NationStates Jolt Archive

Soviet-Cazelian Front,
0600 Hours,
April 27th, 1936

"Man the defenses!"

A large sergeant, wearing a khaki trenchoat, walked through the trenches, yelling at his men, after all this was a war, and people get tend to get shot when they keep their heads up.

Nobody knew why or how had this one started though, all they knew is that the guys on the other side belonged to a nation called Cazelia, and that they had to be killed at all costs. As far as they were concerned, the sooner they got over this, the better.

"Ready the machine-guns!"

Just then, a messenger boy, no older than 17, jumped into the trench, not quite managing to startle the older and veteran sarge. the kid was panting, holding a battle-worn Neuman-Peters rifle (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13494568&postcount=9), and carrying a satchel with communications from Headquarters.

The sergeant looked at the boy, he was covered in dirt, most likely due to the heavy shelling, panting due to the quick run that he had to take from HQ to the forward trenches, and thirsty due to the thick smoke that covered the battlefield.

"At ease kiddo, any news from the rearguard?"

The messenger looked up at the sergeant.

"Not much, there's a rumour that they are bringing in tanks to attempt a new breakthrough though."

"Well, my parents taught me never to trust rumours, but hand me that bag now."

"Yes, sir."

Sarge grabbed the satchel and opened it, then he looked up again, the kid was gone, most likely, he had been told to go back immediatly after delivering the message. And that was not a good sign, but his job was not to question orders, just to follow them.

Therefore, he read the message:

FOR OFFICIAL EYES ONLY

PREPARE MEN FOR ASSAULT. STOP. TANKS ON THE WAY. STOP. ARTILLERY SUPPORT AVAILABLE. STOP. ATTACK TO START AT 0700 HOURS. STOP.

This was not good news.

Soviet-Cazelian Border
0600 Hours
April 27th, 1936

"Set down those 90mms! We don't have all day!"

Lt. Jeremiah Sawyer aimed down the sights of his M1 Garand, where a Soviet soldier was running towards the trench. He promptly shot the man through the head and continued onto the command post

He set his heavy coat on a coat hanger and sat down in the dugout room
"Okay boys, the Soviets are looking like there making an assault against our forces here. We'll have to hold our position until re-enforcements arrive.

The other officers looked at him strangely

"I'm sorry to report this but it may takes days at a time. The 501st will arrive as support around 5:30 tomorrow. You guys think you can hold our that long?"

The men nodded

"Good. Then we'll get started. Tell you men to start setting up what defenses they can muster, and fast"

A single shot resounded throught the war-torn landscape, and the messenger boy fell down with a bullet through his head, however, no one noticed this, it was just another corpse to add to the pile after the battle was over.

Only one man had seen the boy fall, the Sarge, and he was not happy, that boy could have been his own son, a son he would warn against joining the army when and if he made it out of this mess. There was no hope for the wounded, and he had work to do.

"Corporal!"

From the mass of working men, a head raised, wearing no insignia so as to confuse snipers, just a private among privates.

"Sir?"

"Prepare the mortars, contact High Command, tell them to hurry up those tanks, fire for effect, kill a few of those bastards!"

"Sir!"

The Corporal crawled through the muddy trench, heading towards the radio shack.

"Oh, and corporal, call Private Kowlezki and tell him to report to me!"

Meanwhile, a group of about twenty soldiers had climbed to firing ports, and had begun to spray the enemy lines with sporadic rifle fire, one good thing that could be said about the Neuman Peters is that it was very accurate. Behind them, a couple of NCOs directed another group as they set a battery of 81mm mortar trenches.

Sarge observed all this from his position, noting his men would soon run out of ammo. Unless he got more, the attack would need to be called off.

Bump

Sawyer saw the machine guns open fire. He quickly ducked into cover, but the men near him weren't so lucky. Sawyer was splattered by the blood of his own comrades as he hid in the trenches. A mix of screams and officers barking out orders could be heard for quite a long time.

He crawled through the trench, over the bodies of his fallen comrades and into the command post

"How many did we lose?" He asked
"Maybe fifty men as far as we know." Replied one of the officers
"Damn it!" Scorned Sawyer, grabbing his G1
"I need to get back into the fight." He said as he left the bunker

A mud-covered Lieutenant supervised the mortars as they were set up behind the main line, though they lacked ammunition and thus were of no use for the weary soldiers that sat in their foxholes, some of them joked about that, while the rest remained silent, aware that this issue could very well mean another charge against fixed positions, a tactic they had learn to despise and yet, master.

Soviet Headquarters

The general staff was neatly packed around a tiny, yet impressively decorated table, before them was a map of the whole front, with the Soviet and Cazelian positions marked with tight pencil lines, only disturbed by a few red lines going from one side to the other.

Of course, the lines represented thousands, if not millions, of men who would be ordered to carry out the main attack against the Cazelian lines, the general objective was not very well defined, but every officer understood that even if no gains were made, it would still manage to kill some of those damned Cazelians.

"I say, how goes the attack?"

The general's aide, having just recieved a message from the front, was quick to respond.

"It has yet to start, sir, our men are running out of ammunition and the artillery support has not arrived yet?"

"And why is this?"

"They cite the lack of good roads and transportation, sir, shall I inform that the offensive will be postponed?"

"Heavens no, I'm sure our tough boys can manage without artillery, don't you think so?"

"As a matter of fact, sir..."

"Yes, you agree, hmmm... Very well, carry on"

"Yes, sir"

Now it was the Marines' turn. The M1930 machine guns in the bunkers opened fire, letting a hail of .30 cal bullets fly through the air in the general direction of the Soviet lines. A few minutes after the machine gun barrage had started infantrymen with G1 rifles moved out of cover and back into fighting positions. Rain poured down on the soldiers in the open, slightly muzzling the sound of gunfire from both sides. The Cazelian soldiers saw the yellow muzzle flashes from the Soviet lines. For some men it was the last thing they saw

The Cazelian fire was both unexpected and welcomed, unexpected in the sense that the Soviets believed they had achieved superiority over the battlefield, and welcomed in the fact that even though it had caused casualties, the amount of bullets flying through the battlefield could very well mean that the offensive would be postponed.

Alas, it was not so, as a truck carrying ammunition had just arrived to the main lines, and it was now being delivered along the trenches, with special attention to the trench mortars.

The Lieutenant supervising them was happy to note that finally his men would have something to do, other than wasting their time playing cards, rising from his foxhole, he commanded his troops force the Cazelians to keep their heads down.

The troops were happy to oblige, took their maps, calculated distances and coordinates and opened fire, failing to notice that their officer was now lying in his trench, his face a bloody mess.