Suddenly, a rainstorm descended. Ilaina and I quickly returned to our squad's camp. In an instant, the sky grew dark. And then, after a loud crash from above, the downpour slammed into the ground. The raindrops poured down in a torrent, so thick they swallowed the world in a screen of white. Visibility was reduced to just a few steps. Everywhere you looked, there was only rain, rainwater, and blinding, white fog.
The rain pattered on the leaves, drummed on the rooftops, rattled against the windowpanes, roared on the pavement, and gurgled down the drains. The whole place was filled with the sound of the storm. It was like a giant monster, swallowing every other noise. Occasionally, the sound of a truck horn or people calling to each other would echo, but they were quickly drowned out by the fierce rain. Everyone huddled under the eaves and in the lobbies of the buildings to take shelter.
The ominous, cold winds that blew through made me feel uneasy.
"Damn it! The rain's too heavy. Let's go, or we'll both get sick and be laid up." I stood up, helping Ilaina to her feet.
Just then, a squadron of Raptor fighter jets flew by at a horrifying speed, as if they were chasing something. The horrific sound tore through the air. Everyone was curious and ran out to see what was happening.
"Goddamn it! What the hell is that?! Why are the air forces flying so fast all of a sudden?" Mikhail grumbled.
Augusta saw this and said:
"Maybe they just spotted some Kuznetskozhyan troops moving?"
"No way, the Kuznetskozhyan soldiers are already playing with worms underground. It can only be Skirmish mercenaries or a transport convoy." Petrov interjected.
"Pfft, we have nothing to be afraid of from those Skirmish guys. We've got plenty of bombs and planes. One hit and the whole bunch will be gone."
"Not necessarily. We could run out of them. We'll still have to handle things by hand."
"Then so what? Isn't it fun to shoot people with anti-aircraft guns?"
"That would be an even bigger waste."
Right as he finished, the entire base began to shake from bombs and gunfire. Hundreds of massive fireballs suddenly appeared from nowhere, incinerating a whole corner of the field in front of us. Then, countless Sukhoi jet fighters and Ilyushin attack planes soared overhead, raining fire down on us. The air raid siren blared but was completely overwhelmed. The Altirustzkan ammunition depot also began to explode one after another. Everyone was terrified and frantically ran inside, but that was just another path to death.
I quickly grabbed Ilaina's hand and we bolted out of the hangar as fast as we could. In the pouring rain, we were soaked to the bone, but we had to run out of the building. If it exploded, there would be nothing left of our bodies. We hadn't run far when the building where we had just taken shelter was blown to pieces by a cruise missile. The ground in front of us was devastated. Chunks of earth rained down, along with blood.
"Everyone! Run!" I yelled.
Two fighter jets swooped down, using their machine guns to shred anyone who was still trying to escape. They were shot down and died in agony, letting out horrible screams. We sat down and covered our ears. But the painful, agonizing, and horrifying screams still pierced our ears. They reached every corner. We all had a pretty high tolerance. And yet, now we were drenched in sweat. We just wanted to get up and run, anywhere, as long as we didn't have to hear those shrieks anymore.
I carefully grabbed a rifle from the body of a fallen comrade, loaded it, and tried to return fire in vain. Suddenly, a Kuznetskozhyan plane unexpectedly exploded in the sky, crashing directly into a fuel depot in front of Ilaina and me. It spiraled out of control and slammed down.
"They're bombing so hard! What do we do now! Klaus!" Ilaina asked me, worried.
"We have no choice but to wait for the air force. Nothing can save us now."
I hugged Ilaina, protecting her from the enemy's fire.
The others ran out of cover, desperately trying to fire at the jet fighters. The anti-aircraft gun systems spat fire, shaking the ground. The glowing rounds soared into the dark and gloomy sky, taking down a few Sukhois. But that was still far too few.
"Run! Get to the bomb shelter!"
A group of refugees suddenly appeared, trying to move forward. They hadn't gone far when they were noticed by Kuznetskozhyan's iron birds. They circled a few times, passing through our defensive network, and didn't hesitate to attack the civilians. In a few brief seconds, Ilaina and I witnessed that terrifying scene in despair, unable to do anything but watch.
One by one, they fell to the ground. Their bodies were torn apart by bullets as thick as a thumb. Their organs spilled out, a disgusting and terrifying sight. They tried to hold back their pain and crawl forward with all their might. But then they died under the fire of the enemy jets. The bullets of the strafing runs flashed on the ground, carrying the blood and entrails of all kinds of people: children, the elderly, and women.
A few soldiers rushed out, intending to save them. But they didn't even save their own lives. Those soldiers were killed even more brutally. They were hit by a torrent of bullets, not even having time to realize they'd been shot.
There was no escape. In the light of the missiles, I dared to look at the grassy fields where the refugees had just desperately run across. Before my eyes was a sea in a fierce storm, with artillery fire flashing across it. But this sea had no water, no white sand beaches, only mangled human bodies in a chaotic mess, with blood flowing like a river.
"This is the 209th company. We are under fire from enemy artillery. Requesting air support. Many people are wounded. Send reinforcements immediately! Get down! Argh!!"
Over the radio came the desperate and mournful screams of the Altirustzkan forces, mixed with the sounds of bombs and the ground being torn apart.
Just as the call for reinforcement ended, four Raptor fighter jets carrying thermobaric and phosphorus bombs flew past us, circling a few times to deceive the enemy radar system. Seeing no obstacles, the jet fighters launched a series of air-to-ground missiles. Immediately, the ground exploded from the missiles' terrible destructive power.
Dirt and rocks flew everywhere. Smoke and fire rose high, as if no living thing could survive after being hit by that round. The aircraft circled back and dropped another round of thermobaric bombs to increase the destruction of the underground tunnels and trenches. The fire blazed like a living hell. The air became suffocating from the heat rising from the massive fires.
"Target has been destroyed. The Kuznetskozhyan army is retreating! All clear."
The eagles flew off. With a series of beautiful acrobatic moves, they rained down the burning light of hell on the fragile little machines on the ground. The fire flared fiercely, moving as if dancing a demonic waltz, incinerating everything on the ground.
Countless waves of attack planes took off. The amount of phosphorus bombs dropped must have been in the tens of tons, but the situation was not much better. We Altirustzkan soldiers had to struggle to fight against an overwhelming number of modernly equipped Kuznetskozhyan shooters. They were completely outnumbered, beaten to pieces, with no armor left on them.
The artillery from below boomed, shaking the earth. The massive 155mm shells rained down on the plains, leveling everything in sight. It even wiped out and killed our own Altirustzkan soldiers.
The four of us could only stay put in a trench, waiting for the bombardment to pass. Our clothes were stained with blood and mud. Our guns were malfunctioning and constantly jamming. Not to mention having to fight against the thousands of Kuznetskozhyan shooters outside who were just waiting to tear their prey apart. Everything was horrible and brutal.
We were still entangled in this seemingly endless, prolonged war. We had experienced all the pain and bitterness of a soldier's life. Killing, watching comrades die, grieving, crying, going into battle. Everything repeated itself like a pre-programmed time machine.
At a certain point, the machine would stop working. That was when a soldier would fall in a foreign place with countless bullet holes in their body or, even more unluckily, die a gruesome death. He or she would die, without knowing why they died, without knowing if anyone would remember their death. Despite having glorious military records, they would be forgotten, sooner or later.
My squad hid behind every corner and every wire post, throwing clusters of grenades at the feet of the charging enemies before retreating. The dry pop of the grenades resonated loudly in our arms and legs.
Hunched low like cats, my comrades and I ran, swallowed by the wave that was carrying us away, making us brutal, turning innocent children into brutal robbers, dangerous killers, and even demons. This wave multiplied our strength in our panic, anger, and desire to live. This wave sought to save and possess us.
I took a deep breath, picked up my rifle, and fired a burst of rounds at the group of soldiers charging in front of me. They fell to the ground, dead in an instant. With a series of practiced motions, I reloaded and continued to pick off the soldiers coming down. I would squeeze the trigger and release it immediately, repeating this. Although it sounds simple, this method helped us significantly reduce the number of enemies.
Ilaina threw a grenade forward, accidentally blowing up an enemy nest. The survivors crawled out with blood-soaked clothes. I raised my gun, sending them to God with a shot straight to the head. That wasn't all. Despite suffering heavy casualties, the Kuznetskozhyan forces were still furiously advancing on our stronghold. Although the squad and I were exhausted, we still fought back in a desperate flurry.
Everyone wanted to live, and the only way to survive was to trample on the lives of others, people who shared a common ancestry, a common bloodline. No matter how kind you are, death will still come. But to avoid death, you have to bestow it on others. People who share the same luxurious ambition as you.
"Mikhail, Augusta, Ilaina, you three find a way to get out of here. Ilaina and I are running out of ammo!" I shouted with all my might.
Ilaina tried to get up, hugging her sniper rifle, and fired another magazine, but she couldn't stop the rain of bullets from the other side. The other two were still fighting hard but hadn't been able to contact reinforcements. It seemed this battle would be a long one. Mikhail suddenly slammed the radio, looking furious as he cursed:
"Motherfucker. No contact! The other teams are also struggling because they were ambushed. We'll have to handle it ourselves. Klaus, how many magazines do you have left?"
I immediately shouted back:
"Almost out, just a few. Do you have a plan? We'll only die here. They're firing too hard. Augusta! It's your turn!"
Meanwhile, the Kuznetskozhyan army was tightening the noose. No matter how many we killed, they kept coming. I quickly ordered the group to retreat from the wreckage of the Mildov helicopter to minimize the risk. However, leaving wasn't that simple. We couldn't even poke our heads out.
Unfortunately, Mikhail took a direct hit to the shoulder and fell, screaming horribly. Augusta ran over, pulled him into the trench, and frantically bandaged his wound. I yelled:
"Mikhail! Are you okay? Are you alive? I told you to keep your head down."
"They're firing so damn hard. Arghh, it hurts so much. I think I was hit by a .50 cal."
"If you were, you'd be in heaven by now. Augusta, get the hemostatic gauze. I'll handle them for Mikhail. Ilaina, you handle the left flank."
In a panic, I snatched Mikhail's PKM machine gun and fired a torrent of bullets. The heat from the barrel was intense, and the spent casings scattered all over the ground. I held my breath and shot down every moving target without the fear I used to feel. After venting all my anger on the people on the other side, I stood up and ordered the entire squad to leave the defensive area.
"Everyone! Let's get out of here, now!"
I pulled Ilaina up and used my body to shield her. I narrowed my eyes, firing rounds at suspected enemy positions. My comrades and I ran for our lives, dodging the rain of enemy bullets. The air was covered in the dust of artillery shells, suffocating and gritty.
"Enemy tank! Get down!"
Mikhail suddenly shouted. Immediately, our group was blown up by an exploding shell, thrown far away. The sound of the bomb disoriented us, and we tumbled into a nearby crater. Mikhail frantically crawled to his feet, an RPG in his hand. Aiming carefully, he fired. The Kuznetskozhyan T-72 exploded, suffering heavy damage to its turret area. The beast continued to move forward.
I put my girlfriend down in a section of the trench and said:
"Wait for me here! Don't go anywhere. I'm going to help Mikhail."
"No, I'll help you. It's too dangerous. I can't let you do this alone. I'll provide cover." Ilaina held my arm, earnestly advising me before I acted.
I leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and said:
"Yeah, I'm going now!"
I lunged out of the crater, accidentally picking up another launcher as I ran. I grabbed it and aimed it at the tank's hull. Ilaina rushed out and threw a dozen grenades at the tank's tracks to distract it. Without a thought or calculation, I fired. The guided anti-tank missile flew past, soared into the sky, then came down, piercing the T-72 from above, indirectly detonating the ammunition compartment inside. The war machine exploded completely, its turret flying dozens of feet into the air. Thick smoke billowed up.
The crew climbed out, screaming in agony from their burns. I took my AK and shot each of them, seeing it as an act of release from this dark world. I sighed with relief and slowly walked back to our hiding place.
"Everyone! We're done. Let's get out of here. The Kuznetskozhyan army will be back soon."
Such were the casualties, but those morons, the ones in charge, still only knew how to indulge in depravity and enjoy life on the blood and bones of soldiers. A bunch of dead dogs. It's miserable that they don't have to suffer any harm while we have to endure so many terrible things. I, Klaus Polskarov, am no longer myself. In this withered body, there is only flesh and bone. Humanity and the emotion of laughter no longer exist.
My group walked to the front of the base and were shocked. Not just my team, but thousands of others were also wounded and dying in the field hospitals. Doctors and nurses moved about busily and hurriedly, their clothes stained with blood and organs. The smell of blood was horrible. Many people had lost their legs, arms, and heads. The number of damaged armored vehicles was also high. Most of them were charred black and severely damaged.
Afterward, because we had achieved many victories, our superiors granted us a few weeks of leave in the rear. In reality, it was to return, evacuate, and help rebuild the home front, serving a long-term war with Kuznetskozhyan. Petrov was transferred to Logravic to fight, just like Dimitri and Viktor...