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Atlas: Back to the Present - Time Travel + Post Apoc + OP MC
CHAPTER 200.5 Day 26 Morning : Meeting the French Soldiers

CHAPTER 200.5 Day 26 Morning : Meeting the French Soldiers

With the scream of the soldier, all eyes looked around.

Before anyone could react, the ground shattered around them as a massive, mutated rhinoceros barreled into the formation, its hide thick and jagged like cracked stone, eyes glowing a sickly yellow. Twice as big as rhinos on Earth and armoured like a bank vault on steroids, the rhinoceros was a juggernaut of doom.

"Incoming!" someone screamed, but it was too late.

BOOM!

The rhino slammed into their ranks, its horn skewering a soldier clean through, tossing him aside like a rag doll. Chaos erupted as more of the mutated beasts appeared from the dust clouds, their enormous, hulking bodies trampling soldiers underfoot. Screams filled the air as men were crushed beneath the creatures' weight.

"Move, move!" a sergeant shouted, frantically trying to rally the troops. "Crossbows up! Take them down!"

The soldiers scrambled to respond, some drawing crossbows, others trying to dive out of the way of the rampaging rhinos. But the beasts were too fast, too strong. One rhinoceros plowed through a group of ten soldiers, flattening them beneath its massive feet before they could even raise their weapons.

"Medic!" a voice cried out in desperation, but there was no time for healing now. It was survival or death.

"Fire!" another sergeant yelled. "Aim for the eyes, or get to the flanks!"

Crossbow bolts flew through the air, some bouncing harmlessly off the rhinos’ armored hides, others striking true. One of the creatures let out a monstrous bellow as a bolt embedded itself in its eye, staggering for a moment before another soldier delivered the killing shot to its throat.

KABOOM,

The first mutated rhino fell.

"Bring it down!" someone shouted.

Two more rhinos crashed into the side of the formation, sending men sprawling. One soldier was sent flying through the air, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. His squadmate, panic in his eyes, scrambled for cover as another beast bore down on him. Soon he was nothing but a memory and paste under its hooves.

"Cromwell!" Benjamin shouted, running up to the major who stood at the front, barking orders as calmly as if he were on a parade ground. "We need to regroup!"

"I know that, Ben!" Major Cromwell snapped, his voice like steel. "Focus fire on the remaining beasts! I want those bastards dead!"

The soldiers regrouped as best they could, their numbers rapidly dwindling. Another rhino collapsed after being hit with a volley of bolts to its flank, but the damage had been done. More soldiers lay dead or dying, their bodies mangled and crushed beneath the rhinos’ charge.

"Medic!" The cries echoed again, more desperate this time.

The last of the mutated rhinos let out a final snarl before collapsing to the ground, arrows sticking out of its hide like grotesque pins in a cushion. The dust settled, and the soldiers stood there, gasping for breath, shaken but alive.

Major Cromwell’s face was stone as he surveyed the carnage. "Get those men patched up," he ordered coldly. "We keep moving. We can’t afford another ambush."

The soldiers, bloodied and exhausted, nodded weakly. There was no time to mourn the fallen. Not here. Not now.

"Someone find those damn medics," one soldier muttered, shaking his head. "We’re not gonna make it at this rate."

Another soldier glanced at the bodies of the trampled men, his face pale. "This place... it just keeps getting worse."

The medics went to work patching up those that they could.

The army left the dead, the rhino corpses and their sense of safety behind. Only taking the mana coins that had been dropped.

Stolen novel; please report.

But despite their exhaustion and the fresh wounds to their morale, the march continued. They had no choice. The promise of the other settlement, of allies, was the only thing keeping their feet moving.

The soldiers in the army led by Major Cromwell were beaten and exhausted, their faces covered in sweat and dust. They marched on, heads hanging low, each step a struggle. But then, a glimmer of hope rose as they saw the flares fire again in the sky, reminding them that safety was not too far away.

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

The flares lit blue in the afternoon light, casting a firework of joy over the bleak landscape. They looked like little beacons that promised an end to all they had suffered. The original two hundred men were now down to one fifty, and of those one fifty, only one hundred and thirty were truly capable of fighting. The rest were wounded or medics and sundry personnel. Major Cromwell hadn’t taken many porters with him to increase their speed. The weight of that decision was felt with every tired breath.

Some of the soldiers, barely holding onto their weapons, began to murmur.

“We’re almost there,” one rasped, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“Think they’ll have food waiting for us?” another whispered, trying to muster a grin through cracked lips.

Major Cromwell, ever the unflinching leader, glanced back at his men, his stern gaze tempered by a flicker of sympathy. They had come too far to let their guard down now, but even he couldn’t deny the sense of relief blooming in his chest.

“Eyes ahead,” he called out. “We’re not home yet, but we’re close. Pick up the pace.”

They marched through the sandy dunes, their feet sinking into the grains with each step. As the landscape began to shift, becoming more craggy and rocky, the air grew tense. But when they saw, not far away, another military unit waiting for them in front of a large, fortified town, the tension eased.

“Those are French uniforms!”

The army cheered, a weak but heartfelt sound. Soldiers clapped each other on the back, their spirits lifting at the sight of friendly faces.

“That’s our ticket out,” one of the men said, his eyes bright with hope.

“Bet there’s a bidet and baguettes in there,” another laughed, his voice shaky but alive with anticipation.

Major Cromwell raised his hand, trying to maintain order. “Stay focused!” he shouted, though the edge in his voice had softened. It was tough, even for him, to suppress the growing excitement. He urged his men forward, his heart beating faster with each step.

The men didn’t need to be told twice. The sight of salvation was all they needed. They moved faster, their weariness temporarily forgotten as they headed toward the smiling soldiers waiting at the town’s front.

But just fifteen feet from safety, everything changed.

Without warning, the ground gave way beneath the leading ranks, the sandy earth collapsing as though it had been waiting for them. The cheers turned into horrified screams as the soldiers in the front half of the army plummeted into a massive pit.

“What the—!” one soldier yelled, his voice cut off as he fell.

Men scrambled backward, some trying to grab those who had been too close to the edge. But it was too late. The weight of their approach had triggered the trap.

The craggy rock on top of the sand had merely been a facade, designed to collapse. And below, jagged spikes made of mana-infused stone awaited them. The sound of bodies striking the spikes was sickening, the screams unbearable.

“Oh God! No!” someone cried out, their voice trembling with shock.

“Help them! We need to—” a soldier shouted, only to be cut off by the sheer chaos that erupted around him.

A few of them tried to rescue their fallen comrades, but it had been too late for most. They were either dead or dying. The spikes had been designed to incapacitate, a cruel fate that left even the strongest men powerless.

The remnants of the broken army, scrambling to escape the pit, were greeted with a sudden storm of crossbow bolts. The ‘thwip-thwip-thwip‘ of the projectiles was unmistakable.

The French soldiers fired into the shocked soldiers that had avoided falling for the pit trap. Some of Cromwell’s army reacted in time and got their shields out, preventing an outright massacre.

The surviving soldiers of Cromwell’s army scrambled away from the pit under the cover of the shields, fear and shock making them clumsy. Major Cromwell’s voice thundered, full of fury and desperation. “Hold your ground, damn you! Hold!”

But his words meant nothing now. The men who once looked to him for orders were retreating, trying to escape. There was no formation, no defense. Only survival.

“Cromwell! We have to move!” one of his officers shouted, turning to him, eyes wide with panic.

But Cromwell stood rooted to the spot, defiance burning in his eyes. “The French will pay for this,” he growled under his breath, but before he could move, a bolt slammed into his chest, the force knocking him back. His hand clutched at the wound, blood spilling between his fingers.

Around him, the fleeing soldiers heard his fall but kept retreating, fear outweighing loyalty. Some of them made it.

Major Cromwell did not.

If they had retreated immediately when the first part of the army had fallen into the pit trap they might have survived. As it was, they fell in droves. The merciless bolts of the crossbows tore through their ranks. Men threw down their burdensome backpacks and excess gear while running for their lives. A proud army in the morning was now a fleeing rabble of men in torn army uniforms and destroyed armor.

The bright afternoon sun shone down, illuminating the carnage painting a devilish picture of the results of Nadir’s plan.

"Fools," Nadir muttered, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

‘‘‘