Dawn of the Mad (2 page)

“I wouldn’t eat so fast, Trooper. It may be some time before full rations are brought up again.”

Scotts turned around and nearly dropped his mess tin as he came face to face with his regimental commander, Colonel Chuikova. The colonel, fully armored, removed his black helmet, cradling it in his left arm. Scotts came to attention but refrained from saluting because of their close proximity to the front. Saluting was forbidden as it would make officers tempting targets for enemy snipers. The colonel nodded and said in an almost fatherly voice, “Relax, corporal. Eat your chow.”

Scotts resumed drinking his gray sludge, although he made sure he went a little slower. Although he had been surprised by the colonel, he knew the colonel frequented the front lines, something unheard of among senior officers. As the war progressed, most of them were content to hide deep in underground bunkers, giving each other medals and making unrealistic demands on under strength units. The fact that most senior level staff officers were out of touch with conditions at the front had a profound impact on morale; yet orders were carried out without question. Scotts had never before seen the colonel in person. What he knew of the colonel he had learned from other troopers, particularly from Matthias. He had heard that the colonel had repeatedly turned down promotions, just so he could be with his men at the front.

The colonel stepped in front of Scotts and looked around him at his troopers. The ones who were awake nodded toward the colonel and whispered to each other. Scotts noticed that the colonel’s kinetic power armor was caked in mud. Very few officers owned kinetic armor suits; it was ancient technology, passed down from generation to generation, and had been bestowed upon only the most adept warriors. Most sets were family heirlooms. The frayed cloak indicating his rank of commander that trailed behind him should have been a radiant purple, but it too was covered in mud. His battle sword rested in its magnetic sheath on his back, ready to be whisked out in an instant. The colonel enjoyed no luxuries that his men did not have, and it was this for which they loved and revered him. They would die for him, and this the colonel knew all too well.

“Can I ask you something, sir?” Scotts felt incredibly nervous asking the colonel a question, but he had heard the man was approachable. Besides, he had heard from others and found from experience that you couldn’t get an answer out of the lieutenants. Most of them didn’t last beyond a week of their deployment anyway.

“Within reason,” the colonel replied, somewhat amused.

Scotts cleared his throat. “Is there going to be another push soon?”

The colonel stopped, a thin smile broke across his weary face. “That’s quite a question, trooper. You will know soon enough. Whose platoon are you in trooper?” He eyed Scotts more closely, and a brief hint of recognition flashed in his eye. He made it a point to try to keep tabs on his more experienced troopers. Experience came with surviving, and those who survived usually made good sergeants, something he always needed.

“Sergeant Matthias’ platoon.” Scotts replied.

“I thought so. He told me you are quite resourceful. Stay by his side. He will get you through.” The colonel nodded and headed down the trench, sidestepping sleeping troopers and acknowledging those who were awake. Scotts suddenly felt as if he was infused with some sort of supernatural energy. Suddenly, he was not content to just wait for his time to take an enemy round and die. He wanted to live, to fight, and to serve his colonel as best he could. A wide grin broke across his grimy, mud-caked face as he ran back to his position in the trench line with renewed vitality.

Explosions tore up the muddy ground in front of the trench line, showering the expectant troopers with mud and debris. Occasional napalm rounds detonated in a random manner, briefly scorching the earth and the rare small bits of vegetation that remained before being extinguished quickly by the rain. The fog still had not lifted, and to make matters worse, the steady rainfall was filling some of the shell craters with enough water to drown a trooper who wasn’t careful. Both warring sides had dropped numerous mines and other obstacles, making traversing no-man’s-land a matter more of luck than of anything else.

Low and constant thunder rumbled, following orange and yellow streaks of lightning across the pale sky. Although it was late morning, the twin suns were nowhere to be seen, obscured by the thick cloud cover. The artillery barrage had been going on for a short while, and because of the recent shortage of artillery shells, no one expected it would last for very long. In reality, all that these preliminary barrages did was alert the enemy to an impending attack and prompt retaliation with their own barrage. Assault Sergeant Matthias yelled at the top of his lungs at the gathered troopers, who listened as best they could amid the deafening explosions of shells in front of their trench line.

“The artillery is cutting a path ahead for us through the wire! Follow me into the breach! Once we are through to the other side, we will re-form and concentrate our attack!” Matthias inserted several shells into his slug thrower, racked the action and press checked his pistol, pushing the slide slightly to the rear to ensure a round was in the breach. Up and down the trench, bolts could be heard slapping rounds into chambers, and a crescendo of whining noises indicated rifles being powered up.

The troopers were as ready as they could be. They nervously rechecked and reloaded ammunition magazines and fixed their bayonets. Scotts grasped his rifle tightly. He suddenly lost count of how many times he had gone over the top as he prayed that this one wouldn’t be his last. He felt the urge to urinate and didn’t resist the temptation, staining the front of his overalls.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the outgoing artillery bombardment stopped. The enemy’s retaliatory barrage continued for only a few moments longer. The enemy also seemed to be having ammunition shortages also, as their barrages never lasted very long either. A momentary silence ensued, broken only by the cries of the dying and the wounded drifting over from the other side, revealing that some of the shells had hit their targets. The troopers’ ears rang, as they almost always did after such exchanges. Their helmets weren’t built to block out the noise of an artillery barrage.

A whistle blown somewhere down the trench signaled the start of the ground assault. A series of rapid whistles followed, and the near silence was broken.

“Over the top!” Matthias yelled as loudly as he could. He heaved himself over the trench wall first, blowing his whistle in short, rapid blasts. His troopers began screaming “Urrah! Urrah!” at the top of their lungs as they unhesitatingly followed their seemingly immortal sergeant into the abyss.

Scotts yelled as loudly as he could and plunged into the awaiting chaos of no-man’s–land. He aimed and fired, guided by targets that flashed quickly, with their estimated ranges, on the integrated targeting display (ITD) inside his helmet face shield. Ghostly outlines of enemy troopers began to appear at the lip of their trench as the opposition desperately tried to stave off the attack. The ITD gave Scotts the ability to penetrate the fog and engage the enemy at close range. Working in conjunction with his weapon sight, his helmet ITD provided far more targets than he could engage, but he tried his best, going through magazine after magazine, his rifle emitting the telltale green energy waves as rounds exited its muzzle.

Enemy artillery and mortar shells began again in earnest, exploding all around in angry retaliation, throwing up the already scarred terrain. Hidden mines, blue plasma bolts and machine gun fire dealt death in the most excruciating way to the advancing troopers. Limbs and broken bodies flew around like rocks in a shaken tin can. Somehow, Scotts got through to the edge of the enemy’s trench. As he peered down into the trench through his activated night vision, his eyes briefly met those of a terrified enemy trooper who was firing wildly into Scott’s comrades. Scotts quickly fired an aimed burst point blank, releasing a stream of death that vaporized the soldier’s head into a fine red mist. The headless body fell backward into the water on the trench floor, already stained red from the new battle.

Scotts hopped down into the trench, among dozens of fresh corpses, and fired again and again, killing indiscriminately. Taking prisoners was not an option; there wasn’t enough to feed them. Ahead of Scotts in the trench, Matthias engaged in spewing forth his own version of hell to the enemy. His slug thrower left a trail of broken and contorted bodies behind him as he cleared out a machine gun bunker and set off down the trench looking for more targets. The blood of his enemies covered him from head to foot. Scotts watched with awe as he observed Matthias run out of ammunition and switch seamlessly to firing his pistol and slicing with his battle knife. Unlike most troopers, Matthias and many of the old-hands considered rifles to unwieldy in the trenches and preferred close combat weapons, such as pistols and slug throwers. Matthias truly fought like a man possessed. The sergeant, caked in blood-soaked mud, seemed almost to blend in to the earth, much like the bodies lying around him. The rain and the mud worked in tandem to take the dead away from the battle and into the earth. Many of the fresh corpses sank into water-filled shell craters, and others were trampled underfoot. The sight of Matthias’s gold cross, impossibly still bright and shiny on his tunic, gave Scotts an intense, supernatural feeling, as if Matthias wasn’t even human.

“Watch your head, trooper!” Matthias yelled in Scott’s direction, breaking his trance.

Scotts ducked just as a knife sailed over his head, to strike an enemy trooper right between the eyes, splitting his skull and exposing his brain. Matthias smiled grimly and resumed his path of destruction through the trench. Scotts wondered if it was a smile of satisfaction or one of sad regret.

Scotts took a deep breath and brought his battle rifle to his shoulder, focusing on his ITD for more targets. He had only one thought now: to survive and live to see tomorrow. He suddenly longed to see his family farm again, and to play with his younger brother and sister in the fields. He charged toward Matthias and the rising pile of fresh corpses, firing at any of the enemy foolish enough to cross his path. Behind him, dozens of other troopers joined in the trench clearing, thankful that they weren’t the first ones in, and overwhelmed that the burden of their imminent death they carried with them into each attack was briefly lifted.

Eventually, the trench in Matthias’ sector was cleared. Up and down the line intense fighting continued, the outcome of the offensive could still go either way. Firing began to subside in the immediate vicinity. Matthias sat down beside three headless bodies and removed his soft cap, wiping the sweat from his bow. He quickly reloaded his weapons and cleaned their actions of mud and debris with an old, water-soaked handkerchief. He checked the three corpses for any food or water rations. Finding none, he let out a deep sigh. Scotts trudged through the muck and sat down beside Matthias. Neither trooper spoke a word as the fighting continued further ahead and behind the trench line. Matthias wiped fresh blood and brain matter off of his blade and took a sip from his canteen. He held his canteen out to Scotts. Scotts removed his tactical battle helmet and took a swig. He felt the rotgut burn his throat, but he did not flinch. He handed the canteen back to Matthias.

His eyes readjusted to the foggy gloom. More troopers were hitting the forward trench now, surging forward. Armored tanks began to creep through cleared paths in the mine fields. Scotts inserted a fresh magazine and power cell into his rifle. Hearing the rifle emit a low whine of acceptance, he rose to his feet. After putting his helmet back on, he offered his gloved hand to Matthias, who accepted the help with a grunt. Once on his feet, Matthias smoothed his shoulder-length grey hair back and replaced the soft cap back on his head.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he said with a chuckle, securing his canteen on the back of his belt. Nodding to Scotts, he heaved himself over the back lip of the trench, knife and pistol in hand, with his slug thrower slung over his back. Both men followed the steady stream of troopers pouring into the enemy’s rear area, accompanied by the sound of gunfire.

CHAPTER 2

“Marshal Von Jesonik will receive you now, Colonel.” The small, balding man said as he bowed graciously. His immaculate white robes, trimmed in an intricate gold pattern, fluttered around his ankles as he lead the visitor, his sandaled feet silent on the polished white floor.

Colonel Chuikova and Sergeant Matthias had needed almost a full day to fully clean the colonel’s kinetic armor of all the mud and grime caked on it. They couldn’t do much about the numerous nicks and scratches resulting from long days of constant battle, but eventually they had the armor polished back to its former glory. The colonel was always in motion, rarely at a desk, whether it was visiting his troopers on the front lines or berating his junior officers for lack of aggression in the rear. Complementing the colonel’s powerful, broad-shouldered physique was his 50-inch electrostatic battle sword, secured on his back. A thin layer of dull purple plasma encased the 39-inch blade and rippled across the surface. The sword was secured magnetically to the colonel’s armor, eliminating the need for a scabbard.