22:30, 24 June 2047 – Southern Front / Garrison
It took ten days to assemble all the necessary materials, including personnel.Two regiments, one platoon of heavy infantry, an armored railcar equipped with light machine guns and flamethrowers.In total, 220 soldiers were gathered to begin the offensive and deliver the final blow.
Station Taubstummengasse, along with its agricultural production, would fall to the Union.
The Ministry of Defense estimated that moderate losses could amount to one third—a calculated risk for victory.
David and his regiment were selected for this offensive. They would form the first assault wave.
David and his regiment stood on the parade ground of the local garrison.Ninety men and women—fear in their hearts, determination in their minds—stood rigidly at attention before their officer.
The officer stepped onto a cracked concrete platform on which a tall wooden podium had been erected.A dedication was emblazoned upon it:
"They can take our freedom and our lives—but never our honor!"
Behind him stood a political commissar. His task was to ensure morally and politically compliant behavior. With his unit, he would establish a blocking position behind the front. Deserters, cowards, and defectors would be shot on the spot. Only this way, one could force people to run into enemy machine-gun fire. Although this form of military discipline was used in other states as well, the thought alone made David feel sick.
Then the highly decorated officer spoke into the improvised microphone:
"Esteemed comrades and soldiers of the Union."
He cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent; the stillness could be felt even in the last row.
"Our honored Consul and the Supreme Military Council have decided to finally end this war."He paused. The scene resembled a religious service as he spread his arms.
"We will break through the enemy positions and carry victory with us. The path to victory is soaked in the blood of our enemies and walked by our heroes. That is you, esteemed comrades."
At the thought of blood, David felt nauseous. Images of the child pilgrims who had died in the hail of bullets immediately crowded his mind. He risked a glance at his friend Gabriel—but Gabriel hung on the commander's words with open enthusiasm.
"You are the armored fist of our great Union. You will be the first to taste the sweet victory. You are our heroes, and the Consul's heroes. You are the finest of our workers' army."
The speaker raised his left fist and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"For the honor of the Consul!"
Those assembled echoed the cry:
"For the honor of the Consul!"
After this indoctrination, they left the square. A queasy feeling remained in David's stomach. It was not unfamiliar—on the contrary, he knew it all too well. He was afraid—terrified of regretting something. He still had not written to his family. He had hoped the situation would calm down and that he would be demobilized, released back into civilian life. But he had been wrong: he would be sent to the front as one of the first—he, the militia soldier.
They're probably sending us first so those god-fearing bastards waste their ammunition on us instead of the experienced professional soldiers. We're just the army's meat shield.Angrily, he clenched his fist at this realization.
Gabriel noticed and replied mockingly, "Can't wait to pump them full of lead, huh?"
"Oh, come on. I just remembered there's something I still need to take care of," David replied smoothly.
They walked across the marketplace where goods were traded and rations distributed, watching children play in front of freshly painted murals, elderly people sharing stories of earlier days—days when human existence had still been full of warmth. David remembered only a few things: pigeons flocking in the streets, the taste of ice cream, the warmth of the sun. But those days were long gone, a pale echo of the past. He had not been to the surface since. His life consisted of monotonous concrete and rust-red steel—nothing but tunnels and overcrowded stations. People lived like maggots in the tightest spaces, devouring whatever crossed their path. How deep had the fall of the species been that once called itself the crown of creation: it had burned its Eden and marked its children forever—into a time before the fire and a time after the fire.
Before they realized it, they were already standing in front of the post office.
"Wait a moment, I need to send a letter," David waved briefly to his companion.
Gabriel waved him off and rolled himself a cigarette from hemp blossoms.
In front of the counter, countless people crowded together, hoping to receive news from their loved ones.David paid them no attention. Instead, he took a sheet of paper and a pen and began to write a message to his mother—or at least tried to.
Just as when he had been drafted into the army, he did not know how or what to write. Again and again he had postponed it, avoided the unpleasant emptiness. But this time there was no escape. He might already be dead in a few hours—mutilated, frozen in the cold.
His letter would probably arrive in a day or two. Perhaps the death certificate and confirmation of his passing would reach her home even sooner.
He tried to push the thought aside, wrote a short message, signed it, and handed it to the clerk with the three-day beard and the worn, dirty uniform.
Mail service for military personnel was completely free of charge.A small sign of humanity.
Outside stood Gabriel, leisurely turning his hand-rolled coffin nail into smoke.His agitated hands trembled slightly—no one went through a battle unscathed.
"So, did you send your postcard from the front?"the smoker asked with the same joking grin as always.
"Cut it out," David replied.
"Anyone who can't laugh even in the face of death will never be able to."
"Aren't you afraid? I mean… we're the first wave."More quietly, he added:"We're the human shield for those coming after."
Gabriel's smile faded a little.
"Listen. We have to do this. It's our honor and our duty to follow orders."
David snapped at him:"Our duty!? Are you fucking serious? Command is sending us first into the machine-gun fire—and you think that's our duty? Is it really our duty to be torn apart just so the hard-to-replace units remain intact?Where the hell has our humanity gone—our dignity as human beings!?"
The grin vanished completely.Instead, a distorted look crossed Gabriel's face—deep wrinkles, eyes wide open.With one hand, he grabbed David by the collar.
"Calm down, you whiner! Do you want to be transferred to a penal regiment?"
Gabriel glanced around nervously. Apparently, no one had overheard their conversation. Then he continued more quietly, but with firm resolve:
"Yes, we have our orders—for the collective good!Yes, our lives are not important—not because we are worthless,but because we are the sword and shield of the Union! Yes, the sword and shield of all humanity!We fight for the greater good, and you know damn wellthat the individual must submit to the good of all! Or don't you?!"
David avoided his gaze.
"You're right… but we're losing our humanity.We're sacrificing it—and we're murdering it."
Gabriel took a deep breath, then asked softly:"Do you still remember the solidarity lessons at school?"
David nodded.
"If we sacrifice our humanity, we lose a lot.But if we give up our bestiality, we lose everything.The Union makes sacrifices—and tries to preserve as much humanity as possible.But it's a difficult fight. One you can only lose…because the counterrevolutionaries are willing to use every treacherous tactic."
He let go of him. A moment later, they embraced.David could feel from Gabriel's heartbeat that they were both equally afraid.
They walked back in silence.In two hours, they would fulfill their duty.