08-25-2018, 04:47 PM
2.3 Kilometers from Annatown
August 23rd - Afternoon
Staff-Sergeant, Johann Mitz was standing in nearly 8 inches of muck. His boots, swamped. His coat, splattered in a nasty mixture of mud and gore. His head, wrapped in a bandage. The bullet had grazed his head nearly 32 hours prior. Since then, he had spent only 12.5 minutes with a battlefield medic before advancing forward to meet up with his squadron.
The truth was, he was dead. His heart was still beating, his nerves were still fully functioning, but he was dead. Dead on the inside. Here was the simple truth. He, along with thousands of young men and women, were trapped. On all sides were people who wanted nothing but to see them die. Faceless, nameless, demons, at least in Mitz's opinion. I in the middle sat the a great mud pit. It was little more than a several mile wide depression in truth. A depression that was now more like giant swimming pool by now due to the fact that it had started raining relentlessly two days prior.
Mitz lifted his boot slowly and listened to the gurgling sound it made as it exited the small mud whole he had just stepped in. His orders were clear. Leave the area at once. It was a simple as that. There was no strategic planning, no battle maps, no briefings, no roll calls, none of it. It was a simple kill or be killed. Escape or die.
The Gonhogite troops were slowly moving in on all sides of the depression. Already nearly 500 Coalition troops were dead. So many more were to follow. Mitz had received the same orders as nearly everyone else in the Coaltion forces: Move west. Destroy all opposition. West means liberated territory. West means the shore, only a few hundred miles from the coast of Libertas Omnium Maximus. Mitz had been told that there would be hundreds of boats waiting to take wounded soldiers to allied shores. Later they would be transported to their homeland. That was the plan. That was all there was to it. It meant death.
4.6 Kilometers from Annatown
August 24th - Mid-night
Bang! Crunch! Bang!
His eyes rolled open. The last thing he had remembered was an explosion in the trees. Then another and another. Then darkness. The Skodanian soldier had been knocked out from at least several hours. It was now pitch black. The shooting had finally stopped. Slowly the man clambered to his feet. The sky was dark. The trees, dark. Then the ground. A woman to his left. A man to his right. A young man, no older than 20, beneath him. All dead. There eyes stared blankly up. They had had nowhere to run. Whenever the battle had reached its full intensity he must have been knocked out. All that mattered was that he was stranded. The rest of the Coalition was either dead or had long since escaped. He was alone.
Hours Earlier...
The gunfire wouldn't stop. Slowly the Coalition men advanced up out of the depression. They had long since abandoned the vehicles. Ranks were abandoned too. It was just soldiers and there survival. The Gonhog soldiers were pouring in from the east. The airstrip had been overrun nearly a day prior. A small cluster of structures were situated to the north-west of the depression. Somehow, the Gonhogites had managed to get snipers into the buildings. They were picking off troops like flies. That left the south. The only exit route.
The south side of the depression was the steepest section. It was 45 degrees in places. This made for a slow accent. A painfully slow accent. At least 1,000 soldiers were already lost. Their bodies were strewn out across the muddy plain or captured by the oncoming soldiers. It took nearly 20 minutes from the start of their accent for the first soldiers to reach the top. By this point the depression was overrun. Gonhog soldiers were starting to make the accent. Every moment, another dozen soldiers dropped to the ground. Some clutching at holes in their chest. Others merely fell down. Silent. Like a marionette with its string cut. The sun was setting. The glare adding to the general discomfort of the Coalition troops who were already terrified out of their minds. This was there apparent end.
The troops who made it to the top of the hill immediately faced opposition. Atop the hill sat a large estate complex which had appeared to be empty. In reality, it was crawling with troops. They immediately engaged the Coalition who made it out of the depression. There they stood. The seemingly invincible Coalition. Once nearly 12,000 soldiers was now closer to 10,000. Their Vanguards fell before the gates of the estate in droves. The stragglers were mowed down as they continued to climb. The Coalition was disintegrating before its members' eyes.
August 23rd - Afternoon
Staff-Sergeant, Johann Mitz was standing in nearly 8 inches of muck. His boots, swamped. His coat, splattered in a nasty mixture of mud and gore. His head, wrapped in a bandage. The bullet had grazed his head nearly 32 hours prior. Since then, he had spent only 12.5 minutes with a battlefield medic before advancing forward to meet up with his squadron.
The truth was, he was dead. His heart was still beating, his nerves were still fully functioning, but he was dead. Dead on the inside. Here was the simple truth. He, along with thousands of young men and women, were trapped. On all sides were people who wanted nothing but to see them die. Faceless, nameless, demons, at least in Mitz's opinion. I in the middle sat the a great mud pit. It was little more than a several mile wide depression in truth. A depression that was now more like giant swimming pool by now due to the fact that it had started raining relentlessly two days prior.
Mitz lifted his boot slowly and listened to the gurgling sound it made as it exited the small mud whole he had just stepped in. His orders were clear. Leave the area at once. It was a simple as that. There was no strategic planning, no battle maps, no briefings, no roll calls, none of it. It was a simple kill or be killed. Escape or die.
The Gonhogite troops were slowly moving in on all sides of the depression. Already nearly 500 Coalition troops were dead. So many more were to follow. Mitz had received the same orders as nearly everyone else in the Coaltion forces: Move west. Destroy all opposition. West means liberated territory. West means the shore, only a few hundred miles from the coast of Libertas Omnium Maximus. Mitz had been told that there would be hundreds of boats waiting to take wounded soldiers to allied shores. Later they would be transported to their homeland. That was the plan. That was all there was to it. It meant death.
4.6 Kilometers from Annatown
August 24th - Mid-night
Bang! Crunch! Bang!
His eyes rolled open. The last thing he had remembered was an explosion in the trees. Then another and another. Then darkness. The Skodanian soldier had been knocked out from at least several hours. It was now pitch black. The shooting had finally stopped. Slowly the man clambered to his feet. The sky was dark. The trees, dark. Then the ground. A woman to his left. A man to his right. A young man, no older than 20, beneath him. All dead. There eyes stared blankly up. They had had nowhere to run. Whenever the battle had reached its full intensity he must have been knocked out. All that mattered was that he was stranded. The rest of the Coalition was either dead or had long since escaped. He was alone.
Hours Earlier...
The gunfire wouldn't stop. Slowly the Coalition men advanced up out of the depression. They had long since abandoned the vehicles. Ranks were abandoned too. It was just soldiers and there survival. The Gonhog soldiers were pouring in from the east. The airstrip had been overrun nearly a day prior. A small cluster of structures were situated to the north-west of the depression. Somehow, the Gonhogites had managed to get snipers into the buildings. They were picking off troops like flies. That left the south. The only exit route.
The south side of the depression was the steepest section. It was 45 degrees in places. This made for a slow accent. A painfully slow accent. At least 1,000 soldiers were already lost. Their bodies were strewn out across the muddy plain or captured by the oncoming soldiers. It took nearly 20 minutes from the start of their accent for the first soldiers to reach the top. By this point the depression was overrun. Gonhog soldiers were starting to make the accent. Every moment, another dozen soldiers dropped to the ground. Some clutching at holes in their chest. Others merely fell down. Silent. Like a marionette with its string cut. The sun was setting. The glare adding to the general discomfort of the Coalition troops who were already terrified out of their minds. This was there apparent end.
The troops who made it to the top of the hill immediately faced opposition. Atop the hill sat a large estate complex which had appeared to be empty. In reality, it was crawling with troops. They immediately engaged the Coalition who made it out of the depression. There they stood. The seemingly invincible Coalition. Once nearly 12,000 soldiers was now closer to 10,000. Their Vanguards fell before the gates of the estate in droves. The stragglers were mowed down as they continued to climb. The Coalition was disintegrating before its members' eyes.