Near the end of the war technological advance led to advancements within the tactics in the armed forces. The notable part were the use of aero planes and automobiles. However, the crowning achievement was the use of landships. Armed beasts that crawled on land and unleashed great hell.
These landships were broken into classes like their naval counterparts. A light screening ship, an armored destroyer, and finally dreadnoughts. These beasts were rare requiring whole companies to run a single thing. However, in the trenches and mud of the front. Such behemoths were rarely used. Instead, it was the small squads of the light screeners.
These light screeners, called “buzzers” by the infantry housed a small three-man crew. A commander, gunner, and driver. They had either a female variant that used a machine gun or a male variant that used a cannon. Regardless these small vehicles wreaked havoc on the battlefield. They advanced with great speed, no more than 12 miles per hour. It wasn’t until the use of larger caliber rifles that began to be produced to counter theses tanks.
There were only three known ways to destroy a tank, using an aero plane, an anti-tank rifle, or killing the crew. In any case it was rather difficult to do any of those options.
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Kettler Mines
19:37
Owen led the way clearing to his left any shaft or corner they came across. Leaping between entrances and trading with the soldier behind him. He watched as Hynrich did the same. Sometimes they would catch a straggler or two coming their way. Any case Owen unleashed a torrent of gunfire. The chunking sound of the bolt slamming another round in ripped the enemy to shred.
One-point Hynrich couldn’t continue, pinned by a deserter hiding in a shaft. Owen would simply prep a grenade and tossed it in. Collapsing the structure and dooming the poor bastard to suffocation. Hynrich did so in kind a ruthless repetition of depriving the deserters of the very air and escape they sought out to achieve. Then they finally reached the end of the side shaft. Leading them to an open area just near the cave. They saw a group, probably a platoon size element. Crouched behind both exits.
Owen simply grimaced and looked towards Hynrich. “Ready the grenades. We’ll smoke them out to be slaughtered by Audelia’s contingent.” Hynrich nodded with grim determination. He looked to the rest and squad, and they returned the same expression. However, they wanted to atone for the sins they let befall upon the villagers and the people of the empire. They prepped their grenades, removing the safety caps and gripping the detonation cords. When they heard it a footstep. “Captain the bastards are here.”
Owen turned to see a deserter pointing a rifle at the squad. Thinking quickly, he unleashed an unaimed volley from his gun. The recoil pulling him into the deserter's chest. Suddenly his world rocked as an explosion ripped the side of the entrance. He heard it the low rumble of a tank. He looked around his vision shaken. His ears deafened. A slight ringing filled the world around him. He clamored to his feet. Coming up the slope from the bottom were another squad of deserters. Firing and cycling their bolts. Some of the soldiers were struck down in the opening fire. Owen with a surge of rage. Leapt up drawing his submachine gun up. Firing a small cascade onto the deserters and slaying them in a moment.
Owen after eliminating the immediate threat turned to see the squad a jumble of blood and gore. Some were pierced by wood shrapnel, others by the ensuing gunfight. However, it was the sight of Hynrich that broke him. He laid on his back, however, the smoke and dust obscured the rest of his body. Thick red blood trickled from his mouth. He tried to lean up looking at Owen. His pale face marked by his blood. “Sarge, I can’t feel my legs.” Owen came closer. The dust and smoke fading away like a mirage.
The rest of the squad, those that weren't dying or bleeding out began to return fire with diminishing returns. Owen, however, stared fixated on Hynrich. “Crushed raspberries” he thought when he looked at Hynrich. The lower portion of Hynrich’s body must have been destroyed from the blast of the tank. It was a miracle from the goddess that he didn’t die immediately. He tried to stand, but Owen grabbed him lying him on his back. “You're going to be alright, buddy.” Hynrich, however, had a pale face of resignation. “I know. It's alright. Just could you go to the village?” Owen saw as Hynrich cradled an object. “It’s the dog tags of the men and a few trinkets from their packs. Something...” He winced as he tried to adjust himself. His breathing shallow. “Something for their families.” Owen took the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. A soldier who was peppered with shrapnel crawled over to Hynrich.
He whispered the phrase that Owen heard so much of during the ending of the war. “May the goddess bless you on your journey. I shall pray for your safe arrival.” At that moment the soldier collapsed dead. His eyes staring towards Hynrich. In turn Hynrich tried to lean over but couldn’t. “Sarge, could you do it. I think I am unable to.” A dry smile stretched on Hynrich’s face. Owen leaned over. Trying to remember the exact phrase to use. He peered over, the whizzing of bullets going overhead, “may the goddess bring absolution to you, may she guide you on your journey. I shall pray for your safety and for your arrival.” After completing it he flipped the boy over and crossed their arms. He turned to see Hynrich not moving. A pool of his own blood trickling around him forming a pair of bloodied wings.
Owen stared blinking away any forms of emotion. He looked onwards to see the enemy trying to attack his position once more. This time he was ready. He loaded his Bernstein with the last magazine, checked his revolver, and bayonet. He gave a final order for the squad to pull back into the side entrance and flee. Their protests fell on deaf ears as Owen charged out.
His submachine gun chunking away as they tore holes into the deserters. A cry of pain was finished as he threw the emptied gun at a wounded soldier breaking his neck. Looking forward he guessed the distance from the tank. Which if he had to guess was 5 chains long. Pulling his revolver and bayonet he made bloody work of them. He danced around slicing at ankles, cleaving at faces, the deserters were terrified. At some point Owen must have cut a smoke grenade, because the mine was filled with a deep choking cloud of grey.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Dodging and weaving within the deserter’s platoon. He fired at point blank taking several men hostage which looked like thunderstorms upon the horizon. He got to a sergeant who tried to match him. However, with a single cleave cut the man from his shoulder to his groin. He charged until he reached the tank. Who was firing its machine gun at the side entrance. In a fit of rage, he charged it. All the while bullets fell around him kicking up dust. Owen’s vision was clouded like a berserker of the old world. He charged reaching the hatch. Ripping it open to reveal several terrified children. He paused only to throw a single grenade into the hatch. All the while they screamed in terror. Slamming it shut he waited all the while bullets ricocheted and slammed into the tank around him.
A satisfying boom caused Owen to get clear as a jet of flame leapt out of the tank. The extreme heat causing many to flee from the mine to only be cut down by the SWRD elements outside the mine. Some surrendered to be grabbed. However, Owen could not care. He wanted blood. He continued his path of destruction. Charging what must have been the final platoon of the deserters.
He hacked and slashed. Carving a bloody path throughout the mines. He heard cries of mercy blended with fearful shots towards him. The sounds of bolts cycling fresh rounds blocked by the ringing of blood rushing to Owen’s head. His vision blurred. Everything slowed in time. He continued running through the mines until he reached a final opening. It looked like a scene of debauchery and cruelty.
The final room appeared to be a holding cell. Several bodies lay in a pool of blood. Beaten beyond recognition and appearance. It took a moment for Owen to even recognize them as human beings. He noted the mix of male and female corpses. However, it was the two figures standing near an altar that brought his attention. A man dressed in the brighter field officer’s uniform of the home army. A captain’s insignia sat atop his cap. Standing next to him a woman dressed in rags. Her hands bound by chains.
Owen stopped, staring, at the scene. The officer turned and Owen recognized him. Captain Ernst Kruger, the leader of this band of bastards and whoremongers. Owen gripped at his bayonet which was slick with blood. While he felt the weight of his revolver. It was light. Almost too light. He wanted to break the top open, but he stopped. Hearing Ernst speak, it was a low voice. Something you would hear in a church. His voice came out like sweat honey, and it brought Owen’s guard down.
“Sargeant, I remember you. It has been a while. Probably a couple of months?” Owen stared with guarded woe. “Captain Kruger, you are charged with the crimes of banditry, murder, looting, and damming of all treason.” Kruger simply smiled “I may be charged with these things. However, I had done it under the idea of freedom. Liberty, vengeance, a feeling of rewriting the wrongs committed by the traitors in the cabinet. The very one’s that imprison our emperor as we speak. That allow the people to suffer. That...” Owen stopped him with a point of his bayonet.
“Captain!” he shouted, his voice echoed like a lion’s roar in the room, the poor woman stepped back falling. Which brought Kruger’s attention back to her. “My poor little lamb. Do not fret. This cub has borne his fangs, yes. However, he is but a cub.” Turning to look at Owen. He noticed the emptiness within Kruger’s eyes. He stepped forward, the clicking of his heels on the wet stone leaving a squelching sound that caused Owen to wince. The girl on the other hand stared at Kruger as if she was in a sort of trance. She was bound, yes, but she hanged off every word like a sycophant. The lights from the flickering lights illuminating Kruger in a sort of omniscient light.
Owen on the other hand only saw the whites of his eyes in the darkness. Like a devil ready to collect. He brandished his bayonet catching flickers of light. Reflecting it towards Kruger. Like a sword of ancient hero’s past. He stepped forward. Ready to pierce the demon that was Kruger. However, it was something when the light illuminated his face. The way he smiled as Owen advanced ready to cut this devil down.
Then it happened. Owen charged ready to kill the beast. The woman still bound lept forward. Not to escape or attack Kruger. Instead as a shield. She leapt as the bayonet slashed downwards. Owen tried to pull back, but it was too late. As steel met flesh. The ripping of skin, the pouring of scarlet blood. The terror and relief in the woman’s eyes. The silence of it all. Owen stared in disbelief. As Kruger kicked the body of the woman to collide into Owen. Stumbling and tripping him to the ground. He cradled the body of the woman who began to mumble a series of idolatry.
Owen looked up to stare at Kruger who darkened by the light stared at him. A wide smile creeping through his darkened face. “My dear, sergeant. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I still remember the last time I met you. How is that girl that you were fond of?” Kruger’s eyes pierced into Owen’s body. The once hot blood that coursed through his veins cooled in fear. He began to shake at the memory. The face of the girl Owen had fallen in love with. The eyes, those damn, blue eyes, it was all he would remember.
Kruger knelt still looming over Owen and the now dead woman. He looked at her and spat. “Filthy thing, it stained my toy.” He purred those words out which caused Owen’s head to spin in terror. The room around him darkened from the loss of power. Only the soft red light illuminated the room. Which caused Owen to shake even more so in terror. “My sergeant, maybe you found another. Another toy for my collection. I heard there was a woman leading this attack. What was her name...” Owen cursed and leapt forward. However, the corpse of the woman pinned him down. Which allowed Kruger to leap upwards with a giggle. “Oh, sergeant. You can’t play with those. It’s filthy. Don’t make me cleanse you.” A smile shined in the blood red room.
Owen stared, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Kruger, you bastard. Damn, the law. I’ll kill you. Maybe such actions would save the world from your villainy. From your twisted take on life and death. Do you think you are one of the gods?” Kruger chuckled at the question. “One of? I might as well be a god in my own right. Do you understand what is even going on? The deaths, the loss, the sacrifices made during the war. Only for those above us to squander it. Do you need me to show you the truth?” He licked his lips in glee at the thought.
He took a step forward, Owen tried to look for his bayonet. When he heard footsteps coming down, he looked towards the noise. To see the lights flickering back on slowly. He turned to see Kruger even in the darkness his eyes were filled with hatred. “Damn, them. I’ll find you again sergeant, you can bet your life on that. When I do, you’ll join me willingly. You’ll realize the depths to which this nation, this humanity, has fallen to.”
He turned, the sound of his boots, squelching on the bloodied floor. Owen looked at the corpse of the woman. As the lights turned back on, he saw her visage closely. Her eyes were blood shot, there were bruises from her neck, shoulders, and hands. She wore a simple sack cloth which covered little. In all accounts she seemed to be a rather beautiful woman. Owen stared wondering what depths of torment and promises did Kruger offer. What salvation did he promise? He looked towards the corpses opposite of him. He looked closely and realized with a shiver to his body. That they had smiles across their beaten blue faces. They were happy. What the hell had Kruger done?
