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.
Marshal Von Jesonik’s summons had arrived quite unexpectedly, forcing the colonel to relinquish command of his regiment at a critical juncture of the campaign. His beloved Dreadwolves had just penetrated the outer defenses of the capital city, Elohim Prime, with limited support from division or even the expeditionary force. Although the city lacked tactical importance, taking such a symbolic city could demoralize the enemy and quite possibly free up resources for operations on other sectors.
Two massive oak doors opened inward to reveal the inner sanctum of the marshal. He held the title of Chief Adjutant of the Assault Infantry High Command to the supreme chancellor. He was the assault infantry’s representative in the High Command, along with others who represented the other military branches, most of whom had attained the rank of marshal as well. The colonel’s cleaned and freshly repaired purple cloak trailed behind him as he passed through the doors, leaving Sergeant Matthias outside. The colonel immediately noticed a gigantic banner hanging from the vaulted ceiling, depicting an eagle grasping a sword stained with crimson blood in its talons, the colonel’s weary mind was still on high alert as his eyes scanned his surroundings. He took note of the many rare items of luxury that decorated the office of the marshal. Ornate and artful tapestries hung along the oak-paneled walls, including a stoic painting of the supreme chancellor, who had been Hellenheim’s leader for more than thirty years. The colonel stared a moment at the painting before shifting his gaze at the large panoramic window that overlooked the vast industrial and military infrastructure of Luriana, Hellenheim’s center of government and military establishment. Multicolored clouds of factory by-products belched from overworked chimneys, further defiling the decaying atmosphere. Neither a green blade of grass nor a tree could be observed for as far as the eye could see.
Standing in front of the window, introspectively admiring this colorless landscape, was the Star Marshal, Carolus Von Jesonik. An intimidating figure standing nearly seven feet tall, he towered over most men, an attribute he used to his advantage when dealing with nonmilitary bureaucrat types. His close political connection to the supreme chancellor was no coincidence. Marshal Von Jesonik had made it known that he should be considered the rightful successor to the chancellorship when the time came. He turned to welcome his guest
. The colonel stopped, assumed a rigid position of attention, and brought his right arm up stiffly, giving the traditional military salute.
“Thank you, Ernst,” the marshal said to his aide in an evenly toned, authoritative voice. “That will be all.” Ernst bowed graciously, exited through the double doors, and closed them behind him.
Von Jesonik walked around his desk to the front of it, coming face to face with the colonel. He returned the colonel’s salute casually. Although the colonel held distaste for many senior officers, he held the marshal in high regard. The marshal’s service record spoke for itself, and he was a capable leader, even if he was commanding the 1st Assault Expeditionary Force from the home planet. He knew, however, that the position of marshal is as much a political appointment as military, and he did not envy the marshal’s position on Hellenheim. Politicians had no business running a war, and the supreme chancellor had tried on many occasions to influence campaigns how he saw fit.
“Please, Johann, relax,” the marshal said to the colonel. “We speak as friends today, not as officers. You have endured so much for so long; I—as well as the remaining district governors and, of course, the supreme chancellor—are forever in your debt.”
Colonel Chuikova nodded, placed his mirror-polished black helmet on the massive desk, and sat down. He quickly removed the thought from his brain and noticed a box of cigars resting invitingly on the marshal’s desk. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually savored one. His troopers were lucky if they got a hot meal once a week—unless, of course, an attack was planned for which they would need their strength.
Von Jesonik followed Colonel Chuikova’s gaze and imagined he could read his thoughts. He smiled and gestured at the open humidor. “Go ahead, take one.” He raised his gaze to match the colonel’s, attempting to catch the slightest hint of emotion emanating from the man’s steel-gray eyes. Seeing nothing, he reached for a decanter and poured two drinks of the dark brown liquid.
“Thank you,” the colonel said. He leaned forward and selected a cigar, holding it to his nose, savoring the intoxicating tobacco aroma. He placed the cigar in a pocket inside his cloak. He accepted the drink and drained it in one gulp.
“I must ask why you have summoned me away from the front. My regiment is so close to taking Elohim.” There was disdain in his voice, almost as if his regiment had been defeated. “I hope you did not summon me here personally to discuss our lack of ammunition, replacements, and support from divisional command.”
Von Jesonik turned around and walked back behind his desk. He gazed out of the window, seemingly ignoring his guest. Chuikova reached back into the humidor and selected another cigar, this time rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. His short, spiked gray hair and the lines on his face marked evidence that the war had not aged him kindly. He appeared not to have slept in days. Von Jesonik sat down behind his desk.
“Johann, I am fully aware of your tactical situation. Your actions on Elohim Prime are legendary, to say the least. Your regiment does the work of an entire corps—perhaps an expeditionary force.” He produced a lighter and promptly lit a cigar. He offered the lighter to Chuikova, who accepted it. “The war has been hard on us all. You are correct that I have not brought you here to discuss strategy or the evolving front.”
Von Jesonik tilted his head back and blew a puff of gray smoke toward the ceiling. The rosy aroma hung in the air momentarily, before fading away. He continued, “You are here because you are being relieved of your command, effective immediately.”
Chuikova rose immediately to his feet and slammed his gloved fist down on the desk. “How can this be? This is heresy! My men will be wiped off the face of that god-forsaken planet!” he bellowed.
“Calm down, Colonel! Do not forget where you are!” Von Jesonik retorted sharply. Chuikova sat back in his chair, his face an angry red.
“With respect, my apologies,” Chuikova muttered under his breath, barely audible. He thought about lunging across the desk and grabbing the marshal by his throat. Instead he sat back into the chair, lit his cigar, and attempted to relax.
“This is not punishment, but rather a reward. The front has not been kind to you. Frankly, we are running out of experienced commanders. You are different, Johann, in that you lead from the front. Most commanders prefer to hide underground and commit what amounts to mass murder in sending their boys over the top. I cannot influence battle plans any longer. My position is more political now than ever before. The supreme chancellor plans operations and alters campaigns, and often even I cannot change his mind. He is surrounded by those who crave power, even as our empire is slowly dying. But I digress.” Von Jesonik took another long pull off of his cigar, blowing the grey smoke up towards the ceiling. “You have an immaculate record. You are cunning, daring, and reckless. You inspire your troopers, and your mere presence can swing the odds in your favor. You give them one thing they so often lose sight of.”
Chuikova looked at Von Jesonik, still unable to hide the disgust and disbelief in his eyes. “And what would that be, marshal?”
“That would be hope. Hope in victory and faith in their world.”
“Your words are flattering, but I cannot see how being relieved of my command is a reward.” He almost spat the words out. Von Jesonik’s glare reminded him that he should not push too far. Chuikova’s voice calmed. “I apologize.” He paused and poured another drink. After throwing it back, he relaxed. The two shots of liquor now worked quickly in unison, calming his nerves to a more appropriate level. Surprise at the effects of the liquor overtook him briefly, as he realized that his tolerance had diminished greatly since he had been on the front, devoid of spirits.
“You brought me up like a son when I was field commissioned as a lieutenant,” Chuikova noted. “I trust you, but I do not see how replacing me at such a critical time as this could be of any benefit. If we take Elohim Prime, we have control of that entire sector.”
“Your concern is noted.” Von Jesonik rose out of his chair and turned back again to the window overlooking the massive industry below, his gloved hands now clasped behind his back. The last rays of the setting sun somehow found a break in the polluted clouds that lasted long enough to send shards of orange light bouncing off the dozens of shiny medals hanging on his dark emerald tunic. “What is below us will be gone in a few short years if we lose this war, perhaps even sooner,” he said quietly. “We only have four allied planets left in an empire that at one time stretched for three star systems. If the 1st is destroyed on Elohim Prime, our only recourse would be to sue for peace. The Auger-Lords have foreseen this in their visions.”
“I have never believed that group of outcast wizards,” Chuikova related to Von Jesonik’s back. “They have never done anything for our people except predict what is already known,” he continued, unable to mask the contempt in his voice.
Von Jesonik ignored the response. He next spoke in a soft, fatherly tone. “The supreme chancellor himself has planned a special mission based on intelligence we have received from our state security agents, as well as guidance gifted to us from the Auger-Lords. He has entrusted me to select a competent and capable leader. The mission is bold and daring, which is why I chose you. The enemy is developing a new weapon, and we must have it or destroy it. The chancellor demands success, and you are the only one that I feel can achieve what the chancellor wants. You see now that this is much bigger than Elohim Prime. If you succeed, Johann, you will be an immortal hero in the eyes of the people. What we need in these turbulent times are heroes. This righteous conflict will soon come to an end, and we will herald a new age of peace and prosperity!” Spittle spewed from Von Jesonik’s mouth as his voice reached a crescendo.
Chuikova stared at the floor, seemingly lost in thought when Von Jesonik ended his oratory. Von Jesonik turned toward his desk and activated a keypad. A holographic image appeared, showing a large complex with many rooms and passages, formed in the side of a rocky plateau surrounded by a strange looking f
orest. “Our intelligence agents as well as stealth satellites obtained these plans, as well as technical information detailing the experiments within this desert planet located in the outer fringes of known space.”
“I don’t follow. The outer fringes? That is hostile territory. Pirates and mercenaries rule that sector. I am used to leading armies on fields of battle, not special operations,” Chuikova interjected as he watched the images rotate above the desk. He put his half-smoked cigar into a gold ashtray on the marshal’s desk. He knew fringe space was dangerous. Once the war between planets broke out, refugees were the first to begin the exodus out of the star system. Soon, pirates, mercenaries, deserters, and many others sought the relative safety of fringe space. Governmental presence did not reach that far out. If the enemy had an outpost in fringe space, there could be no telling what they were up to.
Von Jesonik nodded his head. “Your concern is duly noted. We lost many agents in acquiring this information. I know you are a military man, Johann, and politics never interested you much. The supreme chancellor has distrust among his ranks, as do I. These are turbulent times, and I dare say it, but our government is destroying itself from within. Many would like the supreme chancellor removed from power, yet others that say it is only his iron will that is keeping this empire together.”
Dawn of the Mad Page 2
