Private Jason S, Goldfield III

Trench warfare, really!?

Private Goldfield looks on in shock as he witnesses what the Goblins are up to. At first, he hadn’t a clue what they were doing, just assuming that it was another idiotic plan that would result in hundreds of the little green creatures getting gunned down before they inevitably fall back into the safety of the woods. Though that safety is limited, considering the artillery fire that is still raining down out there. How it is that they haven’t all been wiped out already is simply a testament to the sheer numbers on the enemy’s side.

When they had started to move the earth, literally move it, as in waves of dirt and stone being lifted into the air and cast aside, those defending on the wall hadn’t realized what it was the Goblins where up to until they had seen that the parted earth was forming a trail cutting straight through the battlefield and towards the wall. Magic… Something that many people are still getting used to the idea of being real. Up until a couple of month ago, even with monsters and everything else going on, most people would have still been firmly of the opinion that magic is nothing but make believe. Smoke and mirrors on a stage, or the contents of fantasy stories and D&D campaigns. At least it was fantasy until that Demon girl made her big appearance on stage and turned everyone that was there into believers. Animating shadows, convening with gods that spoke into everyone’s soul, and then even turning people into freaking Super Soldiers with her blood. Private Goldfield had been a part of the audience that day, and he is now firmly a believer that magic is real, even if a large portion of people are still skeptical even now. After all, only a portion of all the civilians living here had been able to attend the event. They just simply don’t have anywhere with enough space for so many people to gather at once, so what happened there had to be spread by word of mouth.

Regardless of people’s belief in magic, the Goblins are very clearly using it now to dig trenches through the battlefield, cutting their way straight towards the defenders by plowing through the very earth. Though, how they are implementing the strategy of trench warfare is rather moronic…

Being a straight path aimed right at the wall means that the Goblins inside of the trench only have so much protection from being gunned down by a machine gunner, firing straight down the line of the trench, filling it with a spray of red and turning cold dirt into bloody mud. Their first attempt at trench warfare instead turns into mass grave project within a matter of moments…

It takes a while for the Goblins to apparently learn their lesson, that just digging a path straight to the wall isn’t enough. Eventually, they adapt, turning their trenches to the side to make lines that run parallel to the wall before then inching forward again, branching off to create new safe areas after a dozen feet or so. The earth that they had been tossing aside as they dig, they quickly learn to use it to build up the walls of the trench and make cover so that they can’t get shot by the soldiers much higher up on the walls. As the network of trenches expands, it soon becomes a grid of lines that is stretching out from the forest, the Goblins working at an incredible pace that would leave most solders with a shovel flustered.

Naturally, the defenders don’t just allow them to dig without fighting back. Mortars launch explosives to try and kill their diggers, especially the mages. But again, the Goblins are quick to adapt and react. They quickly learn to look out for the much larger projectiles, and it isn’t long until they begin to answer by shooting the explosives out of the air. Balls of fire will fly up from the trenches to blow them up, or walls of water will form to block them. A powerful gust of wind might even knock them off course to uselessly form a crater elsewhere, or a large wall of earth would suddenly grow from the ground to take the hit.

As the network of trenches slowly grows across the killing field, stretching out from the forest like some searching amoeba formed from arching vertical and horizontal lines, the pressure slowly begins to grow. With each passing minute, they grow closer and closer to reaching the wall, the trenches filled will squirming masses of excited and bloodthirst Goblins that are just chomping at the bits for their chance to be set loose, their excitement audible over the gunfire as they cheer and sing and throw out Goblin swears at the defenders of the wall.

It is around the halfway point that the Goblins are forced to slow down their expansion. Being closer to the wall, the defenders are able to unleash more violence on their besieging enemy. Machine guns tear into the sides of the trenches, popping the skulls of anything dumb enough the peer over the side for too long. The expansion of the trench network comes to a crawling stop in its approach but does not stop in its spread. Being unable to get any closer, the Goblins instead begin to spread out the trenches to the sides, allowing more of their forces to flow in and gather closer to the wall.

Almost as if they had been expecting their approach to inevitably be stopped, the Goblins quickly change strategy and start lobbing large boulders from the trenches, aiming to hit the wall but mostly seeming to just have them land all over the place, littering the space in-between the trench’s front lines and the wall with large boulders that even a full-grown man could easily hide behind.

Not too far away, people curse as one of the boulders impacts the wall and leaves it shaking, a large dent having been left in the corrugated steel lining its surface.

For a long while, the siege remains in a stalemate. Reduced to nothing more than an exchange of projectiles as Goblins launch boulders and Humans spit lead and lob explosives. Occasionally, on some sides of the battlefield, the Goblins might call for a change, one of their leaders waving a flag or blowing into a horn as they wave their troops up and out of the trenches in a suicide charge.

With the sun setting and night quickly approaching, both sides produce their own light so that the fighting can continue. The Goblins bring torches with them into the trenches, filling the earth with moving glows of firelight, while the defenders turn on powerful flood lights that fills the battlefield with light while also blinding anyone that tries to look up at those on the wall, their figures reduced to vague silhouettes against the blinding light.

From the trenches, magical attacks fly out to strike the wall, fire and other elements smacking against steel and splashing up to bite at the human defenders.

Private Goldfield curses as he pulls back behind cover, heat from an exploding fireball licking at his skin as the flames stick to the steel layers of his cover.

“Fire extinguisher over here, now!” He calls out over the sound of gunfire and explosions.

“Coming!” A guardsman calls back, his sole job here being just to try and put out fires where he can.

With fire extinguisher in hand, the guardsman sprays down the raging flames, trying to suffocate the stubborn thing with an excessive amount of foam and chemicals. The magical fire is like an oil fire on a stove, refusing to go out unless it is smothered entirely. Even the steel layers of the wall seem to act as nothing more than a temporary deterrent to the flames before they can burn their way through to the wooden layers beneath, the steel being left as burned and melted metal that is left warped and deformed as it slowly cools into its new blackened shape.

“Shit, get down!” Private Goldfield curses as he reaches forward and grabs the guard, pulling him down. Where the guard was standing, a larging boulder comes crashing down and smashes into the wall, denting metal and cracking wood before settling into the frame of the wall.

The guard is left shaking when he looks at the massive boulder, but seeing the raging flames flash back up over the edge of the wall gets him moving again. Pushing though his fear, the guard continues to fight back the flames, finally managing to put them out for good just as his canister runs out.

“Thank you!” Is all Goldfield gets from the guard before the man is running off to go and get some fresh equipment. He doesn’t even get a chance to call back before he has to return to aiming his rifle over the now warped and searing hot metal of his section of the wall.

From the trenches, the billowing of a war horn calls out. Thousands of little voices respond as cheers and little roars as little green bodies climb out from the trenches and charge for the walls for the dozenth time in so many hours.

He barely has to aim as he continues to pull the trigger on his rifle, a series of three round bursts tearing out to strike the oncoming swarm of Goblins. Even as he empties one clip and loads another, he and the surrounding soldiers don’t stop firing. Eventually, one of the Goblins ends up stepping on a landmine, the resulting explosion tearing though their numbers with force and shrapnel. A few of the little monsters manage to make their way behind cover, hiding there in little groups as they shy away from gunshots that ping away at their cover.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

With each charge the Goblins crawl ever so slightly closer to wall. Even if each meter gained is though the loss of hundreds of Goblins, they continue to make the exchange again and again as they claw their way through the mud and snow towards their enemy and the wall of death and blinding lights, like little demons assaulting the gates to heaven.

“Fucking hell, they just don’t give up! How many of these little fuckers are there!?” A nearby soldier curses as he slams a fresh mag into his rifle.

“Just don’t let them reach the wall! Keep shooting until you’re out of bullets, and if you run out of bullets, then grab a damn spear!” An officer shouts back as he quickly ducks to avoid getting his head blown off by a meter long spear of rock that ends up hitting one of the guard towers behind him, smashing through part of its nest and taking out a floodlight.

“Jesus Christ! Somebody kill those damn mages!”

Seemingly just to spite them, the call for another charge goes out, thousands of Goblins pouring out of the trenches all at once to sprint across the battlefield as they wave their makeshift weapons about, war cries bellowing out from little mouths as they run across blood-stained mud and snow. The mages, hiding in the trenches and always on the move, release more of their spells to attack the wall. Fireballs, spears of ice and rock, and even more large boulders raining down on the wall as they force the defenders to take cover, giving the little Goblins more of a chance to gain ground.

Not too far down the wall from where Private Goldfield is standing, a man wasn’t quick enough to get into cover and gets hit. Flames explode out around him as he screams and everything around him goes up in flame, the wood of the wall being quick to ignite as soon as the flames touch them. The flaming man screams and tumbles off from the burning platform, hitting the ground hard. Aid is quick to come as fire fighters run over with blankets to smother his body, and a hose to put out the fires before they can spread to the rest of the wall.

Private Goldfield has to rip his eyes away from the screaming man, not certain if it is someone that he had known or not, hoping and praying that it was just a stranger as he turns to continue gunning down Goblins.

In the distance, the rumble of thunder and the glow of lightning on the horizon draws his eyes upward. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason, the storm in the distance is putting him deeply on edge. As if even just the act of looking upon it will put him in mortal danger. Even the masses of Goblins assaulting the wall somehow feels harmless in comparison to the coming storm that has been slowing approaching from the north, growing larger and larger with each passing hour as if some angry god is approaching. He, and most of the soldiers here have been hoping that the storm would move elsewhere, but it is looking more and more likely that they will be fighting in the rain soon.

It just keeps getting better and better…

About to return to fighting, he almost looks back down, but stops as he sees something moving through the sky, shapes slowing growing larger with each passing second.

“What the hell is-”

He is interrupted as several small figures fall from the sky and land on the wall, their descent slowed by makeshift parachutes of hide that are quickly cast aside by the laughing figures, their bodies painted black with soot to blend in with the dark.

Not all of them had made it though, quite a few of them having violently crashed and died on impact with the hard ground or as they hit the wall with a crunch because their little parachutes had failed to work properly.

For a short while, Private Goldfield doesn’t know what to think about what he just witnessed, his mind frozen at the thought of paratrooper Goblins, asking how the hell they had even gotten into the air. Do they have planes? Do they fly now?

He is knocked out of his thoughts as the little creatures go on the attack, a couple dozen special forces Goblins painted in war paints and covered in monster teeth and claws as both weapons and ornaments, screaming as they throw themselves at the humans with suicidal abandon.

Private Goldfield shoots the first one that goes for him, blowing its head off before smashing the next one with the butt of his rifle. The other soldiers, not having seen the paratrooping Goblins fall from the sky, aren’t as quick to react as they are suddenly attacked from behind. The little menaces jump onto their backs and screaming their little hearts out as they violently stab at the men wherever they can with daggers made of bone or from the teeth and claws of monsters. Others simply decide to bite, sinking their teeth into any unprotected meat that they can find like little Pitbulls mauling the mailman.

Soldiers scream as they fight to get the little menaces off of themselves, others rushing over to help by rip them off before smashing their little skulls in or killing them with a dagger in the gut. Some of the men aren’t lucky. Some are quickly swarmed and killed, stabbed to death by too many blades worming their way in-between the protective layers of armor to find flesh and blood. Some manage to walk away with a few bites and scratches, maybe a missing finger here or there, but all wounded by the sudden attack that had come out of nowhere.

The defenders are given little time to breathe after killing the paratrooping Goblins though. The Goblins on the ground are still charging the wall and need to be culled. But before they can return to firing over the wall, a second wave of Goblins falls out of the sky, the enemy seeming to have found themselves a new strategy to abuse.

Private Goldfield curses as he turns to fight off the little menaces again, some of them even landing on the inside of the walls to go and run off somewhere, but he is forced to come to a stop as a presence weighs down on everyone, pushing down on everyone’s shoulders like a bag full of weights.

He instantly knows what is happening, everyone had been briefed on what to expect if they get within a mage’s range. This is a Field, there is a mage nearby and everyone can feel it. Hell, he can practically taste it, the presence feeling like a gust of wind rustling tree branches and then even the constriction of your chest, gasping for fresh air to fill your lungs.

The source of the Field lands on the wall, lime-green skin painted black with soot and red warpaint of blood marking her face in lines. Standing four and a half feet tall, wind tossed brunette hair falls from her head in a mess of curls as she laughs with childlike joy and glee, like a kid that just got to ride the roller-coaster despite not meeting the height requirements. Like she just stared death in face and found it hilarious. She is ecstatic, her eyes crazed and face flushed with adrenaline as she tosses aside her makeshift parachute that would have never made it past inspections.

Rifles are aimed towards the crazed Hobgoblin, but the hands wielding them are too slow to act. With another laugh full of pure joy and crazed delight, the mage pushes out her arms, her palms aimed outward as if shoving something aside.

Like a wall moving, wind pushes out in every direction, smashing into every human around her without touching the other Goblins. Soldiers and guardsmen get sent flying back from where they stand. Some are simply thrown down and land hard on the floor of the wall, but others aren’t as lucky, getting sent flying over the edge to fall on either side of the wall as they scream for help.

Private Goldfield is among those who managed to remain on the wall, simply out of luck due to positioning rather than anything else. The little Goblins that accompanied the mage are quick to go on the attack, swarming to savage the off balanced defenders as the Wind Mage throws out more attacks with every wave of her hand like she is in some mad adrenaline-fueled dance.

Invisible blasts of wind fly out and smash into the surroundings, splintering wood and bowling over men with every blast. One smashes into the side of a guard tower and cracks the supports, causing the whole structure to bend and creak, the whole towers slowly leaning to the side before collapsing as the men inside try to get out. The floodlights on the tower flicker and go out as it collapses, cheering from thousands of little voices calling out in victory as the tower falls.

“Kill that damn mage!” Someone shouts, both an order and a plea of desperation.

The mage herself simply continues to dance, spinning on the spot as she laughs with pure joy, kicking her legs up as she pivots on the spot like a ballerina, her arms moving with the motions as she dances to some imperceptible music that only she can hear.

Soldiers fire on her, raising their rifles despite the pressure bearing down on them and ignoring the deadly little Goblins that are running though their ranks so they can gun down the crazed mage. Gunfire rings out on the wall, but nothing hits. The humans can’t see it happening, but surrounding the mage is a veil of wind, the bullets getting redirected away from her slender body to land uselessly elsewhere.

Chaos breaks out on this section of the wall. Fires spread, fed by the growing wind, Goblins run rampant and attack the defenders, more falling from the sky with increasing frequency, and down below, the Goblin forces on the ground are growing closer, using the opening in all this chaos to claim more ground and draw their lines closer.

In the heat of the moment, Private Goldfield lets out a roar that can only be made by a man on a battlefield. The desperate and adrenaline-fueled roar of a person channeling animal instincts that have been buried by generations of evolution. No thinking, only a sheer desire to kill the enemy right in front of him, with his bare hands if he must. He throws down his rifle and charges forward, his eyes only on the dancing mage as he rushes forward, kicking aside a Goblin that tries to attack him, jumping over his fellow man that is wrestling with three of the little things, fending off their daggers desperately.

He doesn’t know what has come over him, he can’t think straight. All he knows is that he has to kill the enemy right in front of him no matter what. He is bigger than her, if her can just get his hands on her!

And he almost makes it.

The dancer, the chittering mad ballerina, spins on the spot in her crazed dance, her eyes moving to glance at the charging man and registering his presence for just a moment before she lets out another peeling laugh.

With a wave of her hand, Private Goldfield falls forward, tripping as all the support under him is suddenly gone. Confused and unable to get back up, he looks down at himself. The pain is quick to come when he sees himself, blood pooling beneath his body from where his legs used to be. They remain behind him, separated and fallen to the floor not too far away from where he now lies.

His legs had been cut through with hardly a noise, removed with a blade so sharp that he hadn’t even felt it cut through flesh and bone.

“AAAAAhhhHHHHHHhhhhh!!!”

He screams, clutching at the stumps of his legs as the shock and pain assaults his mind.

The Hobgoblin just laughs louder, her dance picking up tempo as if the beat of her music had just increased in intensity.

Shouting for the heavens themselves to hear, she speaks with rapture, though none of the surrounding humans can understand her words. “Father! Are you proud of me yet? Hahahahahahahaha~~~! Watch me dance, Father! I dance for you! Everything is for you! Hahahaha, and they said we couldn’t fly, that it was a stupid idea! Dem’tri and Asdii are idiots, idiots! I am the smart one, not them, Hahahaha! I will make Father proud of me!!!”