Empire Of Ash

Chapter 26: The Silence Before the Storm

The trenches of Veradin’s eastern front had become a second home to its soldiers. For months, they had fought off Veldar’s relentless onslaught, holding the line against what seemed to be an invincible enemy. Yet today, as dawn slowly crept over the horizon, something was different. The air was unnervingly still, the kind of stillness that gnawed at the nerves of battle-hardened men.

Sergeant Ivon Drasko crouched low in the mud, rifle in hand, his eyes scanning the horizon through the fog. The usual sounds of war—distant artillery fire, the roar of tanks, the shouts of soldiers—were absent. It was too quiet, unnaturally so. The men in his unit, seasoned veterans of the frontlines, sensed it too. A few exchanged nervous glances, their fingers tense on the triggers of their rifles.

"It’s never this quiet," whispered Private Kovar, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own shallow breathing. "Not here. Not with Veldar right in front of us."

Sergeant Drasko narrowed his eyes. Kovar was right. Veldar’s forces had been camped just beyond their trenches for weeks, their positions well known to the Veradin troops. There should have been movement, activity—anything but this eerie stillness. But now, there was only the thick, cloying fog that had rolled in overnight, obscuring the no-man’s-land that separated the two armies.

Drasko signaled to the others to stay low and keep their eyes peeled. The uneasy tension hung over the trench like a suffocating blanket, each second dragging on longer than the last.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Still, no sound came from the enemy’s side.

Something’s not right, Drasko thought. Veldar never waited like this. They were aggressive, always pushing, always probing for weaknesses in Veradin’s defenses. This silence was unlike them.

Suddenly, the distant sound of footsteps could be heard—soft at first, but gradually growing louder. Drasko strained his ears, and soon the figures came into view, emerging slowly from the mist. His heart skipped a beat as he saw them—Veradin soldiers, clad in familiar uniforms, weapons held at the ready. Their formation was neat, disciplined. It was a relief to see the reinforcements they had been waiting for.

"Reinforcements, finally," Private Kovar whispered, letting out a breath of relief.

But something still gnawed at Drasko’s gut. He had learned long ago to trust his instincts, and they were screaming at him now, louder than ever before. Something wasn’t adding up.

He raised his hand to signal a halt to the men, watching the approaching soldiers carefully. They moved like Veradin troops, but… too perfectly. Their steps were in unison, almost mechanical. And their faces, once close enough to see, seemed strangely emotionless, devoid of the weariness and camaraderie that came with months of battle.

Drasko’s eyes narrowed as he watched them approach. These soldiers didn’t have the familiar gait of men who had been living in the mud and blood of the trenches. They weren’t tired. They weren’t dirty. They were too clean.

"Kovar," Drasko whispered, his voice taut with tension, "something’s wrong. Get ready."

Before Kovar could respond, the approaching "reinforcements" raised their rifles in unison. Drasko’s heart stopped as he caught a glint of steel—too sharp, too polished. Those weren’t Veradin rifles.

"Take cover!" Drasko shouted, his voice cracking like a whip through the tense air. In an instant, the enemy soldiers opened fire.

Chaos erupted in the trench. Bullets tore through the air as Drasko and his men scrambled for cover, diving into the muddy walls of the trench as the disguised Veldar soldiers unleashed a deadly hail of gunfire. It was an ambush, meticulously planned, devastatingly executed.

"They're Veldar!" Kovar yelled, firing his rifle as he ducked behind a sandbag.

Drasko cursed under his breath, firing back as fast as he could, but the enemy’s precision was unmatched. These weren’t just ordinary soldiers—they were elite units, handpicked for their infiltration skills. The uniforms, the movements, the discipline—it had all been part of their deception.

"Hold the line!" Drasko shouted, his voice hoarse as he barked orders to his men. "Don’t let them breach the trench!"

But it was too late. The enemy was already in the trench, and the Veradin soldiers found themselves in brutal hand-to-hand combat. Bayonets clashed, knives flashed, and the desperate screams of dying men filled the air as Veradin’s defenders fought to repel the infiltrators.

Drasko swung his rifle butt into the face of an enemy soldier, knocking him to the ground. Another attacker lunged at him with a knife, but Drasko sidestepped just in time, driving his own bayonet into the man’s side. The soldier crumpled to the ground with a gurgled cry.

All around him, his men were fighting for their lives. The trench had descended into a chaotic melee, with no clear front line, no safe position. The fog only made it worse, obscuring visibility and turning the battlefield into a nightmarish blur of blood and mud.

Kovar was beside him, struggling to fend off two enemy soldiers at once. Drasko rushed to his aid, stabbing one in the back before spinning to block the other’s attack. Together, they managed to drive the infiltrators back, but more were coming.

"Sergeant!" Kovar shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "There’s too many of them!"

Drasko knew he was right. The Veldar soldiers had the element of surprise, and their numbers seemed overwhelming. For every one they took down, two more seemed to appear out of the mist. And worst of all, they couldn’t tell friend from foe until it was too late.

"Fall back!" Drasko shouted. "We can’t hold this position—fall back to the second line!"

His men hesitated, reluctant to retreat, but Drasko knew they had no choice. They were outgunned, outnumbered, and outmaneuvered. If they stayed, they’d be slaughtered.

One by one, the surviving Veradin soldiers began to pull back, fighting their way through the trench as they retreated to the next defensive line. Drasko stayed at the rear, covering their escape with bursts of rifle fire, until he was the last one to fall back.

By the time they reached the second line of trenches, the Veldar soldiers were right on their heels. But this time, Drasko’s men were ready. Reinforcements had arrived, and the Veradin soldiers, now aware of the enemy’s deception, opened fire with everything they had.

The second line held. The disguised Veldar soldiers, no longer able to rely on the element of surprise, were forced to retreat into the mist. The immediate threat was over, but the damage had been done. The Veradin forces had suffered heavy casualties, and the enemy’s tactics had shaken them to their core.

Aftermath

As the battlefield fell silent once again, Drasko surveyed the carnage around him. The trench was littered with bodies, both Veradin and Veldar alike. His men, those who had survived, were tending to the wounded, their faces grim and haunted by the events of the morning.

Kovar limped over to him, a bandage hastily wrapped around his arm. "We lost a lot of good men, Sergeant," he said quietly. "Damn Veldar, playing dirty like that."

Drasko nodded, his expression hard. He had seen a lot of death in this war, but today’s ambush had been different. The use of disguise, the precision of the attack—it was a new level of brutality, even for Veldar.

"They’ll do whatever it takes to win," Drasko said, his voice low and grim. "We can’t afford to underestimate them again. They’ll keep coming, and next time, we might not be so lucky."

Kovar looked out over the battlefield, the fog still lingering in the distance. "What do we do now?"

Drasko clenched his fists, the weight of his responsibility heavy on his shoulders. "We prepare for the next attack," he said firmly. "And next time, we won’t be caught off guard."

But even as he said the words, Drasko couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him. Veldar’s tactics were evolving, becoming more ruthless with each passing day. And if today’s ambush was any indication, the worst was yet to come.