Trenches, Guns, and Magic

Stepping out, Erik realized the ground beneath his feet was not solid earth as he had imagined. After days of shelling from both sides, compounded by heavy rain, the area between the two Trenches was a sticky quagmire mixed with body parts, shrapnel, and blood-soaked mud. Every step he took was like a tug-of-war with death.

The massive, grey skirmish line surged out of the Assault Trench, throwing themselves relentlessly toward the Gallic position several hundred meters away. The thin morning mist provided Erik and his comrades with minimal cover for their charge.

But it was only minimal. As they ran about a hundred meters from the Trench and neared the Barbed Wire that had been blasted open in several places, the 'Da-da-da-da' of Machine Gun fire erupted from the Trenches ahead. Almost instantly, the comrade running beside Erik—the fellow townsman—was hit as if by an invisible sledgehammer. He staggered violently, then fell softly into a shell crater, splashing mud and a deep red. Erik did not have time to think, instinctively diving to the ground.

Bullets whistled overhead, sending mud flying everywhere. He saw the nearby Saxon soldiers who hadn't managed to drop down fall one by one from left to right under the sweeping Machine Gun fire. The surviving soldiers either jumped into shell craters for cover or lay prone in the mud like he did.

A dull thud sounded next to Erik. He turned his head and saw a mangled corpse fall near the Barbed Wire. It was another soldier from his platoon—the one who had just been talking about the Instruction Assault Battalion in the Trench to ease the tension. Erik didn't have time to process this. He clutched his Gew.98 Rifle and continued the charge.

A heavy rhythmic sound rose behind Erik, the footsteps of several 'Siegfried I' Armored Knights surging forward. Due to the small contact surface of their mechanical feet relative to their body size, the muddy terrain severely restricted their movement. The steel giants easily bogged down and required assistance to get free, preventing them from keeping pace with the infantry immediately. But regardless, they were here now, just when the infantry needed them most.

The towering steel giants quickly bypassed the skirmish line, blocking the enemy fire with their shields and bodies, covering the infantry as they struggled to get up and advance toward the Gallic position. However, this synchronized advance did not last long; the figures of Gallic Armored Knights also appeared in the smoke.

The Armored Knights of the Teutonic Knights immediately charged toward the enemy Armored Knights, engaging in a vicious melee. But the slick, muddy ground slowed the movements of both sides. Erik had no mind to admire the large-scale Armored Knight duel; he was focused only on his own survival.

"Don't stop!" he screamed at himself. He held his Gew.98 Rifle and continued his charge. The battlefield ahead was surreal. Invisible bullets ripped through the smoke, claiming lives. Figures flickered in and out of the fire and smoke like distorted ghosts. The sky above the battlefield had turned a dark orange—not because of any visual impairment on Erik's part. The constant explosions of shells threw immense amounts of earth, dust, and gunpowder residue into the air. Burning trees and materials produced thick smoke. These airborne particulates scattered and absorbed the shorter blue and green wavelengths of sunlight. Only the longer, red and orange wavelengths could penetrate the smoky 'filter' and reach the ground. When these rays mixed with the thick, low-hanging smoke and dust, they created a murky, oppressive dark orange or blood-red hue.

Erik, a high school geography teacher before the war, knew that heavily polluted industrial areas like the Ruhr often showed such phenomena at sunrise and sunset. But now, his mind was blank, focused only on one thought: "Survive."

It was at this moment that Erik saw the soldiers of the Instruction Assault Battalion, the unit that had entered the Trenches with them yesterday. These soldiers had seemingly emerged from the earth, running ahead of Erik by dozens of meters. They nimbly used shell craters to leap forward. When encountering intact Barbed Wire, someone would immediately throw large planks onto the wire, allowing others to pass quickly. In some shell craters, Erik could see a strange, cannon-like weapon, much smaller than any cannon he knew. Its barrel was pointed almost straight up. With loud 'bang-bang' sounds, shell after shell was fired. As the explosions continued, the few remaining Gallic Machine Gun positions gradually fell silent. These Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers had already reached the edge of the Gallic Trench, where the sound of rifle fire and grenade explosions grew denser.

Erik, his gaze drawn to the Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers, continued running. He suddenly felt his foot slip on something soft. He looked down and saw a severed hand. The pale hand was still tightly clutching a rifle, a corpse perhaps left behind by yesterday's attack. Erik felt his stomach lurch, but he was too depleted to vomit.

The hundreds of meters between the two enemy Trenches seemed endless. Erik and his comrades had no idea how long they ran. They mechanically mimicked the actions of the Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers, using shell craters for cover, pushing forward. It seemed that only by staying behind this mysterious unit could he feel a semblance of security.

Finally, they neared the edge of the Gallic first Trench. Leveraging the height advantage, he saw a tall, dark-skinned Gallic soldier in a blue uniform raise his head from the Trench. The soldier's rifle was clearly out of ammunition. Seeing Erik, panic flooded his face. Erik shouted, instinctively plunging his bayonet downward as he leaped into the Trench. The tip of the sharp bayonet pierced the enemy's chest. He felt resistance, followed by a spray of warm liquid on his hand. The black soldier's eyes widened. A gurgling sound escaped his throat before he collapsed.

More Saxon soldiers jumped into the Trench around Erik. The fighting immediately devolved into a brutal close-quarters combat phase. The dull thud of rifle butts smashing against skulls and the sharp snap of engineer spades cleaving bone mixed with the groans of the dying and the roars of the victorious.

Erik pulled out his bayonet, leaned his back against the damp earth, and gasped heavily. His world had narrowed to the few blood-soaked meters of the Trench. He had survived the first charge and entered the enemy's position. But looking around, he noticed too many familiar faces from his company were missing.

After catching his breath, Erik followed his comrades deeper into the Gallic Trench, attempting to advance through the Communication Trench to the Gallic second line. That was the order they had received from their Company Commander before the assault.

He had not run more than a few steps before colliding head-on with a tall, black soldier. The soldier yelled, furiously smashing his rifle butt—which still lacked a bayonet—into Erik's shoulder blade. The excruciating pain nearly made him pass out. Erik stumbled, instinctively trying to counterattack with his bayonet, but he slipped and fell backward into the mud. The black soldier, his face contorted in a sneer, quickly worked the bolt to eject the spent casing from his previous shot, aiming at Erik's chest, preparing to fire.

"Da-da-da——!"

A crisp, continuous burst of submachine gun fire erupted from around the corner of the Trench. The black soldier's body snapped back like a puppet whose strings were cut, then collapsed softly. Erik looked up in shock and saw several Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers, like the grim reaper, appear at the end of the Trench. The officer who had fired the shot looked cold and young—remarkably like a student he might have taught back home.

The young officer lifted Erik up: "Soldier, don't stop! Keep attacking!" Erik was still stunned as the young officer pulled him to his feet. The throbbing pain in his shoulder mixed with the daze of his near-death experience, leaving his mind temporarily blank. The cold, clear order that registered in his ears made him snap back to attention. He looked at the young officer, whose eyes were unnaturally sharp for a man his age. Private Erik instinctively nodded, gripping his rifle, and followed the Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers deeper into the Trench.

He immediately witnessed what true 'trench clearing' meant. The Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers, living up to their many 'legends,' coordinated seamlessly. One soldier extended his submachine gun around a corner of the Communication Trench and fired, while another expertly pulled the pin from a grenade and, after a brief pause, tossed it into the Trench ahead.

"Boom!"

The blast wave, mixed with mud and debris, rushed past. Erik could hear screams in the distance. Without waiting for the smoke to clear, the soldier who threw the grenade and another comrade darted out and fired their submachine guns into the depths of the Trench. The soldier who had provided suppressive fire quickly reloaded his weapon.

"Da-da-da-da!"

After a long, powerful burst of gunfire echoed through the Communication Trench, the front fell silent. But the Trench the Gauls built was a labyrinth. You never knew where the next enemy would appear.

As they reached the point where the Communication Trench was about to break into the second main Trench, Erik and the others were pinned down again by fierce fire. The continuous, heavy sound indicated that the Gauls had moved a Heavy Machine Gun directly into the Communication Trench.

"Enemy fire point ahead! Eliminate it quickly!" The young officer commanded again, his voice calm and clear amidst the chaos.

Soon, two more Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers, carrying heavy metal canisters, caught up from behind. As they passed Erik, he clearly saw that they each held a uniquely shaped nozzle. The two Flamethrower Soldiers did not hesitate. One moved forward, leaning against the trench wall, and extended the nozzle. The next second, a furious stream of fire roared out. The orange-red, viscous liquid instantly covered the fifteen-meter stretch of Trench ahead. Flames soared, reducing everything to cinders. A scream, more piercing than the gunfire, tore through the battlefield—not the sound of a human, but the final, desperate shriek of a creature suffering immense agony.

(End of this Chapter)