Tale of The Broken Sword

Chapter Seven : Sentry Line

27th June, AD 1656

Southern Cordon, Esmerelda

The outskirts of Esmerelda turned out to be a dirty slice of hell for Everent. This must be the main offensive he’d heard rumours about for days. He’d almost started to think that it would never come, that it had all been part of the Empire’s strategy to psych the Aurelian infantry up for a non-existent foe. He never thought that the Empire would make such a quick move, after giving their all to take over the dilapidated ruins of the Line. Such planning and movement of their army clearly shows the side of their blitzkrieg doctrine.

Now here it was and Everent sure knew that it would make his side to suffer the most in terms of casualty and they are caught off guard, once again.

Everent stumbled upon the triage centre. He ducked around the corner and parted the curtain that separated the alcove from the main trench. Inside, incandescent lights hung from the canvas ceiling that kept out the worst of the falling dirt and mud. Wounded and dying soldiers –Everent finds it nearly impossible to tell who was who– lay racked along the walls in stretchers that lifted them above the ground.

Many of them groaned, some tried to scream, but the ringing blasts of the incoming artillery shells and the subsequent counter-fires drowned out their hopes and cries. Now they could not help but to allow death to slowly consume them as they rasp about their agony. Everent couldn’t imagine how much blood had run off the operating table’s edges since then.

“Come on!” a medic said, slamming his fist against a dying soldier’s chest. His desperate tone told Everent that the dying soldier could not be saved anymore.

Despite that, the second medic kept working on the soldier’s wounds, squeezing and packing them with gauze while the other took out a saw and performed an impromptu amputation of the man. Finally, the blood stops flowing, and the soldier’s breathing stopped. The medics staggered away from the table, leaving the soldier lying there, still.

As far as Everent knew, in a proper hospital, the time of death and the cause of it was recorded the moment a life was taken away. But in here, all details were the same: shot by a bullet, died in this day. So such details now wouldn’t matter anymore.

Both of the medics lifted the body of the soldier and toss it aside into a pile of fly-infested dead bodies in the other end of the triage. They wanted to stuff the body into the body-bag for a proper burial later when the battle is over, but now with the supply of body bags diminished with the increase of dying and wounded soldiers, every dead body is considered a lost cause and the medic’s priorities now shifted to the ones still alive but suffering.

Everent couldn’t bear to take a good look on the pile of stacked bodies. Looking at it makes him think that this part of the entire trench was indeed a slaughterhouse. He walked out of the triage and into the main trench, ducking as to avoid any incoming machine-gun fire tracing above him and the trench.

Upon reaching the outer line of the trench, he looked across the man who sat down there with a cigarette stick placed between his lips. It was Heimman and he looked like shit. Mud and blood caked his entire body and he’d only give his face a deserving wipe after looking at the sergeant’s bars.

“What happened?” Everent had to ask, even if the answer was clear, the whole team was killed by enemy hands, and Heimman was the only soldier who’d came out alive.

“The lieutenant sent us out for patrol around the area. Stumbled upon an infantry division three kilometres out.” He said.

“How strong?” Everent inquired further.

“Like I said––.” An artillery shell blasted a few metres away from the both of them. Everent covered his face from the falling dirt and mud but the sergeant just stood there, with his eyes focusing onto something a thousand yards away. On the edge of the battered horizon, silhouettes of numerous vehicles which Everent couldn’t tell emerged and they’re closing onto the line. “An infantry division...”

Everent observed and estimate a total number of ten ATC’s converging onto their position. The sergeant blinked. Ten armoured troop carriers. “A full infantry division.”

He then looked back the Heimman. The soldier’s voice showed no hint of emotion. He showed neither fear of the incoming attack nor the grief of his fallen friends. Such things were luxuries he denied himself, Everent knew he must too.

“We left them bogged down in the wire, but they called in our position and sent their babies onto us, bastards.” Heimman continued.

“Once they clear the wire, we’ll be fucked.” Everent grimaced.

“Just another day,” Heimman said.

As if it emphasised on Heimman’s words, an artillery shell slammed into the triage centre, sending body parts of dead soldiers flying everywhere. Everent wasn’t sure what happened to the medics he’d encountered, but he was convinced that they’re dead too...