We received more reinforcements than usual, thanks to the resounding victories since we established an Outpost here. The empty spots were filled, and the straw nests in the barracks were once again crowded with bodies. Some were old soldiers, but there were also many young men and women in their twenties, sent from the recruit stations that stretched from Kritchenburg all the way to Russymark. These kids were almost half a year younger than us. When Mikhail saw them, he nudged my shoulder.
"Have you seen those kids yet?"
I nodded silently. We boys puffed out our chests, strutting out to the main courtyard with our hands in our pockets, imperiously sizing up the new recruits. We felt like seasoned veterans. The young men were also intimidated; they were flustered and awkward when I spoke to them. It was probably because our faces, covered in bruises and dark circles, terrified the kids. Our eyes were sunken, our breathing was heavy, and we exuded an aura of murderous intent.
I crossed my arms, my eyes a little distant as I looked at the group in front of me, and answered nonchalantly, "There will just be more people to die. We should prepare now."
"It's okay. Isn't that the rule of this place? Wiping out almost 68 T-72 tanks, 79 armored vehicles of all types, and a few thousand Eurasian bastards wasn't easy, right?"
Petrov shrugged, helplessness clear on his face.
"I heard the higher-ups want to launch a direct attack on the Eurasian headquarters to end the war as quickly as possible. Maybe in a few months? I'm not sure. But if so, we'll be exhausted. Committing all our forces to this battle would be a terrible choice."
"Even so, there's no other way, is there?" Mikhail complained to Petrov.
"That's right. We're going to die soon. No one can escape from here. Anyway, I still want to hold a girl's hand before I die. But I guess that's impossible now."
I took the opportunity to taunt him.
"I thought you liked Augusta? I heard you two have a shady relationship, probably dating in secret. Petrov, do you think this is true?"
"True. Absolutely true. They're always exchanging love letters. Mikhail here is quite something. You better catch up to the Captain."
Mikhail grimaced, as if his deepest secret had been exposed. "Where did you guys make that up? What's the source? While it's true that Augusta is totally my type—short hair, cute—the love letter part isn't true."
"Haha, praising a girl but denying your feelings is a bad look, my friend. We're men, so what's there to hide?"
While Petrov and I were interrogating Mikhail, a middle-aged man approached. He was a head taller than us, with a muscular body and an equally intimidating face. It was General Kestrel, our current superior. Kestrel seemed to understand what was going on, and he joined in the teasing.
Kestrel was one of the generals we respected the most. It was probably because of his kindness. Instead of beating and shouting, he patiently pointed out our mistakes and helped us fix them. He was also very close to his soldiers and shared in their hardships.
Unlike other Oceania generals, everyone was happy to see Kestrel. He knew how to motivate the troops, how to find the enemy's weaknesses, and how to exploit them.
"Talking about love, boys? I have some bad news. Tomorrow, Operation Strikeout will begin. That means you'll have to go back to the battlefield, and this time it will be much, much worse than Russymark. Get some rest. Oh, and Klaus, please deliver this letter to the command center for me. It's the printed draft of the preliminary plan."
"Understood, sir."
Recently, the tide of the war had turned. Eurasian was no longer on the offensive. Instead, their morale was in serious decline, and they were short on weapons and equipment. Not to mention, their internal situation was becoming chaotic after we captured a Provyv tank and their only 6th-generation Pak-Da fighter jet. Civil war had reached its peak. Moskwatov was as desolate as Kritchenburg once was.
With a series of heavy defeats on the Eastern Oceania front, a meeting of heads of state was to be held to negotiate and bring an end to the war. However, knowing that the meeting would never succeed, a large number of Oceania troops were preparing for a full-scale invasion, led by General Kestrel.
Invading Eurasian. That was what the leaders had wanted to do for a long time. Just think, a fertile land, perfect for agriculture and developing machinery. If we controlled Western Eurasian, we could easily control the world's grain supply. Furthermore, the Far East held countless tons of giant oil reserves, more than enough to export.
Because of this great purpose, this invasion was organized on a very, very large scale. Area Outposts were erected like mushrooms after rain, with the purpose of serving as a springboard to hit the enemy's weak defenses and advance straight to the capital of Moskwatov. We were under no less pressure. Besides fighting, we also had to count the number of dead in an hour, a day, a month, and horrifyingly, even a year.
I took heavy steps forward, holding my Mark-18 rifle and General Kestrel's handwritten letter, walking toward the town, which was being used as the War Investigation Office. I walked past mountains of cargo crates, through streets lined with vehicles on both sides. I occasionally saw troops marching. I went straight to Ilaina's office, as she would be responsible for transferring the plan to the entire army.
I quietly opened the door and walked into the somewhat cramped room. She was busy organizing piles of casualty statistics given to her by the higher-ups. She looked quite awkward and disgruntled. Ilaina had always hated dealing with computers and technology, so whenever she was given something related to paperwork, she would be overwhelmed. I calmly sat down and helped her.
When we finished, we decided to take a walk around the Area Outpost to clear our heads. We hadn't seen each other often lately because we were both busy with work. One of us was training new recruits, and the other was writing intelligence documents. Ilaina took my arm, smiled, and spoke with a little shyness and embarrassment about being with me in front of the junior soldiers.
"It's been a long time since you and I walked together like this, hasn't it?"
"Didn't we always hold hands and walk to school when we were kids? Every morning, you'd wake up early and run to my house to wake me up. It's no surprise our classmates kept pairing us up. A beautiful, smart rich girl and a street rat."
Ilaina smiled, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. "Yes, if it weren't for the rich girl, that boy would probably have been torn to shreds in Russymark or Kritchenburg."
I immediately retorted, constantly digging up embarrassing memories of my girlfriend. "And what if that boy hadn't carried the rich girl home just because she was drunk after three glasses?"
"Dummy. It's because I wasn't used to drinking yet. My alcohol tolerance is still higher than yours! Oh, I forgot, Augusta seems to be acting very suspiciously lately. I think she likes someone."
I asked Ilaina curiously, "What do you mean? Like someone? Like she stays up late to text, or is happier? Right? If so, then Mikhail really does like Augusta."
Ilaina was stunned to hear that her friend was finally in love. "Really! That's interesting. Why don't we try to set Augusta and Mikhail up? They're a good match, aren't they?"
"Okay. But I think we should do it later. We're about to enter the worst battle yet."
"Nothing will be worse than us being separated. So, do you promise to stay with me this time?"
"Absolutely, my dear Ilaina," I answered.
We looked at each other and laughed as memories from when we first met came flooding back. Back then, Ilaina and I were almost always together because she was the only one who cared about my life. Besides my parents, Ilaina was perhaps the only shoulder I could lean on, the only ray of hope, the only family I could rely on in difficult times. That girl saved me from the extreme trauma of war.
And I didn't want to become a burden on her. I didn't want the person who saved me to suffer anymore. That's right, I want Ilaina to be happy. Of course.
December 21, 2024 - Western Eurasian Front
We changed locations. Where were they taking us? No one knew. We only knew that we were a reserve army, and they were directing us, one by one, to reinforce positions or to clear the streets that were packed with vehicles. To avoid gridlock and collisions, troop movements at intersections were complicated, no less than managing trains at a busy railway station.
It was impossible to distinguish the direction of the great troop transfer, in which our small unit was just a small turning wheel. And it was impossible to imagine all the roads in the entire large military district. But when submerged in the chaos of the infrastructure, with just constant, weary, body-aching movements, our arms and legs numb from standing in one place for too long, our bodies exhausted from waiting and the noise, suffocating from the smoke, we understood that our artillery was being deployed more and more, and the attack seemed to have changed course.
With a maddening monotony, the storm of iron and fire continued. The exploding mortar rounds whistled, clanged, and were angry. The large-caliber cannon rounds roared like a locomotive at full speed crashing into a wall and shattering, or like the sound of a train carrying iron bars and poles rolling down a slope. The atmosphere became hazy and chaotic. Heavy streams of steam poured through, and all the soil around continued to be plowed deeper and more thoroughly.
And then other cannons joined in. They were our cannons. The explosions sounded like the Tornado type, but more powerful. Their echoes rumbled for longer and were as deafening as a bolt of lightning hitting a mountain.
Everyone held their breath, not moving. A few pairs of eyes looked down at the ground and saw something moving in the darkness on the right side. Then a human silhouette appeared with two legs, approaching and passing by. The silhouette became clear, a steel helmet with a piece of cloth wrapped around it. Under the cloth, a sharp point was visible. Apart from the footsteps of the person passing by, all was silent. Only when the terrifying artillery barrage ended did everyone dare to breathe a sigh of relief.
"I'm so tired. When can we advance again? The higher-ups' retaliation plan is useless. Everyone is going to die in this damn place." Mikhail hugged his head, looking quite disgruntled and angry about being sent to the front.
"Hang in there. We'll defeat the Eurasian guys. Don't worry so much. Soon we'll be able to sit at home and curse those beasts. Come on, my friend."
That's right. We, the Free Eurasian soldiers, were now invading our own homeland. Isn't that strange? When, logically, we shouldn't be allowed to do this. It's treason. It's selling out our country. But no one wanted to go back to the life they had before.
I saw a vast, grayish field with undulating, faint dust kicked up by the wind, and here and there, a column of smoke shot up.
On that vast expanse, the sun and the shadows of the clouds drew black and white streaks. Here and there, a pale yellow light flared up—that was our artillery firing—and for a moment, I saw a sparkle of brief, bright spots. Another moment, a part of the field became hazy under a misty, opaque white blanket of smoke, like a blizzard.
In the distance, on the long, tragic fields that were almost erased, the color of mourning, pockmarked like a graveyard, we noticed the frame of a church, like a torn piece of paper. And from one side to the other, the whole scene had faint vertical lines close together with horizontal lines below, like scribbles on a drawing pad. Those were the roads with trees. There were dotted human figures on the thin, winding roads that crisscrossed the field, dividing it into squares.
On the road sections dotted with people, we recognized human silhouettes coming out of the deep trenches, moving on the field, heading toward the terrifying, raging sky.
It was hard to imagine that each of those tiny dots was a human being of flesh and bone, trembling, weak, and utterly helpless in that space. But each person carried so many silent thoughts, so many distant memories, so many images in their hearts. Seeing that dust of people, as small as stars in the sky, was horrifying.
Immediately, we began to push deeper. The Marleyont tanks moved forward at a dizzying speed, forcing the infantry to toil close behind. I stood up and quickly led my team to follow right behind. Sweat soaked our clothes, our hands trembled as we held our Mark-18 rifles. We were like robots, taking heavy, aimless steps.
The enemy's resistance was weak, so different from the times I had clashed with them in Kritchenburg. They were weary and even dropped their weapons to surrender unconditionally. Everything was different from what we had imagined. But unfortunately, that surrender didn't save them from the rage of the Oceania soldiers who were already stained with the blood of hatred.
Gunshots rang out, one after another. People fell into puddles of blood, dying in agony. Chaos and violence, and killing were everywhere. Hatred covered everything, casting a somber gray color. The Oceania flag flew over the most important buildings along the border.
While chatting with my friends, I happened to see a few prisoners being brutally beaten and tormented by our soldiers. The prisoners were dressed in rags, their clothes stained with blood and dirt, their faces dazed, as if they had lost their souls. They looked miserable. As former soldiers of a leading military power, they must have been arrogant, thinking that their country would not be easily defeated by their arch-enemy.
But the truth was the exact opposite. Perhaps because they were too focused on the war, the Eurasian economy had visibly weakened. Despite owning thousands of tanks, they still couldn't make up for the deficit in their air force. And guess what? The air force was precisely what Oceania focused on the most.
Convoys were blown up in the blink of an eye. Outposts were wiped out without anyone knowing why. Villages unintentionally became targets for air-to-ground missiles...
Petrov stood in a corner, taking a drag on his cigarette, mocking the officers who were being tortured in front of him. He looked thrilled and excited to see the people who had once kicked him out of a base.
"Klaus, guess when these barbarians will surrender. I think killing is as easy as eating candy now. Soon, we'll set foot in Moskwatov again. Haha, this is what a comeback looks like."
"Hey, you animals, turn around and look! Do you remember me? I'm the guy you guys kicked out of the base. Haha, it's funny. Where's that arrogant look now? Why are you cowering like pigs here? Are you afraid of me?"
Petrov couldn't contain the pent-up resentment he had suppressed for so long, so he lashed out. He brutally kicked them one by one in the face. Petrov lifted one of them and threw him away. He got close and relentlessly swung his fists at his face.
Mikhail and the rest of us also joined in. All feelings of torment and self-blame suddenly vanished. We became strangely evil and cruel. Even when the prisoners knelt down and begged for mercy, I showed no compassion, only coldly killing them with my rifle.
.....
"Fellow Eurasian citizens, our nation is currently in a critical state. The enemy has begun to enter the urban areas of the capital. All our manpower has been exhausted by the destructive power of the enemy's weapons. The cities have been occupied by the enemy and are suffering from countless oppressions. Therefore, please evacuate to the shelters. The authorities are working to their full capacity. Self-Defense soldiers, hold on! Behind you is the great Motherland! Keep those capitalist demons away from this sacred place! Long live Eurasian!"
The Eurasian radio broadcast echoed in the room full of the key leaders of the campaign to destroy the final Eurasian stronghold.
"It seems we're going home soon." General Kestrel gave a knowing smile and turned to the meeting table. We sat in the conference room, together dealing with the last remaining army groups in the capital. I had been promoted to major, thanks to leading 2,000 soldiers to break through the Moskwatov defensive line. Ilaina and the others had also become more powerful.
"As everyone knows, Operation Strikeout has reached its final stage. We have successfully driven those Eastern bastards out of our country and almost completely annihilated their army. And now, we have fulfilled Kritchenburg's wish. We have occupied this place. However, the resistance pockets are still fiercely attacking our positions day and night, causing us a lot of difficulties. For that reason, I want to completely destroy these beasts as quickly as possible," General Kestrel said with a slightly annoyed tone.
I stood up and handed my proposal to the leaders. "Sir, in my opinion, we should use the most painful psychological tactics to force the extremists to surrender. If we can capture the president and demand his surrender, we can easily persuade the rogue soldiers to stop fighting and accept the fact that Eurasian has lost the war."
Ilaina continued for me.
"However, according to intelligence, he is currently being protected by someone with the codename Zero Four. He will soon fly to Skirmish to seek refuge and form a new government in exile. We need to prevent that from happening. However, I believe that Pavel Kanochovich is not an ordinary man. Thanks to his kinship with the prestigious leaders of Eurasian from before, he is very popular with the people. We, on the other hand, lack that support. We are even discriminated against and hated."
Kestrel sighed in frustration. "If that's the case, the process of finding the president will be difficult. It will take a lot of time to stabilize the situation, but we haven't dealt with them yet. This is really a pain."
Ilaina replied to the Oceania general. "We will carry out a mission to assassinate Zero Four and capture the Eurasian president. You don't have to worry too much. But the problem here is what you will do with that president. We can't just execute him."
Kestrel's face became more serious after hearing Ilaina mention what would happen after. "Regarding that matter, we will need to erase all memories and reveal the truth to the people. Because, of course, whoever controls the past controls the present, and whoever wants to control the future must control the present, right?"
"Yes, sir. I also hope we can end this meaningless war as soon as possible. As for the post-war management of the country, we can easily see that there is a clear division among the secessionist republics. For example, Rostovia and the Balkan regions. They were once the first countries to contribute to the birth of the Eurasian totalitarian regime."
"Interesting. Alright, Klaus, Ilaina, the matter of dealing with the Eurasian president will be handled by you. My colleagues and I will do our best to hold out until you bring me the body of that bastard. In addition, I need you to do this first."
Kestrel pointed to a spot on the map and continued, "A very strong enemy stronghold is blocking our way at the Lagvol River. We cannot pass through it directly without destroying this stronghold. Moreover, it has already cost us nearly 20,000 soldiers. Even with air support, it's difficult to capture. Their firepower is too good compared to ours."
Ilaina walked over, looked at the map, and immediately thought of a solution. "Sir, I think this place is not a very strong stronghold. It must be a secret tunnel that is providing them with such power. And the enemy certainly has no heavy firepower except for supporting T-72-72B tanks. What we need to do now is to determine where that supply route is. Also, we will deal with the T-72-72Bs before they can even fire."
"Regarding the T-72-72, I can ask an acquaintance to handle it. However, we still cannot determine where the supply route is around here. It will take a lot more time, sir."
"If so, why don't we launch a general assault and bomb it right away? I'll have people bomb the surrounding area to cover your advance. Agreed?"
"Yes, sir. Then we'll return to the front."
"Okay, Klaus, remember to protect your girlfriend."
"Absolutely, sir!"
In the southern regions, dawn came very late due to the thick haze of smoke and fire. As the bombers withdrew from the city, the warm morning light gradually appeared in the east. In the quiet of that morning, a few huge columns of black smoke rose in the Choisov and Brakiv districts. On the low-hanging clouds, it was hard to distinguish between the faint morning light and the bright, fiery glow from a devastated Moskwatov.
When the smoke slowly cleared over the ruins, the most bombed city in the world still stood there, grim and eerie. The entire city was blackened with dust, with thousands of gaping holes and twisted columns from the ruined buildings. The streets were littered with wooden crates and body bags. Blood stained everything, from schools to hospitals.
The entire urban area was wiped out, and in the center of the capital, the entire region had completely disappeared, leaving nothing behind. In that empty land, what used to be boulevards and streets were now rugged paths, running through mountains of rubble, bricks, and shattered glass. Everywhere were buildings without roofs or windows, their destroyed interiors staring up at the sky.
After the bombing, countless showers of ash fell, covering the ruins, and in the canyons of brick and scrap metal, there was only blinding dust. The dust swirled along the extended boulevard. The famous trees were now bare, with withered buds on their branches.
Only a few banks, libraries, and luxury stores on this famous boulevard were not damaged. But at the western end of the road, Moskwatov's most famous symbol, the eight-story-tall statue of the Virgin Mary, still stood on its giant column, although it was covered in chips from bomb fragments. At those massive commercial centers, where the Parliament used to meet, on the ruined roof above the entrance with its six columns, overlooking the sea of rubble threatening to engulf the building, were a few blood-red letters that clearly read: "For the Eurasian People's Party!"
A huge convoy appeared behind the hazy fog that covered the capital. The 64th Guards Armored Regiment, led by Major Wittman Pankow, a talented commander with many achievements in destroying the enemy, was a part of it. Pankow ordered his 14-tank convoy to advance straight toward the enemy. However, to avoid being exposed, he decided to split the formation.
Moving through the devastated neighborhoods, Pankow carefully observed each building to see if there were enemies inside. At a highway section, Pankow began to deploy his battle formation. The Marleyonts would secretly hide in the shadows and fire simultaneously. Then, they would immediately change positions, maintaining the element of surprise.
"Report! A few T-72-72B tanks have been spotted moving along the K92 boulevard, at 12 o'clock, two kilometers north. The number is about three."
"Good. Everyone to battle stations. Remember to aim for their weak spots. Don't waste armor-piercing rounds. One round is as expensive as my phone. Damn."
Pankow had his tank crash straight into a civilian house, creating a perfect camouflage, revealing only the gun barrel. Everything else was covered in dirt and rubble. A soldier suddenly said, "Major, the Eurasian guys have started to advance. Can we open fire yet?"
"Calm down. Wait until they get close enough."
Pankow and his tank crew held their breath, waiting for the enemy's T-72 tank convoy to get close enough. But a big problem occurred. Sitting on those tanks were civilians who had not yet evacuated. It turned out the Eurasian army was evacuating civilians from the city to avoid unnecessary casualties. This somewhat shook the will to fight of the Oceania army.
"Commander, the Eurasian guys seem to be moving civilians out of the war zone. Should we continue?" a few people complained.
Pankow remained silent, then he calmly said, "Continue. That's an order. Everyone, aim for the ammunition compartment. Load the armor-piercing rounds. Be ready to fire on command."
"Understood..."
As soon as he saw the enemy was in range, Pankow shouted, "Tanks, fire now!"
The command Marleyont fired a round forward. The round flew out of the barrel, whizzing as if to tear through space. It flew and pierced the thin reactive armor of the T-72 tank and punctured the ammunition compartment.
In an instant, the T-72 completely exploded into a hundred pieces, submerged in a sea of fire. Everything on it was thrown in all directions. The tank's turret was literally blown high into the sky. The tanks following behind were not much better. They were all hit and burned fiercely. A few lucky civilians who survived tried to run but were immediately crushed by the machine guns mounted on the Marleyont tanks, killed on the spot. The reason was that they didn't want anyone to know about their presence in this battle.
"Change positions immediately. C-formation. Defend the North and South."
The Marleyont tanks began to leave. The Eurasian side saw this and immediately gave chase, but that was a fatal mistake.
"Commander! Enemy detected moving. A T-72-80U."
"Understood. Load the anti-tank round. Aim for the front armor."
Pankow's Marleyont suddenly stopped and unexpectedly fired forward. This time, the anti-tank round didn't work. The Eurasian tank successfully dodged the deadly shot. The round flew past the T-72's turret and hit a jewelry store behind it. The gunner shouted in fear. "Damn it, we missed! What do we do now!"
Pankow turned and said, "Don't worry, we still have the automatic defense system. Just release the smoke screen first. We'll figure out the rest later."
The Marleyont controlled by the veteran major quickly released smoke grenades, easily escaping the enemy tank's sight. Before it could move, rounds from somewhere flew toward Pankow and the others. A shell hit the front of Pankow's tank, causing it to explode.
"Sir, our front armor is 25% damaged. The enemy seems to be using a new aiming system. Still loading."
Pankow gritted his teeth and cursed, "It's taking too long to load! These Eurasian guys are tough to beat. Damn it. Guys, it's time for us to use tactic B, or we're all going to die."
"But it's too risky. We can't do that."
"Just trust me. Increase speed and ram the wreckage of the T-72. It's risky, but it will buy us some time to reload."
The Marleyont suddenly sped straight toward the opposite side, directly ramming the wreckage of the burned-out T-72-72B3, tossing it toward the enemy. The deafening sound of the collision echoed. The T-72 following right behind was significantly damaged and couldn't fire accurately. Pankow adjusted his 120mm barrel, aimed it into the distance, and hurriedly fired, using the T-72 tank wreckage as a shield to shoot. After that, everything was silent, with only the groans of the unfortunate Eurasian soldiers remaining.
Pankow sighed in relief, then the whole tank crew laughed loudly in exhilaration.
"Well done, Major. We succeeded."
"See? I told you it would work. Shall we continue, gentlemen?"
For half an hour, the Predatorist war machines took down countless Eurasian armored vehicles, temporarily breaking their advance into the city center. Pankow and his soldiers had taken down more than 12 tanks and 21 armored vehicles, killing nearly 200 accompanying Eurasian soldiers.
Later, the Marleyont tanks regrouped and organized to puncture the enemy's spearheads. The tanks in the front and back took turns firing in all directions, destroying everything on the highway. And not surprisingly, they also took a lot of fire from anti-tank teams. All of them had serious armor damage and needed urgent repairs. In the late afternoon, the fourth-generation Strike Eagle fighter squadrons also arrived to support the mission of holding this stronghold against tens of thousands of Eurasian gunmen.
A crackling voice came from the radio, accompanied by the loud bang of bombs, alerting those who heard it on the other end of the line, making them visualize the tense and fierce scene of the war that had been happening in Moskwatov for the past few days.
"This is Heli Six team. We are being ambushed by enemy missiles and are being held back. We need reinforcement. Over!"
Another voice came over the radio, replying to the person who had just spoken. "Alpha Zero calling Heli Six. Try to hold out for a few more minutes. Reinforcements are coming. We will be there as soon as possible. Don't worry, brothers! Over!"
The sound of bombs rang out loudly, roaring throughout the dark cityscape. The modern, spacious neighborhoods were immediately submerged in a sea of fire. Smoke billowed up, and a fire blazed, along with the sound of sirens that drowned out the miserable screams of the Eurasian soldiers.
The roadblocks on the street were smashed into pieces like matchsticks. The Marleyont tanks moved very fast, blowing up buildings instead of letting Eurasian snipers and soldiers enter them. We didn't want to waste time. Some obstacles were destroyed by direct cannon fire, such as trams and trailers full of rocks. When we encountered more solid roadblocks, the whole team went around them. At the city entrances, the Logravic troops who also participated in the war clashed with the resistance forces. They went into the houses on one side of the blocked road and shot from one basement to another with bazookas. They emerged behind the enemy and wiped out the entire nest in a few short seconds.
The artillery leveled every meter of the central districts. The occupied areas were taken as quickly as our march with the artillery and cannons that we used by the Lavtovy river. Everywhere was dense with firepower and the thunder of explosions. The city's thin defense force was gradually pushed back, and the districts were defeated one after another.
In some places, the soldiers in the Eurasian Local Defense Forces, equipped with rudimentary weapons, just turned and ran away. Members of the Youth Union, the Self-Defense Forces, the police, and the firefighters fought side by side, but under different officers. They fought for one purpose, but the orders they received were contradictory. In fact, many people didn't even know who was commanding them.
Colonel Pankow's Marleyont tank moved very fast, directly smashing the gate of Moskwatov Park. The sound of the wall breaking echoed. The five of us immediately rushed in, wildly firing everywhere. The space was filled with the sound of gunshots and bombs. The other side only fought back weakly for half an hour and was immediately wiped out. We charged like a storm, like an endless, unstoppable wave.
A mortar round exploded. Immediately after, two more exploded. The artillery barrage had begun. Machine guns clattered. At this point, there was nothing to do but lie still. It seemed there was about to be an attack. Flares shot up in all four directions.
"What the hell is our artillery doing! They're going to blow our own heads off!" Petrov yelled in fury.
My squad entered the inner city with heavy armored support. The Eurasian army tried to resist as fiercely as possible. We had never seen them fight in such a chaotic manner. Gunfights were happening everywhere. Urban combat, combined with being outnumbered and outgunned, made it difficult for us to find cover, so we couldn't maneuver like before.
"Their fire is too hot! Ilaina, take out the machine gunner on the fourth floor."
I peeked out and sprayed a burst of bullets at the building in front of me. The crisp sound of gunfire blended with screams and the roar of tank engines. A few fools who showed their faces were immediately dealt with by Ilaina and me. However, the enemy still clung on, even though their position had been bombed to pieces. I emptied my clip and quickly knelt down to reload. It was a mechanical, repetitive process.
"Damn it! My AK is jammed. Petrov, give me cover!"
I panicked when I realized my rifle was broken. I nervously sat down and took out my spare Mark-18 rifle. Just as I took it out, a 120mm mortar round landed a few hundred meters away, directly destroying the tracks of a Marleyont tank. We had to run for our lives before we were turned into a pile of minced meat. And then, the Marleyont exploded, to our surprise.
We were worried and tried to contact our superiors for reinforcements.
"They're hitting us with mortars! Augusta, call a Raptor jet or an M-777 howitzer! I don't want to end up like those guys!"
"Okay, hold on. Freedom calling Acer. We are under heavy mortar fire from the enemy and need additional support. Over!"
"Acer is busy. Pankow, help them out!"
Unexpectedly, we were being pulverized by the enemy. No matter how much we fired, those Eurasian bastards wouldn't give up an inch of ground. Maybe they knew the war was nearing its end, that they would soon be killed by something called a depleted uranium round. A Marleyont tank with the Oceania flag and the nickname "Pankow" appeared. It slowly aimed its barrel at the building and, without a second thought, fired a fatal shot inside.
With a thunderous explosion, the roof was literally blown off, scattering dirt and rocks everywhere. Inside, there was nothing left but a tangled mess of flesh and fragments. Smoke billowed high, and a fire raged. To be safe, the Marleyont continued to fire its 12.7mm rounds, causing the entire structure to collapse. Our troops fanned out from different directions and quickly took control of the building. Next, we would go to the Eurasian Government Palace to rescue the encircled troop teams.
To prevent a tactically-deficient advance, I asked Mikhail and Petrov, along with some others, to go ahead as the vanguard. Ilaina, the sniper team, and the anti-tank team would stay behind, protecting the communications officer, Augusta, and providing long-range support to help us wipe out the enemy's gun nests.
"Mikhail, Petrov, you two check the right flank. Augusta, stay here and keep watch. Ilaina, you watch her and try to provide cover. Everyone! Let's go!"
Continuing to charge forward, the Oceania troops encountered unforeseen obstacles. The enemy had brought anti-aircraft vehicles to pulverize our assault lines. In the face of that terrible firepower, advancing was impossible, and the chance of heavy casualties was very high. I tried a few probing attacks, but the results were not good. Ilaina also didn't dare to shoot at that Tunguska monster. The plan had been derailed and needed to be changed immediately.
That steel monster began to fire wildly at the Oceania troops, instantly killing the unfortunate men, literally causing their bodies to explode. Horrifying volleys of fire came, echoing loudly along the streets full of corpses. We were terrified and hid in a corner, praying that we wouldn't be the next victims.
"Damn it, Klaus! I'm sorry, but that iron pig's fire is too hot! I can't shoot now! Augusta, call General Kestrel for more reinforcements! I can't take it anymore."
Suddenly, an armor-piercing round whizzed past our heads, hitting the Tunguska's weak spot and destroying it. The powerful war machine exploded into pieces, turning itself into a raging fire in the heart of the chaotic capital.
"Everyone! Let's go! We're about to win!"
Thousands of Oceania soldiers flooded into the defensive stronghold, slaughtering everyone there, even civilians. Desperate screams echoed across the battlefield. Artillery rained down on the Potkov bridge, once the largest bridge in the world, now in ruins under bombs and shells. The chaos lasted for half a day before finally stopping.
I stood up and led my comrades across the bridge after clearing out the last remaining defensive strongholds. The sound of footsteps boomed. The Oceania troops crossed the bridge easily with little resistance. Occasionally, we encountered a few people trying to escape, only to be killed instantly...
"Damn it! How many soldiers have we lost in just a few days? The headquarters was so busy just yesterday... Why now..."
"Medic! Where are the medics! Please help my comrade, please. He lost his arm and leg. Hang in there!"
"It hurts so much. Please, give me painkillers! Arghhh! My hand is gone!"
"Take this man over there. He's about to die from blood loss."
Ignoring the miserable screams and groans of the wounded, the five of us wearily sat down in a corner of the makeshift clinic, which was full of scattered corpses. We were all breathless after going through countless life-and-death battles deep in the inner city. Sweat soaked our clothes. Our faces were pale from fighting non-stop for two consecutive weeks. Our rifles were mostly overheated and severely damaged. Our uniforms were frayed and stained with mud and blood.
Blood was splattered all over the ground, along with pockmarked bomb craters and bullet holes everywhere. The streets were full of destroyed and motionless armored vehicles, blackened in patches. Occasionally, we saw groups of prisoners being executed on the spot. Houses were littered with broken glass from windows or from walls so thin they could collapse with a small force. The streets were just piles of jagged rubble after the relentless artillery and air bombardments. A gloomy and eerie atmosphere hung over the once luxurious and prosperous city named Moskwatov.
We went down into the trench. The sunlight shone down all the way. The trench was yellow, dry, and echoed with sound. I admired the uniform depth and the smooth walls carved with shovels. I was delighted to hear the clear, crisp sound of our boots on the hard ground or on the wooden planks, small pieces of wood placed next to each other to form a kind of floor.
Young trees grew along both sides of the path, their leaves and branches intertwined. We walked for a while in that gentle green color. A final ray of light stretched across the path, casting round, pale yellow spots on the branches and leaves, like piles of gold coins. A few ammunition boxes lay motionless in the trench.
We had been through hard days and tragic nights in the cold, in the water, in the mud. Even though it was still winter, a beautiful first morning signaled to us and made us believe that once again, spring was about to return. The trench was adorned with lush green grass, and in the nascent shivers of that young grass, flowers woke up. The short, narrow days were about to end. Spring came from above and also from below the bunker. We breathed in the air happily. We were happy, happy that the terrible years were over.
The five of us walked past the Presidential Palace, where most of the Eurasian armed forces command had accepted unconditional surrender, asking all soldiers on all fronts to lay down their arms and accept disarmament. The president had panicked and used a plane to escape, so the situation had gradually become worse than it was at the beginning.
We walked past that place, witnessing a glorious scene, where the demon that had tortured itself collapsed in the supreme joy of the Oceania soldiers. They shouted loudly, constantly firing their guns into the sky to celebrate the costly victory. They used fire to burn all the relics related to the old government, and even vandalized them.
Indeed, the hard days were about to pass. The war would also pass, right? The war would surely end in the beautiful season that was coming and was already shining on us, beginning to caress us with a cool spring breeze.
Tired as we were, we finally reached the No. 9 field hospital at the city gates. The five of us—Ilaina, Augusta, Mikhail, Petrov, and I—had all suffered significantly more injuries than others. Of course, because we were the ones who had pioneered the fiercest battles in human history. Not once, but twice: Kritchenburg and Moskwatov.
Mikhail knelt down as soon as we got back to the barracks. In a weary voice, he said sarcastically, "Haha, we finally dragged our bodies home. It was terrible to have to fight in this damn city."
Petrov continued for him, "We almost died that time, right? That bastard driving the Marleyont tank was as stupid as a pig, just firing without a care! If Augusta hadn't pushed you away, you would have died, Mikhail. You should repay your girlfriend. You should be like Mr. Klaus here."
"Nonsense. How long are you guys going to keep this silly joke going?"
"Until Mikhail accepts Augusta's feelings," Ilaina interjected.
Mikhail immediately changed the subject. "So what are you guys going to do after the war? The president is about to be captured anyway. Soon, we'll be able to return to our normal lives."
Ilaina thought deeply and replied.
"In reality, we'll still have to stay in the army. After the war, the number of dead is not small, plus the weak economy is hopeless. We also need to pay attention to those separatist groups in Eurasian, Rostovia, and the Balkans."
Petrov quickly answered.
"What's so scary about those guys? They're all antiques from some bygone era. We'll give them a few napalm bombs and I guarantee they won't be able to recover. But it seems Rostovia is still worth paying attention to. They won't stick to the old military doctrine anymore. Instead, they'll use air power on a large scale like us."
I sighed and briefly talked about the separatist republics to the group. Before, while hunting down the Eurasian president, I had picked up a good number of classified government documents, so I understood some of it.
"According to the latest announcement, the enemy will soon be dissolved into many different independent nations. The largest will still be the original Eurasian, but it will be fragmented. Besides their vast land, those guys also have many types of nuclear weapons. We still don't know if we can seize them. Oceania is too exhausted from the war. Annexation would probably bring a lot of political problems as well."
"So we still have to stay in the army? That's so boring. When will we be able to escape this hellhole? Day after day, we have to wear the same clothes and always carry a heavy rifle on our shoulders," Augusta began to complain.
"I hope those officers will give us leave soon. If we have to fight again now, I'd rather kill myself. What's the point of fighting? At most, we'll just execute a few old Eurasian officials and confiscate all their weapons, and that's it. End of story."
"Can't you think a little deeper, my friend? Not to mention those separatists, we still have to deal with this fragile economy or we'll starve to death. I don't want my children to have to chew dirt to live."
We laughed unconsciously, so happy that we were all still safe and sound after the missile rain, in the trenches, and in the cramped bunkers of the urban area. We survived. We were the last of this generation. A generation that was caught up in and torn to shreds by this unjust war. We no longer remembered the faces of our acquaintances or the old places. Everything had disappeared.
It would be hard to imagine that we had truly ended it, the thing that had taken the lives of our mothers, fathers, families, and loved ones, and we were still alive. Meanwhile, others were not so lucky. Many died, dying in pain, dying without knowing who they were, or what they came here to do.
It was pitiful for their tragic fate, the victims of this unjust imperial war. Like puppets completely in the hands of the high-ranking leaders, they charged forward, killing other puppets without needing to know who they were. On the other hand, extremist nationalist ideology had been pushed to its peak, as the young students of the two countries were brainwashed. These young sprouts were given blasphemous knowledge about history to read.
In it, it was always said that the people from the Eastern nations, Eurasian, or the Western nations, Oceania, were demons, and they had to study constantly to be able to take their lives, dissect them, and brutally slaughter them all. Is this because of the law of nature? A forest can't have two tigers?
The schools that were compared to a second home were transformed into military strongholds. Children's toys like drones and remote-controlled cars were more than enough to kill an adult. The students, those little kids, were taken to the distant battlefield and given something called a "gun" to decide the life of a person from another world...
The train carrying the wounded arrived again. Our area received a few hundred more people, especially two famous artists who had volunteered to join the war. The doctors and nurses never brought a knife with them when they fed him; once, he managed to grab a knife from a nurse. Even with such care, something happened.
One night, while feeding the blind young man, someone called out, and his private nurse had to run away for a moment, so she left the plate and the fork on his table. He groped for the fork, took it, and used all his strength to stab himself in the heart. Then he grabbed a shoe and slammed it hard on the fork's handle. We screamed for help, and it took three people to pull the fork out. The blunt fork prongs were deeply embedded in his chest. The musician cursed at us all night, and no one could sleep. In the morning, he had a fit of crying and screaming and died a painful and agonizing death.
There were empty beds. Day after day passed in pain and fear, in groans and gasps. Even the existence of the dying rooms didn't help anymore. They were too few. Many people died in our rooms at night. They simply died faster than the doctors could calculate.
Gradually, a few of us were allowed to get up. I was also given a pair of crutches to practice walking. So sometimes I would limp out into the corridor... where I could move more freely.
One floor below us were the wounded who had been hit in the abdomen, spine, and head, and those who had both legs amputated. The rooms on the right were for people with bullet wounds to the jaw, gas poisoning, and injuries to the ears, nose, and throat. The rooms on the left were for wounded soldiers with ruined eyes, and those with injuries to their lungs, pelvis, joints, kidneys, testicles, and stomach. You have to come here to see that a person can be hit anywhere on their body.
Two people died from tetanus. Their skin turned gray, their limbs stiffened, and only their eyes lived longer than the rest... In some wounded soldiers, ropes had to be hung to suspend their wounded legs or arms, and a basin was placed under the wound to catch the pus. The basin was emptied every two or three hours.
Some people had their bones bandaged and reset, lying on beds with heavy weights to pull the bones into place. I saw intestinal wounds that were always full of feces. The doctor's secretary showed me X-rays of shattered hip bones, knee bones, and shoulder bones.
We still couldn't understand how, with nearly ten million bodies so torn apart, there were still human faces above them, and in those faces, life still continued to flow in its daily course. But this was only a single field hospital, a single medical station. There were hundreds of thousands of such field hospitals in Oceania, tens of thousands in Eurasian, and hundreds of thousands in Moskwatov.
How meaningless everything that has been written, done, and thought by humans has been, when such a tragedy can take place! Everything must be a lie and meaningless, if a culture that has existed for centuries cannot prevent the river of blood from flowing, cannot prevent the existence of such prisons of suffering. Only a field hospital can truly show what war is.
A few weeks later, as predicted, the situation here became chaotic. The reactionary separatist groups had grown stronger than we expected, accompanied by social vices, crime, black market activity, and gangs purging each other. In addition to restoring and disarming the prisoners, we also had to protect them. The people were afraid, so they abandoned their homes and wandered everywhere. My unit was sent to a large internment camp for the key members of the old government.
I rarely saw them talk, and if they did, it was just a few short, meaningless words. They were more humane, and I almost believed they treated each other with more brotherhood than we did here. But maybe it was just because they felt more unfortunate than us. For them, the war was over, wasn't it? But living in fear of getting dysentery is not living, is it?
Maybe it was because they had already guessed their tragic fate later on? That they would die either from the terrible dysentery or from the torture and torment of the Oceania people? That's not wrong. Indeed, Eurasian had invaded Oceania. Those people must have been very resentful that the peace of their countryside had been taken away by tons of bombs and shells.
The guards told me that they were more active at first. They had relationships with each other, as is always the case, and problems were usually solved with knives and fists. But now they were completely bored and indifferent. Most of them didn't even bother to talk anymore. They were too weak, although before, this situation was sometimes so bad that the whole camp would commit suicide at the same time.
If only I knew more about them, like what their names were, how they lived, what they hoped for, what tormented them, then my frustration would have a clear goal and could turn into pity...
They stood by the fence. Sometimes one person would stagger away, and soon another would take his place. Most of them were silent. Only a few would occasionally ask for half-smoked cigarette butts.
I looked at their dark figures. Their beards fluttered in the wind. I knew nothing about them, except that they were prisoners, and that was what frustrated me. Their lives were anonymous and innocent... But at this moment, I felt that behind them was only the pain of living bodies, the terrible sadness of life, and the cruelty of people. Not only that, but also the strings of control that the officials had attached.
At some desk, a document was signed by people none of us knew, and for many years our highest goal was something that the whole world normally detested and deserved the strictest punishment. Who can distinguish the enemy when looking at these quiet people with the faces of children and the beards of apostles!
Any non-commissioned officer to the new recruits, any teacher to the students, is a much more ferocious enemy than these people are to us. And yet, we would still shoot them, just as they would shoot us, if they were free.
A command made these quiet figures our enemies. Now, if we wanted to, another command could turn them into our friends.I was startled in fear. I couldn't continue to think like that. This path leads to an abyss. It wasn't the right time yet, but I didn't want to let go of this thought. I wanted to keep it, to continue to hide it until the war ended. My heart pounded. Could this be the goal, the great goal, the only goal I had thought about in the trenches, the goal that I sought as a possibility for existence after this human tragedy? Could this be the mission for the rest of my life, worthy of the terrible years I had gone through?
I took out my cigarette, broke each one in half, and gave them to the Eurasian prisoners. They bowed and lit them. Now, on a few faces, red embers flickered...