Battles Never Fought

A Story by C.D.B Brennan

Sergeant Nicholas Cretch had just made it to the line not a day ago.

It wasn't his first rotation in the Western Front, he and his platoon of twenty four had been through it no less than seven times before. A month a piece, it became a venal routine after a while, even the bombardments.

In rain the waterlogged trench was little more than a stagnant river which lacked flow. Choked with muck and filth and the occasional floating rat corpse. Nick had long since accepted that he wasn't going to be dry, warm, or comfortable while stationed there. The western front never seemed to have anything less than terrible weather. Perhaps that was the trade off for seeing less combat than what was common in the east.

Nick snuffed his cigarette - he needed to bum more off one of the privates - and stood up. His legs ached and his feet hurt, one spent a lot of time crouched over in a trench and it was no good for the joints. He adjusted his soft cap and picked up his rifle.

Carefully, very carefully he slowly peeked over the lip of his protective burrow. There was a risk to this action, there always was, but he was required to do so periodically all the same. Besides, Nick had done this countless times before, what were the chances that this would be the day? Either way, it was his duty to look for any sign of Kaiser Constantine's armies on the move.

He didn't see any. He only saw the seemingly endless expansive wastes which divided His Land from Their Land. Muddy stretches pockmarked with deep shell holes filled with toxic water. The derelict remains of trees, barbed wire, and rotting corpses. Somewhere across that uncrossable place sat the Great Enemy. Nick wondered if they were as uncomfortable as he was, he doubted it, word was that the soldiers of Valcoria were sitting quite comfortably.

Nick lowered himself back into the harsh safety of his trench and began to move along the line, always careful to keep his head just below its lip as the bobbing movement could attract sniper fire.

Scattered evenly along the line he would find the rest of his platoon. Right next to his position was Corporal David Rynlov. He'd actually been in longer than Nick, who suspected he only outranked him because of confident family ties. Still, Rynlov didn't seem too upset about it, and provided an experienced voice in the group.

"Another glorious day, ain't it?" Rynlov asked, water dripping off the brim of his cap as he hunkered down under a poncho.

"All in the name of the Commonwealth," Nick replied. "Meal times soon, hopefully Top managed to cook something warm."

"Warm? Yes, edible? I doubt it." 

"You'll eat it all the same, carry on."

"Aye, sergeant."

Nick moved on, heading down the line a few meters to where he knew Private Fredrick Bennick was. He found him peering over the lip of the trench, yet he was much too exposed. Nearly his entire head was over the top and in clear sight lines. Nick expected him to pop back down to greet him but even as Nick took his time approaching the private didn't move. Not even as Nick walked right up him.

"What is it, Private? Spot something?" Nick asked, noticing the intensity of Bennick's gaze. Yet he didn't move, he remained in place, rifle at his shoulder, his jaw muscles flexed tight.

"Private? Step down," Nick said, louder. Still Bennick didn't move, he had never disobeyed a direct order before and it was very unlike him.

"Private! I said step down before you get shot!" Nick said as he grabbed Bennick by the collar and dragged him away from the lip of the trench, this seemed to jolt him out of whatever fit he was having.

"Oh, hello Sergeant," Fredrick Bennick said, staring at Nick with strange eyes.

"What's the problem with your hearing, private? I've never had to tell you twice to do something before." Nick asked.

"Nothing wrong with my ears, Sergeant, was just looking for the enemy like I was told," Bennick said with hollow tones.

"That's fine lad, but you don't need to poke your whole head over the top, or ignore your sergeant when he's speaking to you!"

"Sorry, I think I'm just... Tired... Sergeant," Bennick looked down.

"Tired? Lad we're in the quietest piece of the western front, this is practically being on leave, you get twelve hour rest periods, full meals, and a very light workload," Nick said firmly. "There's nothing to be tired about, perhaps if you took time to sleep rather than dreaming about girls you would feel better."

"I do sleep, Sergeant... I'm not sure what's the matter, I've not been feeling right for the past few weeks... Very not right," Bennick said.

"Private..." Sergeant Cretch said, narrowing his eyes. "We were all medically cleared before being sent to this position, you know that and I know that, it isn't not possible that you are ill with anything other than perhaps the sniffles! Or more likely! Cowardice!"

"No sergeant!" Bennick said shamefully.

"I would hate to think so, private!" Nick said. "Soldiers need their courage, do you smoke, private?"

"No sergeant."

"Then start, settles the nerves," Nick said. "I didn't read your file when you were transferred from the 22nd, were you with them long enough to see action?"

"I.. Uh-" Bennick stuttered.

"-I thought not," Nick said, cutting in before Bennick could answer. "Perhaps that is the problem, men do fear what they haven't experienced. Hm, the word around us that Colonel Skalov will be ordering several raids in this sector to test enemy defences, perhaps I should recommend you for a position on one of them? A good spat with the enemy might temper your nerve."

"No! Please! I don't want to go, sergeant!" Bennick shouted out, his eyes bulging as he began to shake like a leaf.

"Steady man! You swore an oath to the Commonwealth and the Lord Commander to fight and die, and I will make you do that, you'll either go over there and get shot by an M.G or I'll do it myself!" Sergeant Nick Cretch snapped, his anger igniting. What luck of his to be in command of such a spineless reprobate!

"B-but sergeant..." Bennick whimpered.

"This is not a discussion, private, I shall put in the request immediately and you will await further orders, am I understood, private?" Nick said.

"...yes, sergeant," Bennick said, his voice steady, but hollow and defeated.

"Good, carry on," Nick said, immediately marching past the private. He really needed that smoke now, he wondered if Racktov would be kind enough to...

The distinctive sound of a weapon action moving reached his ears, the slide of metal on metal, and the click as the round slid into place. Nick spun around, shouldering his rifle, fully expecting to see an enemy raid appear on them. There wasn't any, no, all he saw to his great shock was Private Fredrick Bennick, aiming his own rifle into his mouth and in the midst of pulling the trigger.

"No..." Nick's initial call was croaked with shock. "Wait... DON'T!"

That was the first shot fired by 4th platoon in the western sector in the two month span they had been there.

The weekly report sent out by Major Edward Cretch, the commanding officer of the 87th Company of which Private Fredrick Bennick had been a part of, read as follows: "Nothing to report at this time. All quiet on the western front"

Chunwall, The Iron Tower, The Home Front, 0800Hours, 22/11/1920

Field Marshal Alexander Jackauv wondered if he'd ever run out of room for medals on his uniform.

As humorous as the thought was he doubted it. They don't give medals to you after you hit a certain rank, that wasn't an official rule of course, but who wanted to watch a desk jockey get a gold medallion pinned to his chest? No, young strong-jawed frontlinesmen got medals for killing enough, junior officers got medals for inspiring their men to kill enough, brass like Alex got to sign the letters for the ones who didn't make it back.

Alex ran a brush along his tunic sleeves, trying to catch any spare hairs or fluff. Absentmindedly he wondered if there was anything he could have done to avoid having gotten to this position. He'd always considered himself a line officer, one to be down there in the mud with the men. It was why he'd avoided being promoted each and every time. Eventually though, he was just too good at his job to be anything less than a Colonel and that was the end of Alexander Jackhauv's combat career. So started the strategy conferences, the meetings, the paperwork, and the politics.

Though as Alex sighed to himself in forlorn reminiscence, the door opened, and his beautiful wife Katrina entered. Her eyes glittering, her smile warm, and her abdomen showing signs of swelling; telling that their child was growing inside her. At this sight, Field Marshal Alexander Jackhauv decided that maybe being away from the front wasn't so bad.

"How long will it be this time?" Kat asked, approaching and softly kissing her husband's cheek. She then began fussing with his uniform tie.

"Only a month, dear," Alex. "And we're only reviewing the back lines, speaking with the company and regiment commanders, I won't place a single foot in a trench I swear."

"Better not," Kat said.

"And I won't be alone," Alex continued. "Nat and Morana will be with me."

"Ah yes, a whole month with two beautiful young girls," Kay said, rolling her eyes.

"I doubt either would care for my advances... Not that I would make any," Alex said.

"I know you wouldn't, just teasing," Kat said, giving him another kiss, and then another, they shared a third before there was a knock on the door.

"Sir? Your transport is here, they're waiting," called the Military Police Officer.

"Yes, yes, I'll be right there," Alex said, reluctantly pulling away from Katrina.

Kat smiled and helped him place the last piece of his uniform. The white belt upon which hung two weapons; his sword, and his pistol. Alex sometimes reflected on the duality of them. The obsolete sword and the brutalist practical revolver. He carried one for fighting, he carried the other as a symbol. Though it was not long ago that one would charge the enemy lines saber at the ready, those days were gone, machine guns had a way of ending such glorious actions.

"Alright, I best get going, or I won't go at all," Alex said.

"Be safe, and come back," Kat said. "Promise me."

"I promise."

Alex allowed the MP to escort him down stairs from his office in the Iron Tower to the drill yard below. There he saw the Red Guard running through some drills, their fine black uniforms trimmed with red accents and their boots gleaming with polish. Alex recalled his stint as Captain of the Guard, back when they were still just that, the guard, and the age of the sword was still relevant. Oh how times had changed.

A buggy awaited him, it's engine still sputtering and standing by it enjoying cigarettes were his travel companions.

"Nice to see you again, sir, it's been a while," Captain Natasha Nalklov said, snuffing out her smoke in the cobblestones to salute Alex who returned the gesture.

"Too long, Irontide," Alex said, and Natasha rolled her eyes at the use of her nickname.

"They call me that on the battlefield, Marshal, not here," Natasha said, flexing her mechanical replacement arm. "I still don't understand why they dragged me from the East for brass work like this."

"You know I value your input, Nat," Alex said. "And the other Tops agree, not to mention it looks good for The Irontide to be seen taking an interest in the strategy making process."

"Basically it's a publicity stunt," Commander Morana Dunlock said, she hadn't snuffed her smoke nor saluted Alex, they'd known each other too long for that. "I suppose congratulations are in order for your promotion, Field Marshal."

"Please, I'm going stir crazy sitting at desks all day," Alex chuckled. "Still, at least I'll be able to stretch my legs a little with this parade."

"You know we ain't allowed to actually see the front right? Even though that's what we're supposed to be reviewing?" Morana asked.

"That's the one perk with the rank, Moe, I can bend the rules more than a little," Alex laughed again. "Just don't tell my wife."

"How is Katrina? I hear you two got a little soldier on the way," Natasha asked.

"That's right, she's getting bigger by the day, and she doesn't care for it."

"Boy or girl?" Morana asked.

"We don't know, decided we'd rather it be a surprise."

"I'm sure you'll have them running PT on the daily either way," Morana said, finally snuffing her smoke. "C'mon, trains waiting."

They climbed into the buggy and the driver sped them down the street towards the train station. The early morning had barely dawned on Chunwall yet they could see the labourers already shuffling to their assigned roles, their backs bent and their eyes tired. Their brown coats wrapped against the northern chill.

The buggy drove them to the train which sat steaming in wait. The privilege of rank granted them a car all to themselves. They sat themselves together in a large dining compartment where aids jumped at the chance to serve them drink, food, anything they needed.

Alex declined while Natasha and Morana ordered stiff drinks and they both rolled fresh cigarettes. Nat offered one to Alex.

"No thank you, haven't had the taste for it ever since I got transferred back to the home front," Alex said.

"I don't believe it, I remember you chomping on a cigar every day when we were at Angronta," Morana said, lighting her smoke.

"So where is our first stop anyway?" Natasha asked, taking a drag from her cigarette as an aid placed a glass of rum in front of her.

"We'll be joining the 87th in the far end of the west, they're on rotation between the front and Fort Carcerem, then we'll be moving down the line from there," Alex said.

"Who's the C.O?" Morana asked.

"Major Edward Cretch, and he answers to Colonel Skalov who will be joining just at Carcerem," Alex said.

"West has been sitting pretty the past eight months, so the boys ought to be having a grand old time," Natasha said.

"Official reports say everything's quiet and spirits are high," Alex said.

"And unofficially?" Morona asked.

"We'll find out."

The Commonwealth landscape raced by in a blur of colours. Alex watched as the greens and blues gave way to dimmer tones. The land turned rocky and cold, the colours fading to darker greys and browns. What towns they did pass were dilapidated and in ruin. Shell holes pockmarked the ground in increasing frequency as they approached the front.

They pulled into the station of a long evacuated town whose name was long lost in gunfire. All of the buildings and houses were abandoned, with many being repurposed as field hospitals or lodgings for additional personnel. It was just east of the town, placed upon a hill, where Fort Carcerem sat. A miserable collection of concrete bunkers, artillery, and barracks.

A car took them up the hill and through the main gates of Carcerem. Alex observed the men marching past, performing duties of various purposes. Nothing seemed immediately out of the ordinary, but the devil was in the details.

A welcoming party awaited them. A colours party sporting the Commonwealth standard alongside the regimental flag, a winged skull on a red background. They came to attention and presented arms as the officers saluted. Alex stepped off the transport with Morana and Natasha close behind. They returned the salute and the regimental officers approached. 

"Colonel Joseph Skalov at your service, sir," said the first, a surprisingly young man  for his rank. His medals told of a relatively short service unmarked by any acts of bravery.

The second officer, who identified myself as Major Edward Cretch, was a different story. By his medals he had been in almost twice as long as his superior, and seen much more combat. Two separate medals for being wounded in combat and many for bravery. The Major peered at Alex with sharp eyes, his jaw set in a permanent clenched frown behind a thick mustache. This man had been tempered by war rather than burned by it.

Alex knew which one he liked more.

"...You'll find that Carcerem and indeed this entire sector are meeting operational standards tenfold, sir," Skalov was saying.

"Hm? Ah, yes, well, that remains to be seen, but I'm sure you boys here are keeping it together in this quiet time," Alex said.

"No casualties in over six months, other than the flu," Natasha said. "Least that's what reports read, still true?"

"Of course," Skalov answered, gaining a look, more of a glare from Major Cretch which was gone in a second. Yet not before Alex caught it.

"Count yourselves lucky, east is rarely quiet even for a moment," Natasha said.

"I hope you've been making good use of that time, complacency would do you no good when the enemy inevitably attacks," Morana said.

"Allow me to prove myself, please," Skalov said, gesturing for them to follow. Alex fell in next to the Colonel while Major Cretch fell back next to Captain Natasha Nalklov.

"Glad you're here, Irontide," The Major said in low tones.

"And I'm glad to see another face from Marginchester, that hit you took still bothering you?" Natasha asked.

"Only on the coldest nights," Cretch said.

"Now, tell me what's really going on around here," Natasha asked, causing Cretch to glance at the Colonel who was chatting Alex's ear off.

"Can't say without the brass hearing," the Major said.

"You are the brass now, remember?"

"Who knows why I agreed to that," Cretch huffed. "But listen, he isn't telling you everything. I can tell you everything later, with less gilded ears around."

The Colonel led them to the primary structure of the base. A prominent bunker which stood only slightly larger than the rest, likely most of it was underground. The MP's saluted them as they entered. Inside was quite lavish for a bunker, with comfy looking furniture and cabinets full of fine drinks and cutlery. In the center was a large table decorated with a miniature recreation of the western front, with small hills, trenches, and brightly coloured pieces to represent Commonwealth and Valcorian forces.

"As you can see, we've built up the fortifications on this line to such a degree that enemy attacks have ceased completely," Colonel Skalov explained. "We haven't even seen a raid for at least three months. This has allowed us to hold our sector with little to no effort, and at this stage? An enemy assault would be suicide for them."

"That explains why you boys have been getting so much quiet time," Morana said. "So what have the men been up to other than digging fresh murder holes?"

"Well we didn't want the lads to grow fat, so we've doubled our drills and over the past few months we've been continuously probing their lines with hit and run raids and bombardments," Skalov explained.

"But no planned assaults?" Natasha asked.

"Well no, no point is there? There would be no strategic value at this time to mounting any kind of large scale incursion, I'll leave such plans to the High Command," Skalov said, offering a nod to Alexander.

Alex exchanged a subtle glance at Natasha and tweaked an eyebrow, Natasha raised hers in reply. They waited as some aides came in to serve them refreshments, Alex declined, Morana and Natasha accepted drinks and fresh cigarettes, Skalov accepted whisky, Cretch accepted none.

"Perhaps you might indulge me with a more detailed breakdown of the fort's defensive capabilities here while the Major entertains the Commander and Captain here with a tour of their own."

"Well I could always take you all on a tour after we-" Skalov began.

"-No, I think Captain Nalklov would like to see the Fort herself," Alex said. Skalov visibly paled and glanced at Natasha who stared at him evenly, the Colonel cleared his throat.

"Of course," He said. "Major Cretch can show them around."

"Splendid," Alex said as Cretch led Natasha and Morana back outside. They strolled a little ways down the muddy road before Cretch dipped between two large diesel fuel tanks.

"Alright Ed, what's going on around here," Natasha said, fishing a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it with a lighter that Morana offered.

"There was an incident about a week back," Cretch said. "Official report states no casualties, that is a lie."

"How many did you lose then?" Morana asked.

"Just one."

"And why would a Colonel want to lie and cover up an individual death? Not exactly going to reflect badly on him for losing a single soldier," Morana said.

"Fuck, I think they give out metals for that," Natasha said.

"What concerns the Colonel is the nature of that single casualty, Private Fredrick Bennick did not die of enemy attack, accident, or disease," Cretch said. "Private Bennick shot himself with is own rifle."

"....Damn," Natasha said.

"Had the west been more active it would have been overlooked," Cretch said. "But the first death on the western front in months being suicide? That gains attention."

"Any ideas why the kid did it?" Morana asked. "Trouble on the home front perhaps?"

"That's just it, I looked into it from that angle, he was happy at home, loving parents, girl he was sweet on," Cretch said. "Just doesn't add up, have you heard of anything like this?"

"I've heard of it happening *during* battle, men will take their own lives rather than be captured, but this isn't that," Natasha said. "Who else knows?"

"Just me, the colonel, and the sergeant who saw it," Cretch looked upset. "Only reason I agreed to keep this hush hush because of it got out it would destroy moral, which isn't doing as good as the colonel would have you believe."

"Who's the sergeant?" Morana asked.

"My son, Nicholas," Cretch said, his jaw tight.

"....Ed I'm sorry, is he alright?" Natasha asked, placing a hand on Edward's shoulder.

"He says he's fine, but I know he's not been real quiet ever since," Edward said. "It's my fault for pushing him up the ranks too fast."

"Don't blame yourself for all this, Ed, just be there for him," Natasha said.

"I'm trying, but there are bigger things at play here," Cretch said. "Something isn't adding up, there's no good reason a young lad like that would do anything of this sort, there's something missing."

"Have you looked into his personal effects yet?" Morana asked.

"Colonel has them under lock and key, really I think he wants to keep anyone from panicking,” Cretch said. “Which I can’t blame him for, but he also hasn’t let me or any MP near them either, It’s his intention to make this whole thing disappear.”

“We can’t have that,” Natasha said. “This question needs an answer, that boy has a mother who needs closure.” 

“Where are his belongings now?” Morana asked. 

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Locked in a storage bunker, guarded by the Colonel’s personal aids, won’t let me in even when I pull rank,” Edward said. 

“Can we not simply demand that our dear Colonel Skalov admit what has happened and show us what we need to see?” Natasha asked in a huff. 

“He’ll deny it, and have his men either destroy the evidence or move it before we can see it,” Creche said. “Colonel Skalov considers this incident a threat to his professional career.” 

“He can take his professional career and toss it into the abyss,” Natasha growled.

“He will, but first we need proof,” Morana said. “We cannot simply force our way past his men, that’s unfair to them after all, I say we find a way to infiltrate that storage bunker and find what we need then confront Skalov with sufficient evidence.” 

“A raid behind our own lines?” Cretch asked, raising an eyebrow. “These are strange times.” 

“Been long since the times have been normal,” Natasha said.

“Indeed, now show us to the bunker,” Morana said. 

The bunker lay on the north end of the base. No one questioned the brass trio as they made their way towards it, the soldiers who were shuffling along with their duties merely saluted them. Some made eye contact, most didn’t. 

The bunker was one of the more unassuming ones, old but sturdy and out of the way. A half cylinder of concrete buried into the ground. Two corporals stood on either side of the metal door entrance, a silver band around their arm marking them as some manner of elite guard in the regiment. Really this just meant they were the Colonel’s personal men. Edward, Morana, and Natasha stood behind a nearby pile of gravel. 

“How do you suppose we get by?” Edward asked. 

“If they’re in Skalov’s pocket then they aren’t too bright,” Morana said. “A diversion should be enough.” 

“They’ll suspect something of me,” Cretch said. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Natasha said, coming out from their cover and walking briskly towards the two men, acting as if she was on some important task. Natasha actually walked right past them, not even sparing them a glance before she stropped in her tracks and paused for a moment looking in the direction she had been walking. Natasha turned around on her heel and approached the nearest of the corporals, walking right up until she was just a little too close to him. 

“There’s something off about your presentation, if you don’t mind me saying so, Corporal,” Natasha said. 

“...Ma’am?” The corporal asked, turning to look at her in confusion. 

“I did not tell you to move!” Natasha snapped. “Nor did I give you permission to look at m! Face front!” 

“Yes ma’am!” the Corporal said, snapping his gaze back to the front.

“There is mud on your boots, Corporal,” Natasha said matter-of-factly, pointing at the Corporal’s boots. 

“Uh,” the Corporal said, looking down at his boots.

“I did not tell you to move!” Natasha snapped. “Now why are your boots dirty! Answer me!” 

“B-because it rained, ma’am!” 

“Are you giving me excuses, corporal?” Natasha growled. 

“W-wha you asked m-” 

“That is gross insubordination, corporal!” Natasha snapped. “Now standby.” 

“You!” Natasha snapped, addressing the other Corporal. 

“Y-yes, ma’am!” he said. 

“Are you this one’s Fireteam Partner?” Natasha asked. 

“...Yes, ma’am?” the Corporal answered. 

“Then it might behoove you to assist him in unfucking himself,” Natasha said. “Now both of you crouch walk with your rifles to that scrap depot and back, move now!” 

Without delay the two corporals sprung into action, crouching side by side and addling away with their rifled held above their heads, leaving the storage bunker unguarded. Natasha stood by with her hands on her hips, a little smirk on her face as Edward and Morana broke cover to join her. 

“That was fun,” Natasha said. 

“One of these days I’ll nab you to run drills,” Cretch said. 

“Not on your life, now let’s see what’s what,” Natasha said. 

The door was locked naturally but with a quick application of lockpicks from Morarna it became unlatched and open to them. Inside was dimly lit and crowded, boxes upon boxes of documents, telegrams, acquisition forms and requisition forms. Only one thing was out of place, a steel barracks box which sat pushed against a corner and secured with a padlock. 

Natasha simply broke the lock by smashing it with the butt of the pistol until it snapped off. They opened the barracks box, the contents they found unassuming. Spare uniform, some personal clothes, and books. More than a few books actually. 

They began rifling through everything, Natasha took the journal into her hands, wiping off some dust and grime with her metallic hand and carefully opening it. The thing had been dunked in the water more than a few times, Natasha did her best to be gentle as she flipped through the pages. 

Most of the entries were benign and unassuming, talking about where Fredrick Bennick had been and such things. Seems that Bennick had spent most of his time on the western front, not seeing much action until…

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the beginning of the entry, Solbore, December 22nd, 1912.

“Ed,” Natasha said, getting his attention. “Bennick was at Solbore during the attack.” 

“Really?” Edward asked. “I was under the impression that it was mostly civilian casualties, military personnel either evacuated or died.” 

“Seems like…” Natasha read the entry. “He was exposed to the gas but survived, he describes it burning his throat but it not being that bad, he was medically cleared afterwards.” 

“I don’t recall that being recorded in his file,” Cretch said. 

“Solbore wasn’t considered a combat scenario since the gas attack was targeted at civilians,” Natasha said. “Morana, you would’ve read the innocent report for that, anything stand out?” 

“Other than the casualties the only thing was that… they couldn’t identify the compound that the Valcorians used, wasn’t one they had ever used on the front, it baffled the bluecoats something fierce… what are you thinking?” 

“I’m not sure yet, but his entries get progressively more dreary after that, seems he became extremely anxious and afraid.”

“Hm, but why? Gas attacks here are rare since last year, and he had been medically cleared,” Cretch said. 

“I think it’s time we brought this to the Colonel,” Morana said. “You think you could get your boy to act as a witness to the incident?” 

“I’m sure he’d be willing,” Cretch said. 

“Meet us back at the command bunker in ten,” Natasha said. 

They split apart; Natasha and Morana wandered around the base casually. No one would really question why they were there after all, they just killed time to make it seem like they actually went on a tour with Cretch. Natasha mulled over what she had read in Fredrick’s journal, why did it seem familiar? 

They all met up once again outside the Colonel’s bunker. Cretch arriving with a young man that bore a striking resemblance to him, a younger Cretch that wasn’t perpetually upset at the world. Sergeant Nicholas Cretch did look very tired though, with dark circles and bags under his eyes and a hollowed look; indicating he likely wasn’t eating or sleeping much. His eyes stared off into the distance at nothing in particular. 

“Sergeant, are you alright?” Natasha asked. 

Nicholas took a long moment to respond. Looking as if he only just barely heard the words spoken to him. 

“Yes… ma’am,” he said, his voice was rough and dry. “I’m fine.” 

“You understand what’s expected of you?” Natasha asked. 

“The boy will do his duty, always has,” the older Cretch said, overcutting his son and clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, I’m eager to put that worm Skalov in his place.” 

They entered the bunker to find Alex and Skalov in more or less the same place that they had left them. Alex looked rather worse for wear as the Colonel had apparently been chatting and brown nosing the whole time they were gone. Skalov’s expression darkened when he saw the Sergeant accompanying them inside. 

“Major this is most inappropriate,” Skalov said. “This is a meeting between officers not-” 

“Sergeant Cretch has something he wishes to report to you, sir,” Natasha interrupted Skalov. 

“This is blatant insubordination and-” 

“Colonel,” Alex spoke softly but his voice commanded the room. “I’ve been listening to you bark my ears off for longer than I would care for, I think that the Sergeant could have a turn.” 

Skalov looked like he wanted to retort but Field Marshal Alexander Jackauv’s cold gaze made him swallow his words. Alex turned a much kinder look to Nicholas. 

“At ease, Sergeant, and speak freely,” he said. 

“Y-yes, sir,” Nicholas stuttered. He then seemed to struggle to speak. 

“Out with it, boy,” Cretch growled. 

“I’m…. sorry, it’s difficult…” Nicholas mumbled. 

“What’s difficult about it?” Cretch barked. “Just tell the Field Marshal what happened, with detail.”

“We…” Nicholas took a deep breath. “We had only been at the front for a day, my platoon and I, Private Fredrick Bennick was new to us relatively speaking; when I first approached him he was staring over the lip of the trench with a strange look on his face, he didn’t move after I called his name only after I grabbed him.... I… I lectured him, threatened to put him on the next raid if he didn’t sharpen up, then I turned to leave and…” 

“And?” Cretch pushed. 

“Da- sir, please, just give me a moment,” Nicholas' voice cracked. 

“A moment for what, boy? Out with it,” Cretch demanded. 

“Private Bennick shot himself!” Nicholas burst out, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking. 

Everyone present was quiet for a long moment. Alex’ face was unreadable before he spoke in very even tones. 

“Major, have an MP take a statement from Sergeant Cretch and each member of his platoon immediately,” Alex said. 

“Yessir,” Major Cretch said, turning to his son. “Get your boys together and in their barracks quick like.” 

Nicholas left and his father stepped out briefly to send a runner to the Military Police station before returning inside. 

Alex hadn’t moved and stood still, pinching the bridge of his nose while he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“I read your last field report,” Alex said, slowly. “I read every report, there was no mention of this, not one.” 

“Sir, I only-” 

“There is a mother out there who does not know her son is dead,” Alex said. “A letter that wasn’t written, tears that haven’t fallen, a grave left undug; did you even pay the boy proper respects? Or were you perfectly content to let his death go unmarked and unhonoured?” 

“Sir, I only-” 

“-There is no excuse, no reason you could possibly give me that could justify this,” Alex said. “A full inquiry will be launched of this incident and your leadership, and mark my words the Lord Commander will hear of this; now do us all a service and keep your poisonous words to yourself I have no desire to hear them.” 

Colonel Skalov didn’t say anything, merely sat down and topped off his whiskey with shaking hands. Alex rubbed his temples, the migraine was slowly growing. 

“There’s something else, Alex,” Natasha said. 

“I never like it when you say that, Nat,” Alex said. “What is it?” 

“We found the boys journal,” Nat said, holding it up. “Seems he was at Solbore.”

“During the gas attack?” Alex asked. “How? I would have known, we were asking for witnesses for months after.” 

“Seems somehow he slipped through the cracks,” Morana said. “That gas… no one had ever seen anything like it had they?” 

“Correct,” Alex said. “But what are you both suggesting.” 

“You hear rumours from the front, Alex,” Morana said. “Soldiers talk, about experimental weapons of the enemy, not just bigger bombs, but things that effect the mind.”

“You think that this gas affected Bennick’s mind?” Alex asked. 

“What other explanation could there be?” Morana asked. “Otherwise his erratic behaviour makes no sense.” 

“But why would the effects continue so long after exposure?” Alex asked. 

“It’s possible that similar weapons have been deployed here in the west,” Natasha said. “But they have been refined to be undetectable.” 

“If that is the case then others could be at risk…” Alex pondered. 

“We don’t know anything yet,” Cretch said. “But I wouldn’t put it past those dome-headed bastards to try something so underhanded.” 

“Maybe we should interrogate the entire fort,” Morana said. “Review every combat encounter every man has had in the past six months and find any common ground, or any symptoms that might be popping up.” 

“That’s a lot of time and manpower,” Alex pondered. 

“What about-” Natasha was cut off by frantic knocking at the door which Cretch opened to see a random corporal standing there, pale faced and panting. 

“Major, sir, you must come quickly!” the corporal said. “He’s having some sort of… fit!” 

“What? What are you on about? Who-” 

“Your son, sir! It’s your son!” the corporal said in distress, and Edward Cretch paled. 

“Nicholas…” Cretch shoved past the corporal; followed quickly by Alex, Natasha, and Morana. A crowd was gathering and people were staring and shouting in a cacophony of confusing sounds and movement when in the mix a single gunshot rang out and everyone scattered for cover. Except Cretch, who pushed past everyone who blocked his path. 

“Nicholas!” he called out in increasing desperation. “Nicholas!” 

Alex struggled to push past the scattering crowd while following Cretch, but he eventually came through to find a most horrible scene. Edward Cretch kneeling over the limp body oh his son, his knees soaking in the pool of blood that was quickly forming around. A few meters away stood an MP, who was still pointing his pistol forward, a shocked look stricken on his face. His hand was shaking. 

“I… I had no choice, he just… came at me…” the MP stuttered. 

“Medic!” shouted Natasha, as she ran over and knelt opposite Cretch. “Medic!” 

“...It’s too late, he’s already gone,” Cretch’s voice sounded hollow, no emotion. 

“What the hell happened?” Alex rounded on the MP. 

“He was having some sort of fit!” the MP exclaimed. “I was interrogating him about the incident with Bennick and he just… started crying and wailing like a damn animal, babbling like a madman, and when I tried to keep questioning him he just… came at me, like a beast… I had to!”

Alex approached and ripped the pistol out of the MP’s shaking hand, he was about to let loose a flurry of verbal abuse when he realized that the crowd was gathering again. Privates, corporals, and all ranks forming a mass circle around the scene; gawking with mostly horrified expressions. 

“Commander!” Alex shouted over to Morana. “I want this crowd gone!” 

“Sir,” Morana acknowledged. “Alright! Disperse! Return to your duties! That is an order, move along!” 

There was hesitation among the crowd, glances echanged, shuffling of feet. Everyone too caught up in what they were seeing to really move. 

“Did that sound like a fucking question?” Morana snapped. “Get the fuck out of here! Or I’ll every man here before the mast? Do you understand!?” 

“Morana,” Natasha said, in a still voice. 

“You are being ordered to move along! Fucks sake, stop gawking and get back to your stations!” Morana continued shouting. 

“Morana!” Natasha snapped. “Listen!” 

All fell silent and listened, those who were attuned to it, who spent their lives hearing every sound of the battlefield could notice it. A subtle whine, which made their hearts sink. 

“Ah fuck…” Morana said. 

“INCOMING!” Natasha shouted as the whistle of artillery became audible to everyone. Alex’s muscles moved almost of their own accord as he hit the dirt, he heard the soldiers around him screaming and running in fear as all semblance of their training went in their panic. 

The first shell landed very close to where they all were, shaking the ground violently. A relentless bombardment followed, throwing dirt and smoke into the air so thick it became hard to breath. The great tremors rocked one to their very bones and the sounds soon went from individual noises to a thick heavy almost tangible pressure of sound which pressed down upon one’s ears and head. 

Alex’s hearing was nothing but a distant whine for several moments after the shells stopped dropping. He heard the sounds of voices and screaming seemingly very far away until his ear adjusted and Morana’s voice shouted out clear. 

“Stand to! Stand to! Stand to!” Morana shouted “Attend your battle stations! Artillery crews return fire! Stand to! Stand to! Stand to!”

Though her voice was clearly heard it had little effect on the chaos that had sunk in. Men screamed and clutched their heads, hysteria grasping them tight and robbing them of all sense as they all screamed their terrors to the wind. 

“Oh god, we’re all going to die!” 

“Run! Get out! Save yourselves!”

“Abandon hope! Abandon your posts! Flee!” 

Alex picked himself off the ground, his head swimming from the assault of sound it had just suffered. He looked around, he saw that several men had been caught in the bombardment; what remained of them strewn about in bloody messes. Those who survived were stricken in their panic, either silent and catatonic with fear or screaming nonsensically in their mania. Alex shut his eyes tight, and he was somewhere else, somewhere from the past. The same sounds, the same smells and sights, but it bore the name Marginchester

“ENOUGH!” Field Marshal Alexander Jackauv’s battlefield voice boomed almost as strongly as the artillery. “Panicking will see you dead! Stand to your battle stations, by my order, you are men and women of the Commonwealth and you will see through this hardship!”  

It took significantly much more yelling and corralling but eventually they got the men to their stations and soon their artillery was returning fire in dividends. They corralled the rest into their battle stations with unstable moral at best. It was the first time in quite a while that Alex had assumed his role like this; it felt like old times. 

When it was all said and done with Alex took a moment and sought out Edward Cretch. He found him alone, standing in the makeshift graveyard that had been set up for the base. A freshly dug grave before him and a dirty spade on the ground. There was no gravestone, just a post hammered into the ground. 

Alex approached and stood to Cretch’s side, removing his cap respectfully. He was silent for several minutes. This part was never easy; and Alex never really knew what to say, whether it be in person or in a letter. 

“He’ll be given full military honours,” Alex said, softly. “Bravery, distinguished service, I’ll make sure he’s remembered…” 

Cretch didn’t say anything, just stared at the grave with the same hard set stony expression he always had. 

“...I can have it recorded he fell in the line of duty too, if you want,” Alex continued. “Looks better.” 

“...I was the one who pushed him,” Cretch finally spoke. “I advocated for his promotion, for him to have his own platoon, I pushed too hard; he wasn’t ready and I couldn’t see that, I just wanted him to follow my career…” 

“Edward…” Alex said. “This… This wasn’t your fault.” 

That was when Edward Cretch finally turned to look at Alex, and the look on his face terrified Alex so much he took a step away. Grief, sorrow, rage, pain. All these things were stricken across Edward Cretch’s face in a most disturbing and near grotesque manner, the muscles in his face held taunt as the man struggled to keep it all together. Even as his world was crashing down around him. 

“No father should have to bury his son,” Edward said, and his voice broke along with his will. Tears broke free from hsi eyes and he let out a painful sob.The man clutched his face and shook violently as he collapsed to his knees. Heaving his grief out with waves of sobs and quiet wails. 

Alex was taken aback and unsure what to do. To see such a man of renowned conviction reduced to… this. It disturbed him. He raised his hand, meaning to place a comforting touch on Edward’s shoulder but hesitated and ultimately dropped his hand. Alex set his jaw tight and replaced his cap on his head. Alex turned away and began walking away, pausing for a moment to speak. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. 

Alex then walked briskly away, pulling the brim of his cap low over his eyes that had, for one reason or another, begun to sting. 

Alex rejoined the others inside the command bunker where they were all sharing drinks. The Colonel had become very dishevelled and was clearly not on his first glass of whiskey; he remained silent and catatonic in the corner. 

“How many?” Alex asked. 

“Counts still coming in,” Morana said frankly, lighting a freshly rolled cigarette. “Most decent estimate is twenty casualties from that bombardment, six dead and the rest wounded.” 

“Guess the western front isn’t so quiet anymore,” Natasha added ruefully. “Wondered what spurred the spike-heads into action.”

“A small sporadic and seemingly random strike?” Morana said. “That was meant to keep us on our toes, make sure we aren’t sleeping tonight, stress the soldiers out.” 

“Psychological warfare,” Alex concluded. “But that strike in of itself isn’t enough, not really, they would be building upon something.” 

“So you still think it’s a weapon affecting the soldiers?” Natasha asked. 

“It’s a possibility we have to investigate,” Alex said. “Why? What’s your theory?” 

“...Not sure yet,” Natasha said, absentmindedly leafing through Bennick’s journal. 

Alex was about to say something else but it was then that the door to the bunker flew open and Major Cretch entered. His face set back into it’s usual stern and stoney non-expression. 

“Edward,” Alex said. “Are you…?” 

“I’m operational,” Cretch said. Natasha offered him a cigarette and after a moment of hesitation Cretch took it and lit it with a match Natasha handed him. 

“So…” Cretch said, coughing slightly as he took a long drag on the cigarette. “What’s our plan of action?” 

“The prevailing theory is that the enemy is employing some manner of mind-altering weapon,” Morana said. “Possibly in gas form, that affects soldiers minds, but we need some sort of confirmation.” 

“We have no means of confirming anything,” Alex said. 

“Sure we do,” Natasha said, casually. “The people who know everything we need are less than ten clicks east of here.” 

There was a moment of silence from the rest. 

“Nat,” Alex said slowly. “I don’t think we can just waltz over there and ask them.” 

“But we can sneak over there in a raid, bag us a handful of them, and be out before they even know what hit them,” Natasha said. “They just struck us with some shells, they’ll be expecting us to be on high alert waiting for them to attack, no one in their right mind would organize ny sort of attack on them now.” 

“But you’re suggesting that,” Alex said. 

“They won’t see it coming,” Nat said. 

“Why does every plan with you involve running straight into the meat grinder?” Alex asked. 

“Usually works,” Natasha said, shrugging. 

“It’s the only real way we can get any direct information,” Morana said. “Unless we want to wait until Chunwall sends out some bluecoats out to figure out what’s going on, and who knows how many more men will crack before then?” 

“Cretch?” Alex asked. 

“Seems like our only practical option,” Cretch said, dragging on his cigarette. 

“So be it,” Alex said. “Cretch get a squad of your best men together.”

“I’ll be going with them,” Natasha said. 

“As will I,” Morana added. 

“I’m going too,” Cretch said. 

“Well,” Alex said. “I might as well tag along, it’s been a while since I stretched my legs.” 

“Alex,” Morana said slowly. “We can’t let the Field Marshal go on a trench raid with us.” 

“Oh?” Alex cocked an eyebrow. “And what exactly will you do to stop me from coming?” 

“Alex I swear I’ll tell Katrina,” Natasha said. 

“Nat, please,” Alex said dismissively. “You don’t got it in you to tattle on me.” 

“...Fine, but you’re taking up the rear and if one of us tells you to run you fucking well run,” Natasha said. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex said, smiling. 

The lot of them all turned to look at Colonel Skalo who remained in his corner, both hands clasped over his drink. 

“I will…” he stuttered. “Remain here.” 

“That’s for the best,” Alex said. 

Cretch gathered a select group of men and they waited until nightfall to gather at the armoury to equip themselves. Alex, Natasha, and Morana relinquished their polished officer uniforms for drab and more common infantry fatigues that were devoid of ranks or name tags. Alexander and Natasha though kept their swords on their belts; only stocking up on ammunition for their revolvers and a handful of grenades. 

They gathered together around a gas lamp and a map. The men that Cretch had gathered numbered four, they were all on the younger side but obviously experienced with none being under the rank of master corporal. 

“Gentlemen,” Alex greeted. 

“This is Master Corporal Havlov,” Cretch said, gesturing to a rather wide and tall fellow with a wiry black beard and beady brown eyes. 

Sergeant Margo was a thin man with a boney hard face pockmarked with amorphous scars. Warrant Officer Vorolock, a boy faced freckled man with coppery red hair. And Sergeant Zhukov was clearly from Tryiennia with his olive skin and green eyes, a thick styled moustache hung over his lip. 

“The plan is to head out from this point here,” Alex said, pointing to the map. “Then we go ahead and cross No Mans Land, it’s a straight arrow trajectory. All intel reflects that this is the least fortified sector of the enemy trench. Once we enter the forward trench we are to silently neutralize any immediate resistance there to establish a safe zone for us to exit out of. Then we’re to seek out the nearest sleeping quarters and bag us nor more than four captives to bring back with us; ideally knock them out so we don’t have to corral them back.” 

“This isn't your typical raid, gentlemen,” Alex said. “We’re aiming for speed and stealth, and we want to be gone just as fast as we came.” 

“And what are these prisoners for, sir?” Zhukov asked.

“Don’t concern yourself with those details, sergeant, but rest assured this mission is of the highest import,” Alex said. 

So they all left the relative safety of Fort Carcerem and descended into the trenches of the front. The muddy dirt walls rising above them all as they moved. There was several kilometers of back trench networks to navigate before they eventually came out to the forward trench. Beyond that, the scarred and hellish expanse of No Man’s Land. 

A flask was brought out, full of a very stiff drink; to settle the nerves. Everyone took a swig, even Cretch, even Alex after a moment of hesitation. The liquid burned on the way down and settled as a fire in his stomach, filling his body to the tip with a warm shakey energy. 

Then Alexander Jackauv, Field Marshal of the Commonwealth's Grand Army, faced the lip of the trench. It had been so very long since Alex had to face the edge of death like this, but it was a familiar feeling. It brought back memories, not pleasant ones, but familiar. 

“Once more then,” Alex said to himself. 

“Good luck everyone,” Natasha said, and then they went. 

Alex cleared the lip of the trench and he was running, he sprinted at least thirty meters before diving face first into the dirt. He held position for two minutes, counting them in his head while listening for any sounds of the enemy moving, yelling, or firing. None came, and Alex let out a small breath before he slowly began to crawl forward. 

Mud and soiled water soaked his uniform where rocksand metal shrapnel didn’t scrape against him. Alex took care to avoid the sharpest bits of metal and barbed wire.Yet this made is progress painstakingly slow. 

Alex was dragging his face across the ground when his hand touched upon a sensation that stood out. It was thin and taunt and metallic; Alex froze and rose his head slowly from the muck. A thin silver line stretched from a pile of rusting rubble where Alex no doubt surmised lay an explosive. The other end of the trip wire was wrapped around some sort of white tbe which it took Alex several moments to realize was a human finger bone sticking out of the ground. 

With a set jaw Alex carefully rolled to the other side of the finger and continued to crawl. As he passed it Alex casually wondered if the finger belonged to a Commonwealth soldier or an Imperial one, he concluded it probably didn’t matter. 

Alex crawled and crawled and clawed across that damned land, until eventually his fingers gripped the edge of the enemy trench. 

Slowly, carefully, silently. Alex pulled himself over the lip and glanced into the trench, it was well lit by oil lamps allowing him to see reasonably far and miraculously there seemed to be no soldiers in this immediate area. This gave Alex the confidence to pull himself in and jump into the trench proper. 

When his boots hit the ground he turned and froze, only to see to his distraught an Imperial soldier turn the corner. Clearly complacent in his usual patrol so much that he doesn’t react to Alex’s presence. He just continued marching, rifle shouldered, polished boots clacking, spiked piff helmet bobbing. Until he too froze and stared at Alex. 

The two of them were caught in their shock but Alex slowly began moving his hand towards his pistol, but even though his slow movements were meant to not startle the man he immediately reacted and shouldered his rifle at Alex. 

“Überfall! Fein-” before the man could finish his call, much to Alex’s luck. Natasha hopped into the trench, just adjacent to the Imperial soldier. Her sword came clear of it’s scabbard and opened up the man’s throat in a thin red line. A horrible choking and gurgling sound bubbled out of the man’s mouth before he collapsed to the ground, twitching and spasming before laying still. 

Natasha looked back at Alex and placed a finger to her lips and gestured for him to follow. Alex pulled free his own sword and pistol and creeped after Natasha. As they turned the corner they met Morana and Cretch along with the rest of the squad; the bodies of Imperial soldiers scattered at their feet. 

“Small dugout ten meters down,” Morana whispered. “Four asleep, one on watch, more down further awake.” 

“Take out the watch,” Alex said. 

“Zhukov, you’re up,” Cretch said. 

“Da,” Zhukov said, and he pulled a long knife from his belt and flipped his grip on it so he pitched the end of the blade. Zhukov took point and the rest followed as they approached where Morana had gestured. 

Indeed just forward of them stood an Imperial corporal, his spiked hamlet held low over his eyes as he puffed away at a pewter pipe. That was until Zhukov’s knife flew through the air and game to pierce right in the crook between the man’s neck and shoulder. The man stiffed and choked out a breath, with his last puff of tobacco following it out before he simply crumpled straight downwards with a soft thump. 

“Nat, Zhukov, Havlov, watch for patrols,” Alex said. “Morana, Vorolock, Cretch, knock out the sleeping ones in there, we’ll take two.” 

“You sure we don’t want all four?” Morana asked. 

“I don’t like how much activity we’ve run into, I want out of her fast,” Alex said. 

All of them spread out to their positions with Alex remaining outside the dugout to keep an eye on both groups. As Zhukov passed by the dead corporal he pulled his knife free from his neck and replaced it on his belt. 

There was muffled sounds as Cretch, Morana, and Vorolock smothered the sleeping soldiers until they lay completely unconscious. The rest they made sure would never wake again. 

They reemerged dragging two imperial soldiers out with them, one a sergeant and the other a lance corporal. 

“Havlov,” Cretch called. Havlov sauntered over and shouldered his rifle before taking both of the unconscious soldiers under his arms with apparent ease. 

“We leave the same way we came, Nat and Zhukov take point,” Alex said. 

They swiftly made their way back to the section which they had initially come into the trench. Yet as they turned the corner Natasha signalled for them to halt, Alex looked past her and saw the glow of a lantern steadily gaining intensity around the corner across from then. 

“Shit,” Alex said. 

Before he could give any orders an imperial soldier turned the corner, the light of his lantern illuminating the bodies of his comrades that lay on the ground as well as the Commonwealth raiding party staring right at him. 

Zhukov reacted immediately, shouldering his rifle and landing a bullet right between the man’s eyes. The gunshot echoed and cut through the silent night and Alex heard shouts and people reacting to the noise. 

Natasha dashed forward as another imperial soldier rounded a corner, she fired her pistol with her left hand and grazed the man’s shoulder causing him to recoil just enough to allow her to close the distance and open up his guts with a slash of her sword. 

“Überfall! Zu den Waffen!” came shouts from nearby trench lines. Sounds of boots runnin in the muck and an alarm bell began to ding. 

“Stehen zu! Stehen zu! Stehen zu!” 

“Over the top! We are leaving!” Alex called out. “Natasha! Zhukov! Rearguard! Do not wait around.” 

Havlov, Morana, and Vorolock climbed back over the trench lip and immediately began sprinting back towards their own lines. Alex glanced back as he readied to climb over. Natasha peaked around the corner and almost caught a bullet to the face, she pulled a grenade from her belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it around the corner. 

“Granate!” came a shout, then an explosion. 

“Time to go!” Alex said and climbed over the trench. With Natasha and Zhukov close behind Alex took off in a sprint. 

More yelling from the enemy trench followed them before bullets began flying wildly in their direction. Alex bobbed and weaved best he could, he glanced behind him to see Natasha doing the same. Zhukov however skidded to a stop and twisted around gracefully to return fire. One, two, three perfect shots all landing in three imperial heads with impressive speed. 

“Keep moving Zhukov!” Alex called back. Zhukov took only a second more to drop a man who was running towards a machine gun mount before getting up and running after them. 

Their home trench came in sight and as they came into view shouts emanated from there. Calls rang out in encouragement. 

“Get the batteries to fire on the enemy forward trench!” Alex called out. 

By the time they all hopped back into the trench their artillery had begun firing back. Miraculously, the entire raiding party had made it back in one piece. 

“Get the prisoners into cells and start interrogations as soon as possible,” Alex said, gasping for air. 

“Good work everyone,” Morana said. “I’ll see to it you’re commenced for your performance.” 

“Zhukov,” Natasha said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “That was some very fine shooting, I think you and I should work together more.” 

“It would be an honour, ma’am,” Zhukov said. 

“I’m going to recommend you for special training,” Natasha said. “You’ll hear of it within the month.” 

The lot of them took the opportunity to relax. Alex, Natasha, Morana, and Cretch waited in the bunker adjacent to the cells waiting for the MP’s to report back after their interrogations. Natasha was mulling over Bennick’s journal while sharing drinks with Morana and, much to Alex’s concern, Cretch. 

Alex watched as Cretch knocked back whiskey after whiskey, his face becoming steadily redder as he chomped down on a large cigar that an aid had given him. 

It was several hours before an MP knocked and entered, holding a clipboard with the transcript of the interrogation. 

“Both prisoners were very cooperative,” the MP said. “The Sergeant even speaks our language decently well.”

“And what did they have to say on their weapon?” Alex asked. 

“They… had no idea what I was talking about,” the MP said. “According to him there has been no operations, offensives, or new tactics utilized at all, the barrage apparently was just a weapons test and that they thought might as well get lobed at us.” 

There was silence for a minute or two, before Cretch spoke up. His words slurred. 

“Bullshit,” he declared. “I’ll talk to him!” 

Cretch got up, knocking back the last of his drink before marching out and towards the cells. 

“Edward,” Alex called after him, getting up and following. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

Cretch ignored him and barged right into the cells bunker, startling the on duty MP’s. 

“Where’s the fucking Imp sergeant!” he demanded, and the MP’s gestured to the far left cells where indeed the Imperial sergeant sat in a chair with his head in his hands. 

The man looked up at Cretch barged in, standing up and saluting respectfully. 

“Tell me about the weapon!” Cretch demanded belligerently. “The one that drives soldiers mad!” 

“Tut mir leid, Ich verstehe nicht…” 

“Shut up!” Cretch snapped, grabbing the man’s collar and pulling him close. “I know you speak my tongue, tell me about the weapon!” 

“There is no weapon, sir!” the man said, heavily accented. “No weapon! No weapon!” 

“Then why did my son die!” Cretch demanded, beginning to shake. “Tell me why my son is dead!” 

“...I am sorry,” the man said. 

Cretch looked at him for a moment before unleashing a punch into his face. Relentlessly Cretch hammered blows all over the sergeant’s body. 

“Edward! Stop!” Alex said, grabbing his left arm while Natasha restrained the right. 

“Damn you! Damn you! Give him back!” Cretch screamed, sobs beginning to dot his speech as tears flowed from his eyes. “Give Nicholas back! You damn Imps! Give me my son back!” 

It took almost five people to properly restrain Cretch and get him to his quarters where they locked him under guard to calm down. Alex exited the bunker, pinching the bridge of his nose. Natasha and Morana sat on the stairs, smoking. 

“Maybe they kept the weapon under wraps,” Alex said. “That’s why the prisoners don’t know anything.” 

“I think we have to consider the alternative,” Natasha said. 

“And what is the alternative?” Alex asked. “How can healthy men lose their minds like this?” 

“There is no weapon,” Natasha said. “It is the circumstances.” 

“The circumstances?” Alex asked. 

“I’ve seen men turn funny during battle,” Natasha said. “Is this much different? Nicholas saw Bennick die, he blamed himself, then we force him to talk about it and drill him for details.” 

“Then he cracks, maybe out of anger, or fear, but he gets himself shot,” Nat continued. “Cretch loses his son, blames himself, and now has to confront that maybe there is no real answer for it.” 

Then there’s Fredrick Bennick,” Nat said, pulling the journal from inside her jacket. “I found one entry that caught my eye, from Solbore, it reads; A shell had hit this man, it knocked off his left arm, knocked off his left leg, his left eye hanging out on his cheek and he was calling out for Mother… So I shot him. I had to, I had to shoot him. He would have died in any case, and I was putting him out of his misery… It hurt me.” 

Natasha looked up, and the other two looked disturbed. 

“What is your point, Nat?” Morana asked, fishing out a fresh cigarette. 

“That maybe all of this…” Natasha gestured to the base and to No Man's Land in the distance. “Isn’t right, maybe men weren’t meant to kill each other every other day or live with the treat of a shell dropping on them while their feet are soaked in bloody water.” 

“You’re toying with treasonous words, Nat.” Alex said, tiredly. 

“Am I? Is it treason to suggest that maybe there’s only so much horrors one can see before they start going mad?” Natasha asked. 

“But what about us?” Morana asked. “We’ve seen more shit then Bennick, why haven’t we lost it?” 

“Have we not?” Natasha asked. “I’ve killed at least three men today, I should be in such a state like Cretch is, but I’m not? Is that normal?” 

“If something like this was truly a cause, then it would be reported, medical records, reports,” Alex said. 

“It is, it’s just been reported as summary executions by firing squad, by charge of cowardice,” Natasha said. 

Alex rubbed his temples and sat down on the steps. Mulling it all over. 

“What am I to do then?” Alex asked. 

“You’re the Field Marshal for a reason, Alex,” Natasha said. “Let High Command know, let the fucking Lord Commander himself know, let them know that this war is going to tear this country apart even if we win.” 

“They won’t listen,” Alex said. 

“Make them listen,” Natasha said. 

It was then a runner, a lieutenant, ran up to them and saluted. 

“What’s happening, L.T?” Natasha asked. 

“Increased activity across the way, ma’am,” the man reported. “Looks like we may have kicked the hornet's nest, we’re suspecting an incoming attack.” 

“Where’s Colonel Skalov?” Morana asked. 

“Passed out drunk,” the lieutenant said. “And from what I understand Major Cretch is… indisposed, you three are all we have.” 

Everyone looked at Alex who hesitated a moment before standing. 

“Battle stations,  lieutenant, and await further instructions,” Alex said. The  lieutenant saluted and ran off. 

“You sure, Alex?” Morana asked. “Katrina won't be happy, me and Nat could stay behind and handle it.” 

“I’ll be damned if it’s known that the Field Marshal ran away,” Alex said. 

“As you say,” Nat said, standing and fishing a cigarette out of her pocket. Offering it to Alex. “Once more, then?” 

Alex hesitated, and then took the cigarette. Placing it in his mouth and lighting it. 

“Once more,” he said.