currently working on rewriting all the chapters published including the chapters that haven't been published yet. Anyway I'll let you get back to the story enjoy.
2:23 am, August 17, 1917
The rain fell in torrents, drumming against helmets and soaked earth as 27-year-old Unteroffizier Jaune Arc stood at the edge of the German trench. His eyes strained to pierce the inky darkness of no man's land stretching before him. Around him, the remnants of his Pionier Sturmtruppen made final preparations, their movements muffled by the storm.
Jaune's hand tightened on his Lange Pistole 08 (Artillery Luger) with its wooden shoulder stock attached. He glanced at his three remaining men, each armed similarly and carrying extra 32-round Trommelmagazin 08 drum magazines. As Pionier Sturmtruppen, they were also equipped with specialized gear for sabotage in the tight confines of enemy trenches.
32 year old Gustav, the oldest of the group, and a grizzled veteran, checked his regular Luger P08, preferring its familiarity. Corporal Schmidt the 25 year old carried another Artillery Luger, while Private Becker, the youngest, at 20 years old, nervously adjusted his grip on his own Luger P08.
Gustav, sidled up to Jaune. "Unteroffizier," he muttered, "scouts report the Tommy and Frog sentries are hunkered down. This weather's a gift from above."
Jaune nodded, appreciating the older man's calm. "Good. We move in five minutes. Remember were after intelligence, not a prolonged fight. Get in, grab what we can, and get out."
The young officer's eyes swept over what was left of his unit. They were an elite group, handpicked for their skills and daring.
Jaune pulled out a map. He traced their planned route one last time, committing it to memory. The British-French joint trench lay just 200 meters ahead, but in the chaos of a night raid, even the simplest path could become a maze.
"Remember," Jaune whispered, "we're undermanned, but not outgunned. Stay close, watch each other's backs."
The others nodded grimly, fully aware of the increased risks they faced with their reduced numbers.
Faces were smeared with mud, equipment secured to prevent rattling.
With a final nod to his three remaining men, Jaune gave the signal. "Für Kaiser und Vaterland," he whispered. "Vorwärts!"
The four Pioniers vaulted over the top, into the treacherous expanse of no man's land. The rain continued its relentless assault, shrouding their movements in a cloak of obscurity. Each squelching step carried them closer to the enemy's domain, the stakes rising with every passing moment.
Jaune led the way, his Artillery Luger at the ready. Gustav flanked him on the left, while Schmidt took the right. Becker brought up the rear, his young eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination.
They moved in a tight formation, navigating through the muddy craters and tangles of barbed wire. Every few meters, Jaune would signal a halt, and they'd freeze in place, listening intently for any sign of enemy patrols. The crack of distant artillery and the patter of rain helped mask their approach, but the risk of discovery remained ever-present.
As they neared the enemy trench, Jaune raised his fist, bringing the squad to a stop behind the remnants of a shattered british landkreuzer. He motioned for the others to gather close.
YOU ARE READING
The Kaiserschlacht
Action1917, as the Weltkrieg continues and the situation grows dire with every passing day, it's only a matter of time until the Vaterlands war-machine begins to collapse, but there is still hope. In the Western front, a ragtag Sturmbataillone led by an u...
