Through Hell & Highwater

Thunder on the Mountain - JUN 14, 1990

The roar of the machine gun was almost as terrifying to his own ears as is it was to their enemies, Trolburg and Woffenstein alike unfamiliar with the deep rumbling bass of the United Thunderbird Confederacy's weapons. Unlike their own firearms, the Model 6 Light Machine Gun featured none of the tinny reverb and hallow echoes of sound waves rippling through the heat guard. It was pure thundering cracks like a storm from the Gods themselves. David watched as the soldier carrying it marched forward unto their enemy. The weapon rigidly stood in place at his side, its operator firing from his hip in one long salvo. Trolburg trained its men to conserve ammo and fire in short, controlled burts. The Thunderbirds had no such concerns with ammo management. The weapons barrel glowed a pale red, four belts of one hundred rounds having already been fired. The spent .30-06 rounds that scattered the ground behind it left damning evidence as to the danger of the weapon itself. The unlucky frontline garrisons of the Woffenstein soldiers in facing them weren't even able to take up positions before the rounds struck them. Blood poured from their torn limbs and torsos like a hole in a paint can. The deep olive uniforms of the UTC soldiers blended into the canvas of the broken, navy-clad bodies; deep crimsons of the blood streaming from the piles of the dead mixing with the muted military tones of both side's uniforms. Thunderbirds trampling underfoot all those unfortunate to have been caught in the gaze of their regiment's gunner.

The Trolburg soldiers themselves watched in stunned shock as their ally tore through the defensive structures of the enemy. They had been locked in a stalemate for this land for months, but the introduction of the heavy weapons of their "friends-from-across-the-pond" had broken the Woffenstein lines in a mere three days. David shuttered to think what might have happened if the UTC had joined the Woffenstein men instead. He had faced many a bullet before, but nothing like the firepower of the Model 6. Staring down the barrel of the firearm was like staring down death itself. God only knew how many lives it had taken at this point. More rumbling split the distant cracks of return fire, mixing with even more bass punches from the Model 5 rifles of the UTC: semi-automatic, high caliber, and extremely accurate; the 7.92x57mm caliber bolt-actions of their enemies stood no chance against the M5. Formidable though they were, not even Woffenstein could compete with the technology of the Thunderbird Confederacy. Mortar rounds from a Tofoten Engineer and Artillery Regiment, most likely Company D, rocked the earth in front of them. Blasts from the 44mm shells drilled into the ground, 6ft deep holes appearing in the pockmarked land where they fell. The returning 88mm rounds from the Woffenstein Artillerie-Fusilier Kompanie blasted chunks from the remaining intact plateau of the field. Even the UTC was forced to take cover as the high-explosive shells bursted around them.

Returning from his position on top of a crest, having scouted the battlefield for threats, his company officer advanced the men cautiously; keen to catch up with the UTC Reinforcements that had overtaken them but wary of the dangers No Man's Land possessed. As they marched through the sea of bodies, rubble, overturned dirt, and the broken glass and brick of destroyed houses; David couldn't help but wonder how the world would ever recover after this. Could humanity ever forgive each other for what they were doing now? What would this war even solve?