Counterattack

Two weeks later, Haytham awoke to the sound of intense artillery fire. Labienus, son of Decimus, saw through his binoculars an encroaching column of faceless soldiers making their way across the valley. In the far distance, he saw the muzzle flash of artillery fire, followed thirty seconds after with explosions from inside the city.

“We’re a bit fucked, aren’t we?” Said Decimus. The rumbling of their coordinated step reverberated through the entire valley, alongside them were tanks and mobile artillery emplacements that did not care whether or not they’re walking—or running over— the corpses of their fallen comrades. Then, they stopped and collectively stared at the hill in which Decimus and his group were dug in. Afterwards, they themselves started to dig their trenches, “ALL GUNS! FIRE!”

The war machines hummed and roared to life, within seconds their armaments fired followed by a large boom. There was a dead silence between the two parties for five whole seconds, they both contemplated themselves in relation to this war, in relation to the world. Whether or not this fight was worth it or not, Decimus breathed. The shells landed.

“RELOAD!” He yelled the order as hails of machine gun fire from the hills down to the Sakilo-Jawanians, their bodies contributing to the already growing mound of corpses beneath them. Their tanks rolled into motion and went on to protect the frontal trench lines, as well as give covering fire.

“READY!” Labienus called out. The shells slid into the artillery piece, water was poured over the barrel for momentary cooling. Between the gunfire and the incessant shouting of the people around him, Labienus could not hear himself think. It was routine now, the loading, firing, readying of shells, all routine, all routine. He pulled out a cord from his outfit and earphones from his pockets, dug it up to his ear and went on with the routine.

“FIRE! I WANT THOSE TRENCHES PAINTED BLACK!” The Sakilo-Jawanians couldn’t look away at the spectacle of three hundred artillery pieces firing simultaneously, their positions shelled, their day ruined. They could not foresee this happening to them, but they don’t relent, not one bit.

Several hours later, the Kaiserreich’s artillery found themselves silenced, there was no more ammunition, no more shells to be fired. Only the machine guns that found themselves only momentarily halting the slow advance of the trench lines, “Father,” Labienus took off his music, “We’re slowly losing ground, perhaps we should retreat to the city and dig in there.”

“Sounds reasonable, but we can’t fully retreat now. Not with them slowly encroaching on our lines, contact Agrippa, tell him we’re falling back. He’ll tell you what you need to know.” Decimus scoured the fields, how empty and barren it once was and now, it was nothing more than the valley of dead men.

Labienus went for the radio and contacted Agrippa, “Admiral, they’re slowly approaching our lines through a massive trench network currently being built. What do you say for our next action?”

Agrippa took a while to answer, he was surrounded by panicked officers in the control center of the carrier, “I got it. Calm retreat, one at a time, we’ll build up lines along the central plaza and burn the remaining houses south of the city. Though,”

“Though?”

“You should’ve told me about this predicament hours in advance.”

“... I understand, sir.”

The advance proceeded slowly, but with the machine guns and artillery armaments slowly being silenced, they found themselves with little to no resistance as the trench lines of the Sakilo-Jawani Empire crawled like ant colonies towards the city.

The retreat towards the city was orderly, to say the least. Slowly but surely, units trickle out of the hills back into the city where they take up the defensive lines. The defensive lines, which extend along the central plaza, divided the city into two halves. Agrippa ordered for the southern side (Which was where the Sakilo-Jawanians would enter) of the city to be burnt on command.

The lines were backed by machine guns, artillery, and any excess equipment they could use. Their goal is to hold out until cavalry arrives or be overwhelmed and suffer a humiliating retreat.

There were no tricks to be done this time, no smoke and mirrors that could be played to trick the opposing forces. They were defending, that’s for sure, but they’re still at a complete disadvantage, numerically and logistically. They had no planes, no tanks, little to no ammunition left in store. They couldn’t flank as well, they could only dig down and wait, hoping for the best.

Agrippa stood behind the front lines, among his men of machine gunners and riflemen. He breathed deeply, feeling the winds of war crash upon his face. For this moment, he felt alive and dead all at the same time. He held onto his pistol, and wished for the coming times to be over quickly. One way or the other.

“Overlord, this is Sector E. Enemy is in sight, over.” Agrippa heard over his radio. He knew this, he could feel it, their rumbling steps of silent prayer. The hum in their voice like they’re humming the tunes that they would sing to their God in heaven.

“All sectors, burn it down.” One by one, the houses south of Haytham burst into flames. Their wooden structure collapsed amidst the flames as black plumes of smoke rose into the sky. A fever pitch, a giant bonfire, come hither come hither for the slaughter is at hand.

That was it. That was his final play, the burning of south Haytham, the once cool winds of war are now nothing more than the tiny embers that ever so slightly crash into the remaining flesh of Agrippa. He felt his heart thump for the first time in years.

There was silence.

Only the sound of wood and flesh burning could be heard, but there was no screams, no agony in the mouths of the Sakilo-Jawanians. They merely walked, they walked through the fires and flames, their tanks didn’t even stop and frequently ran over the charred corpses of their allies.

Then, “ENEMY SIGHTED 3 O’CLOCK!” The machine guns began their assault amongst the smoke. They whizzed through the dark fumes, streaking lines across it, some hitting its mark, others couldn’t. They never mouthed their pain, they shot, killed, died silently. Agrippa felt fear.

He gripped his pistol tightly and yelled to his men, “WE STAND OUR GROUND! HERE! NOW! LET THEM HEAR THE SOUND OF OUR VICTORY! THE DRUMMING OF OUR HEARTS! LET THEM HEAR YOU! SCREAM!” The soldiers screamed their hearts out, there was not a care in the world that their voices were crack, that their throats would give in. They yelled and they yelled! They yelled for what they fought for, material or immaterial, they yelled for their lives. Their screams drowned the silence their enemies gave them, “LET THEM HEAR OUR VICTORY!”