Reich Marshal of the Belkan Reich

RM Vol 4: War – Interlude: Foolhardy.

Death.

All around him, there's only death.

The man struggles awake. His hands start moving and patting his body for noticeable wounds while his brain is working hard to stave off the shell-induced migraine. Something, probably a shell, or was it a grenade? Anyway, something explosive graced his fighting position earlier. The blast knocked him well back into a trench, his head banged on the dirt wall. He got lucky that he survived the ordeal with only some bruises, a few minor cuts, and a bump on the head. The others in his gun crew, however, ain't that fortunate. Turning around for a shaky look, the man takes stock of the situation.

Of the five men gun crew that he is in charge of, two are dead with two others injured and unconscious. The gun commander, that being him, is the only one to escape relatively intact. His 2-pounder fighting position is part of a small trench that hosts a Territorial Platoon. Seeing some of the Territorials cowering beneath the trench, either in a fetal position or curling up with their hands covering their ears, the gun commander shouts for their attention. Midshout, however, the Erusean Lance Corporal sees bright tracers flashing above his position before impacting somewhere beyond. A flying shape flies to a stop above the Eruseans' trench, an aircraft with an underslung turret. The turret turns before unleashing a withering hail of autocannon fire at targets unseen by the Erusean Lance Corporal. What snaps him awake is the sight of spent, and hot empty shell casings being ejected off the gimbal turret of the strange aircraft. The man has to roll away, ducking beneath a thinly constructed wooden roof of the trench lest he wants to have his brain smacked by falling objects.

"Bloody wanker..." The Erusean Lance Corporal curses as he hears the thumping of the spent casings slamming on top of their trench.

After a moment of non-stop suppressive fire, the Belkan aircraft flies away, leaving behind a mound of garbage. At the very least, they didn't dump any of those on top of the wounded.

"Bastards got courtesy..." The Lance Corporal comments before crouching and running to the nearest group of Territorials.

Stalling a bit to see the young visage of these inexperienced lads, the Corporal idly shakes his head before saying.

"Oy! This is all of you?" Of the Territorial Platoon that is stationed here, there are only four left, barely enough to fill a weapon team.

One of them hesitantly responds. "We're all that's left... A-After that explosion."

"Yeah, tough luck all around here, kiddo..." The Lance Corporal sighs.

Unlike the Regulars in the Royal Army, Territorials are at the bottom of the barrels in terms of everything. These young men never smell much less draw blood on the battlefield. They're also fresh out of a military crash course that taught them less than a Boy Scout would. To ask these Territorials to fight a battle against the Belkans is a foolish endeavor, wasting lives and resources for nothing. Instead of asking or motivating these kids to stand their ground, the Lance Corporal opts to do something different.

"You four mobile?"

The Territorial that replied earlier makes an uneasy glance at the rest of his Platoon. Seeing their state, the lad nods. "I-I guess so...?"

"Good." The Lance Corporal says. "I got two wounded in my crew that need to be carried over to the rear line for treatment. Now I am not asking you all to fight here, alright? I need you boys to fashion my chaps a pair of stretchers and lift them back to where the meds are. Can you boys do that for me?"

"Uh... Sure. I-I mean yes sir! I-I think we can do just that!"

"Atta boy." The Lance Corporal pats the lad on his shoulder before moving away.

The Territorials, being entrusted with a task that may as well be a ticket to safety, nudge at each other before using some broken sticks and blankets to make two stretchers. The Lance Corporal, meanwhile, moves to apply some field dressings on the wounded. The Lance Corporal then takes the dog tags from his dead crew members and shoves them in the pocket of a Territorial before helping them lift the wounded onto the stretchers. After making sure the coast is clear, and that means poking his head out and finding no bullet heading for him, the Lance Corporal gives the all-clear to move out.

One of the Territorials turns around to ask. "What about you, sir? Aren't you coming?"

"Somebody needs to stay behind and make sure none will chase you." The Lance Corporal replies before moving to realign the 2-pounder gun that is surprisingly intact, albeit scorched cosmetically. "But honestly? I need to score a good hit on a Belkan armor. That way, it'll show that I at least stayed and tried."

"... Good luck, sir."

The Territorials carry the wounded to the backline, leaving the Lance Corporal behind to his thoughts. When Belkan propaganda started hitting the Allied forces with the news of the EEF backstabbing the Darscens, the Erusean battlefront in Darscen territory collapsed nearly instantly. By absorbing elements of the Darscen Army, the EEF did bolster their available units. However, when the nature of their heavy-handed method came to light, it was these very Darscen soldiers and officers they absorbed who wrecked the EEF in the Principality of Darscen inside out. The Darscens either swiftly surrendered or even aided the Belkans when they attacked the positions of the EEF, causing them to lose precious footing and crucial war materials. The Darscen officers even went as far as performing decapitation strikes on their fellow Erusean peers, prompted by how the Eruseans seemed to position the Darscens as pawns to be taken. In short, it was a bloody mess that kicked the Eruseans out of Darscen altogether. After which, the EEF hastily put up a containment line around the Darscen border.

Now, that containment line is falling apart at the seams, evidenced by the utter disregard of the Erusean defense by that Belkan aircraft. Any sane person, after seeing their friends blew up, would have run away by now. Not this Lance Corporal, however. After serving with a 2-pounder AT gun for some time, he has developed an obsession with seeing things blow up with the same weapon as the cause. It may be foolhardy, but he won't rest until this very 2-pounder next to him can be unleashed against the notorious Belkan tanks. Whether he survives this endeavor or not, well, one step at a time.

Now, he just want to see that weirdly painted Belkan vehicle in front of him to go boom.