joshuadim
the writer
The Tsavanian-Atracan Front
The Great Retreat is what Tsavania's rout had been called following Atraca's general offensive across the Highlands, pushing Tsavania nearly two-hundred miles further inland and on the verge of losing home territory towards Atraca's military. While generally speaking the retreat had been well-organized in comparison to Tsavania's offensives, and had resulted in averting complete disaster, to say morale was crushed was an understatement. Hastily made trenches and fortifications replaced the deep encampments that had been made in the highlands, which in turn left the broad majority of soldiers being left in the miserable climate conditions of Tsavania's outermost reaches. Wet trenches only compounded the problems of empty bellies and broken spirits while the bombs sounded in the distance - a perpetual exchange between the guns of two rival powers.
Artem gazed out into the new ravaged territory that separated their lines and those of the enemy, a thin mist trailing across the ground that wrapped around broken trees, corpses, and barbed wire. Hell had changed its face again, and he could only watch now was the war grew closer to home. A crow cawed in the distance to add to the misery, which drew his attention to a hazy sky. Everything was wrong. How did it get so wrong so fast?
["See any crumpet-munchers?"] a familiar voice asked, belonging to Sava as he took up position next to Artem.
["No. Quiet in our district. Got a smoke?"] Artem asked.
Sava dug into one of his pouches and pulled out a pair, two little soldiers standing at attention like the ones about to drag them: ["Last that I have. I'll get more on our rotation."]
["If we live to see it."] Artem replied bluntly as he allowed his friend to light it for him. Smoke filled his lungs and in turn provided a temporary comfort amidst the ruination. The two shared a moment of silence as they smoked, the faint glow of embers on the filters of the cigarettes remained overpowered by the mist and smoke. ["I've been thinking-"]
["That's a first."] Sava interrupted jokingly, forcing a chuckle out of Artem for the first time in weeks.
["About that pamphlet you showed me some time back."]
["What about it?"]
Artem was quiet for a moment as he mulled over what he could possibly say, considering that he was uneducated in the politics of matters. But he figured it didn't matter about what he knew, but rather what he felt. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke out through his nostrils before speaking again: ["We're getting fucked by everything, but how do we fight against it all? I mean, I'm just the little guy."] He turned to Sava with a melancholic twinkle in his eye: ["A small cog in a very large machine."]
["Well, that's what I've been reading about actually."] Sava said, offering a soft smile in return. ["It doesn't matter how small we are. Sure we're like ants just by ourselves. But together, if all of us fight for the same thing, we can make things better for us all."]
A moment of silence passed between the two of them, marked over by the distant rumbling of artillery that turned their attention over briefly. ["But how many of us are willing to do that?"]
The Next Day...
Artem rushed across the battlefield with rifle in hand, dirt and mud exploding around him as he and countless thousands of others rushed to the enemy's lines. An offensive had been ordered by those in the Imperial Stavka to retake "every inch", which was worded quite differently for the more nationalist inclined. Artem felt no pride or joy in this matter as comrades fell into the mud below, bleeding into the Earth and losing their lives needlessly. At least after all this he would be put on home leave for a few weeks on rotation... if he could survive. Another explosion nearby made Artem trip into a crater, curling up to protect himself from the falling dirt. He wanted to scream, but only let out a raspy yell as more explosions went off around him. A man's limb fell right on top of his legs, torn from its host with such violence that most of the skin had been peeled off.
Artem stared at it for a moment in horror, panicked breaths forcing him to come to terms with what had literally been put in his lad and left him batting at it to get it off. Scrambling back up, he managed to regain his footing and continue onwards towards the objective that they had all been sent on. The main Atracan line was perhaps a hundred yards away, a distance that seemed as vast as the great tundra of the far north; but it was then that the whistles sounded once more, beckoning them to retreat. Another wave of bodies having been felled for yet another failed offensive, leaving those at the bottom-most rungs to suffer the consequences. But even as they all ran back to safety, the Atracans continued to fire without remorse for scared boys and wounded men.
Artem himself stumbled into another crater to wait out the misery being inflicted on his fellows, only to find the hole occupied by a much larger figure. A wounded werewolf with most of his hide burned off lay curled, barely breathing. What had identified him as being a part of Tsavania's military had been reduced to a few scraps of clothing that had managed to survive the carnage, unlike most of the rest of his body. Artem, with a shudder in his breath, put his rifle down and instead slowly crawled over to the dying creature. Pained eyes stared at him, watching his movements as he put a hand on top of the man's head.
["I... I'll get a medic over-"] Artem managed to get out, choking on the white lie.
A pained groan from the werewolf was all the creature could muster vocally, as it only just turned its head to Artem. The look in his eyes could tell the entire story: I'm not going to make it. Artem gritted his teeth as he watched, yet again, someone else dying in front of him. He felt powerless, as he had so many times during this war, as he brought himself closer to the werewolf to try to comfort him.
["I'm sorry."] Artem said, taking a deep breath to try to compose himself. ["I... do you want me to end it?"]
The werewolf was quiet for a moment before slowly nodding.
