The Black Flag

Clive awoke to the clatter of kitchen utensils and the sound of voices drifting from the kitchen. He became aware that his sleepless night had ended in an unintended doze. Without fully undressing, he found himself still wearing his fatigue pants and hob-nailed boots as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up, he stretched his tired limbs, greeted by the enticing aroma of synthetic bacon and real eggs wafting from the kitchen. His stomach growled in a harmonious “good morning.” Adjusting his braces, he moved purposefully toward the door, leaving the haze of last night’s drinking session behind. Unconsciously guided by familiarity, he found himself in the kitchen before his groggy mind fully registered the journey. Spotting the only vacant chair at the table, he settled into it and reached for the tea-cozied pot, hoping that his mother’s renowned strong tea would banish the remnants of alcohol-induced sleep from his system.

The other three men of the family sat at the table, each engrossed in their own breakfast routines. George, the eldest brother, served as a top-notch gunner on the Royal Navy warship, Scimitar. Ted, the youngest brother, drove a mechanized war chariot and belonged to the 22nd Armored unit. Their father, a member of the Home Defense Force, commanded a gun team stationed at the battery defenses in Essex. Remarkably, they were all on leave simultaneously, thanks to the Home Offices family leave mandate that allowed families to enjoy time off together. However, in their case, the mandate held little significance. They harbored a mutual dislike for each other’s company. A perfect illustration of this was when George made a move for the sugar bowl, only for Ted to swiftly intercept and redirect it to his side of the table. Ted then pondered meticulously over which cube to select, completely disregarding any understanding or brotherly affection. Meanwhile, their father kept one ear attentive, ready to spring into action if their mother intervened.

Clive Baker, middle son and dark horse, was an officer of “B” Company, 3rd Battalion, The Royal Mechanized Kent Rifles, who stood out among the many families of his council row as one of few, to have achieved such a level. He had distinguished himself in combat and due to the drain on leadership, had been given a field promotion.

Clive had led his company forward when his company commander had had his head and shoulders removed courtesy of an airburst. Clive had seen his comrade’s faces, the uncertainty, and doubt. He had led the way, picking up an abandoned Lewis gun and moving forward. Once they had achieved their first objective, they had turned to him for directions. Not their platoon commanders, but the young Sergeant who had led the way. They had achieved their objectives, and the enemy’s trenches had been silenced. He had been awarded the distinguished service cross, and had been promoted to Subaltern on the spot. That was 4 years ago, and now at the age of 24, he was a Captain and in charge of a “Mech” company.

The First World War had dragged on, and in June of 1956 had become an altogether most monotonous but no less dangerous affair.

His brothers did not have the ambition to advance their positions, nor the opportunity. Naval warfare had become more of a posturing endeavor and the days of armored advance had been greatly reduced as both sides had consolidated to build their concrete fortresses. Clive had been given an opportunity that he had willingly pursued.

He knew his mum was proud but that his dad never rose to defend his son from the opinions of the other locals at the drinking sessions held at the Serviceman’s Hall. Everyone had an opinion about a local boy being promoted above his station. Clive far preferred his local pub, the Shephard’s Arms, and would retreat into a nook to drink his leaves away.

A plate of synth bacon and real eggs was pushed in front of him. Sausages followed, and mushrooms grown in the cellar also quickly appeared. He wolfed it down and after finishing his tea, leapt from the table, and dashed upstairs. Today he had to return to the front.

Once he had dressed and packed, he presented himself downstairs in the small foyer of the council house his parents and family had lived in his entire life. He glanced into the foyer hat mirror not recognizing the man who looked back. Lines now etched his forehead and his skin was dark and stretched. His eyes were permanently surrounded by dark rings and his hair betrayed wisps of premature gray. Eight years at war, everyday was written all over his face.

Picking up his case, neatly packed and laundered, he lent down to say good-bye to his mum and give her a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

“I’ll be seeing you then”, he said quietly, “Thanks mum, great to be at home.” It was a lie, but then the truth wasn’t worth the pain.

“Yes Clive, it was nice having you home.” She replied, “Now you take care, I packed some of Mr. Ogden’s Cheddar and some water biscuits, don’t you mind though. I made sure to wrap them tight, so it won’t smell up your clothes.” Her hands indicating the wrapping motion. Clive’s Dad stood a little further into the house, witnessing the departure of his son and the fussing of his wife.

“See you lad”, he rumbled, and reached out to take his wife by the shoulder. She knew that was the sign to let her boy go, before the tears set in.

Clive’s brothers were absent. He would probably see Ted on the other side. They were assigned to the same sector of the front. George, not again until the next leave.

“See you boys”, he said aloud. “Yeah, all the best Clive”, came a voice from the kitchen, not too sure if it was George or Ted, he moved out the door hefted his bags, and walked down the garden path to the gate.

Taking one last glance at the house that had become so small, he walked down the street towards the train station.

Chapter 2

The view ahead was one of black factory chimneys that loomed over rows of houses, belching smoke and steam, barrage balloons lying low in the dark and dangerous looking sky. A flight of fighter planes, leading a massive airship, bristling with guns, flew in the direction of the coast and the war.

Folkstone had changed so much over the last 20 years, factories had crept into the landscape to keep munitions and weapons flowing to the front. It had been attacked often, but the Great East Wall Defenses now absorbed much of that, and the channel guns, returned or fought off any aerial threat.

The war ignited in 1914, with the Zentral Kaiserliche Leistung forming a coalition comprising Germany, Austria-Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, and the Ottoman Empire. Prior to this, Poland and Ukraine had joined forces, launching an assault on a crumbling Russia. This conflict, known as the Eurasian War, unfolded as a brutal and separate affair. Amid the chaos, smaller nations faced the stark choice of aligning with one side or the other in order to ensure their survival.

The European Allied Forces were predominantly led by England, supported by her soldiers from the Empire, and reinforced by France, Italy, and several smaller nations. Overseas, America remained neutral, profiting from trade with both warring factions. At one point, however, America made an audacious attempt to seize Western Canada when England and her Allies faced dire circumstances in Europe. This endeavor was swiftly thwarted by Canadian Militia units, many of whom were composed of seasoned veterans equipped with cutting-edge war technology. The resolute Canadians forced the Americans into signing a peace treaty, which granted the Americans access to some of the same technology in exchange.

As the war raged on, the rest of the world found themselves either embroiled in the conflict or supplying the belligerents. The naval theater emerged as the primary battleground, where England, fortunately, still maintained dominance over the seas surrounding England, as well as the trade routes to North America and the Pacific. The Germans and their allies had claimed substantial territories in Russia with minimal resistance and relied on numerous supply channels extending from Africa. Japan, grappling with the overflow from the Eurasian War and managing several regional conflicts, dominated the waters in the Asian region to facilitate the transportation of vital supplies for the ongoing war effort.

The ravaged Earth bore the scars of the relentless conflict, with new chemical weapons and biological experiments attempting to break the stalemate. Outbreaks of virulent diseases within the war zone had given rise to abominable events and monstrosities. These creatures now roamed the desolate areas, preying on the remaining humans and the unfortunate souls wounded or maimed in the sporadic engagements along the war’s dwindling frontlines. The planet, scarred and enraged, suffered the consequences of the horrifying devastation unleashed upon it.

Clive walked up the steps of the station joined by other men and women returning to the war or going on some errand elsewhere in the world. He stood in line to redeem his token for a ticket. Next to him an older gentleman in a dark suit waited patiently. He smiled, and the gentlemen tipped his hat to him, “Morning”, came the reply. “Good morning”, Clive responded. “Going to London?”, Clive inquired as they shuffled forward to the ticket kiosk. “No’”, the man responded, “Actually, joining you to the front.” Clive looked the man up and down, strong face, tanned and lined, late 40s, early 50s, but a powerful form under a well-tailored suit. “Oh yes, not exactly dressed for it, I mean, excuse me for pointing out the obvious but it’s pretty harsh up there?” The man, smiled again, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. Clive could sense that this was a man that could look after himself. “Yes”, the man replied, still with a slight smile, “Well, we all have our uniforms, some may not be as practical as others, but effective nonetheless.”

Clive finally arrived at the little kiosk and handed over his token to receive his one-way ticket. Intrigued by the stranger, he turned to offer him company on his journey, but the man was already gone. Clive caught a glimpse of the bowler hat moving away in the crowd, but that was the last he saw of the man.

Finding a quiet seat in the corner of one of the carriages reserved for officers, he settled down for the last opportunity he would have to get an undisturbed nap for some time to come. He had placed his bag on the rack above his head and dragged his Greatcoat over his shoulders. Closing his eyes to fall asleep.

The train rumbled out of the station and moved down the line and into the tunnel that connected England with the European continent. A project that had taken 10 years to complete, but one that made the trip to the front much better than the rough channel crossing and the constant barrages from the enemy’s big guns. The Royal Navy sat permanently in place to protect it from above, and submarine nets and unknown meters of iron and concrete kept it safe down below. Clive’s next recollection was the screaming of brakes and shunting of the cars as the locomotive came to a halt in the main underground station, Calais Central located under the back end of the Western Front Defenses.

He gathered his things, and stepped down onto the platform, banging life back into his legs. Following the crowd up and out, he had another journey to make on the internal subway system that ran the entire length of the Western Front Defenses, a complex of bunkers, offices, armories, fuel dumps, ammunition stores, reserve barracks, communications and emplaced batteries. All the necessary working parts of the war. To support the front line, a kilometer to the East of the Western Front Defenses and running across Europe, from Ostend on the Coast of Belgium, following the Loire River to Saint Etienne, from there cutting East to the neutral Swiss Border. Much of the land that lay behind it, had been fought over for years, and was now been built over or had industrial plants in heavily fortified bunkers, providing supplies close to the front. Over the dead dark earth of No-Man's Land, similarly, the Central European Powers (CEP) sat in their fortifications.

Chapter 3

After one more transfer and a walk from the main fortifications, Clive finally arrived at his destination, 2 miles outside of the once beautiful city of Nantes, now a fortress, eight hours in total. By the time he dropped his bags onto his bunk and stuck his head into the mess, it was getting on to be late evening.

“Evening all”, he ventured into the low lit room, “Miss me?”. “Not a fucking chance”, came a voice from behind the Daily Mail. The paper crumbled down to reveal the face of Lieutenant Peter Crossman, his 2 Platoon Commander and oldest man in the company. Held back for several reasons, the most prevalent being that he had absolutely no respect for rank and his family were incredibly rich, copper merchants. So, he had little care for advancement and was happy where he was. A face appeared around one of the support beams and his Mechanized Platoon Commander, Tracy Morgan, smiled a hello. She had been with Clive for almost 2 years and his respect for her was immeasurable, as well as affection. She had proven not only her sheer courage but her acute tactical mind many times. They had shared moments which he relished, he worried at being her commander and at the same time, enjoying a mutual attraction. She was due for advancement; he would sorely miss her if she was to be transferred out to take over her own company.

Hesitantly, his ridiculously curly hair all over the shop. Kelly Banner, 1 Platoon commander stood up, reaching out to take Clive’s hand. “Welcome back sir, good leave?”, his quiet voice in very sharp contrast to the strong and articulated leader that appeared whenever things got a tad wobbly. “Yes, thanks Kelly, quiet week at mum and dads.” Kelly, nodded as he took his seat once more. “How has it been here?” Clive asked, scanning the team assembled. He was missing his 3rd Platoon Commander Petrov Drivas. All the good men and women who made up his little gang.

“Its been rather quiet.” Kelly took the initiative. “Still pretty much the way it has been over the last 6 months or so.” “However,” Kelly’s eyes moving from one member of the team to the next, finishing with his commanding officer, “There have been some strange goings on up North.” He hesitated, made a mental decision, and continued. “Nothing has been said but rumors’ have started to circulate that there has been an increased desertion in the Northern Sectors.” “Ours?” Clive asked. “No sir”, Kelly stammered, “The enemy have been handing themselves in, in numbers.” Kelly stopped and waited for someone else to join in. “Apparently sir”, Peter picked up, “They are rather irrational and a bit worse for wear.” Tracy adding her piece, “Its all very hush, hush, no-one is saying anything.” The conversation stopped there. Clive was about to ask another question, but the curtain to the mess opened and Color Sergeant Peterson stuck his head into the room. “Sir, begging the intrusion, glad you are back safe and sound, but the boss wants a word”, “If you’d be so kind to come with me?” Sandy Peterson was 5 years Clive’s senior, his family had lived two rows over from Clive on the estate. Sandy’s youngest brother had been in the same platoon as Clive when they had come of age to enlist. He had died 3 months out of the depot while on a fighting patrol.

“Certainly Sandy,” Clive looked back at his team, “Get everyone together for a chat first thing tomorrow, I’ll head straight back to mine after talking to the boss.” They all nodded and went back to their previous distractions, Tracy still watching the space that Clive had just occupied, looking forward to a quiet minute with him alone.

The cement walls were lit every few feet with a passive red bulb, at every 25 meter mark, stairs leading up to the fighting bunkers and forward trenches. Doors that led to more corridors to the right, where barracks, messes; like the one Clive had just left and armories were positioned. At this time of the evening, guard detachments would be manning the various outpost bunkers and trench balistraria, peering out into the darkness of no-man’s land looking forward to the end of their 3-hour stint on guard duty. The autoloading trench mortars fired flares when trip wires or sensor plates were activated. The dark never truly ruled the night, with flares capable of illuminating the ground 100s of meters in all directions.

Clive finally took a right turn at Pearl and Pimlico, the street names for the corner that ran down to the Battalion Commander’s Offices. As Clive came to the office complex, he could hear the low hum and murmur of the typewriters and discussion. This part of the trench was always active and working. A sentry from “A” Company stood to attention as Clive approached. “Here to see the boss, he around?” he asked, “Yes sir, go straight in.” The young guard responded.

With the distraction of this unexpected summons, Clive had left his headdress in his room, realizing he was without his peak cap. He ran a hand through his hair to straighten it and entered the CO’s office. Taking a step in, he came to attention in front of the map table currently supporting his Battalion Commander, Colonel Albert Campbell, who was bent over scanning the maps. Next to the table and leaning against a support beam, the CO’s 2ic, Major Gupta Singh. “Relax Baker”, the 2ic motioned for him to stand at ease. Colonel Campbell finally looked up from the table, a mental discussion playing across his face.

“Clive”, the CO started, “I’ve got a job for you.” The big man stood up, stretching his back to work out the pain of being bent over for so long. “GCHQ needs someone to take a joyful and all expenses paid trip into No-man’s land. To poke around a bit and see what they can find or for want of a better word, disturb.” The Colonel pulled down on his jacket sleeves and adjusted his Sam Brown webbing. The holster of his service issued Lee Enfield semi-automatic pistol, missing from his belt but situated on the desk right behind him. “I’d like you to go?” he stated, “Issues or problems with that?”, it wasn’t really a question because there could be only one answer. “Not at all sir, be good to stretch my legs after my break, see what’s been going on in my absence, check on the neighbors, that sort of thing.” The CO smiled, Clive was one of his best officers, and he liked the lad immensely. “Excellent,” the Colonel continued the banter, “Then I will have someone make arrangements and book you and yours a room with a view.” “However,” he leaned forward again, his face hardening, “This task is no ordinary poke around, there is something going on in the East and GHQ wants to see if its reached our sector.” the CO’s eyes looked directly at Clive, “You will by now have heard the rumors?”, “Yes sir,” Clive acknowledged. Major Singh moved away from the beam, “They aren’t rumors.” He said. Preempting a response or reply from either the CO or Clive. “Anyhow,” the CO looked at his adjutant, “Your job is to go out there and see what you can find, this will be a nighttime patrol, you will take a platoon strength. The Major has your orders and disposition details.” Major Singh nodded slightly as Clive looked to the 2ic. “It all happens tomorrow night at 23:00 hours, duration is up to you but we need intelligence so it may mean an overnight stay.” Clive’s head was already processing. He looked up when he heard, an overnight stay, in No-man’s land; this was unusual, not unheard of, but very rare. “Yes sir.” Clive added as required. “Right then,” the CO stood upright again, “Off you go and good luck Captain.” “Thank you, Sir.” Clive came to attention and wheeled around to walk out the door. Major Singh followed.

The Adjutant took the lead, taking him to his much smaller office and handing Clive a red folder from the desk. “Here you go Clive, all details inside, study and let me know if you have any questions?” “Thank you sir”, said Clive, “I will” “Very good Captain”, responded Singh, “Oh, and one more thing, next time proper dress may be advisable, the boss is understanding but not soft.” Major Singh’s eyes looked at Clive’s head. “Yes sir.” Clive smiled, reddening slightly. Blast, so close...

As Clive exited the office, he passed the bank of Radios and Telephones, attended by several communications clerks. All busy listening and writing. Their world must be very interesting listening to the war unfold over the airways.

Clive walked back to his room, 200 meters from the command section and at this time of night a little less active. A young soldier saluted as she passed him by, Clive acknowledged her, and murmured a brief greeting. His mind was already getting things organized for the event.

Chapter 4

Once back in his little room, he was at his desk, the light on, and the folder open. Usual inclusions, aerial photos with maps indicating points of interest. Lists of supplies, patrol strength, weapons, Tracy would be disappointed, her platoon were out of the fun. Special equipment requests, gas indicators and full Chemical, Biological Warfare kits. They were to travel light, close quarter SMGs and trench repeating rifles. One section Lewis Gun for every 10 soldiers, so 3 in total. Rations for a day, water for 2, and a field triage kit to be taken care of by two infield medical operators. So, they were preparing for the worst. He checked out the map, “points of interest” were penciled onto the map, and matched to aerial pictures. They look like depressions; even caves work in some cases. He also noticed that a couple of them came very close to enemy lines. Stealth would be required.

It was early morning by the time Clive got into bed. Although not really getting in, just lying on the top to close his eyes for an hour or 2.

He woke as someone knocked on the door. “Sir, time to get up sir.” It was the Color Sergeant, “Stand-to shortly and breakfast is on the go sir.” Clive swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stepped into his boots. “Thanks Sandy, I’ll be there.” He heard the Sergeant walk away. Washing his face and giving his chin a quick wet shave. He dressed and exited his room. The corridor was full of activity, men and women getting ready for inspection and the call to stand-to. Checking his watch, he saw it was just coming up to 5:30am. Another minute or two and they would be up the steps and into their fighting positions. He would wait an appropriate 2 or 3 minutes and then follow, doing the rounds to make sure his company was in their positions and ready.

The lights in the corridor went from red to white, being the signal stand to. As quietly as they could, the men and women of “B” Company 3rd Battalion of the Royal Kent Armored Rifles, moved up and out of their shelter and into the lightening darkness of early morning. They moved with little noise and no chatter into position. Bayonets fixed once in their assigned gun pit or bunker with weapons charged. It took little more than a few minutes for all movement to have stopped and everyone to be in position. Clive came up last at the very extreme left of his company’s line. He was greeted by a young officer from “A” Company who was walking up and down the line behind his soldiers to make sure everyone was correctly placed. They nodded to each other in the retreating darkness. Clive moved down his section of the line, greeting section and platoon commanders alike. Usually a touch on the shoulder or a whispered greeting. The only sound, the low hum of the well-oiled bearings of the hydraulic system on the turrets of the machine gun bunkers, swinging the guns back and forth across their arc of fire.

The morning sky lightened, he had seen Peter and Kelly, as well as his other platoon commander, Lieutenant Petrov Drivas, the newest member to his team and the newest officer to the Battalion. Company Sergeant Major Frank Lloyd, Clive’s go-to man and temporary 2ic, spent much of his time with the young Lieutenant, making sure he didn’t drop one and get someone killed.

Tracy was in the Heavy Weapons Garage, in her armored battle suit with the rest of her team. She commanded the very latest in battlefield mechanics. A two-operator concept that combined tank and the design of Knight's amour to make a walking, gas-powered, hydraulic monstrosity that provided close support to Clive’s company, be it on the offensive or defensive. These “Tin Men” as they were called, had one belt-fed .303 air-cooled machine gun and a 40 mm Bofor gun, on each extremity. There were two versions, KA 1 and KA 2. The one that Lieutenant Morgan commanded was a KA 2, which had a Flame Thrower with a 60 Liter compressed fuel tank instead of the 40 mm Bofor.

It was another day of endless days, and again they were ready. The morning slowly crept across the land. Clive, stepping into one of the above ground bunkers to take a look through a trench scope. There were scopes all the way down the line, but this one was a high-powered version that could see all the way past enemy lines at 400–500 Yards away. It could magnify the enemy’s emplacements, sometimes seeing movement or activity. Clive peered through the visor and saw nothing. He scanned back and forth a few times but came up empty. Stepping off the platform, he turned it over to the Corporal who was in charge. As he was about to exit, the corporal hesitantly called his attention; “Sir, sorry but just to be on the safe side?” “I have a concern.” The man said as Clive reentered and stood looking up at the soldier. “Umh, well sir, usually in the mornings, Jerry sends us a good morning.” The solider stopped, his mind working on what next to say, and even if it was a good idea to say anything. “Yes, go on.” Clive added reassuringly. “Well, for the last 4 mornings, we haven’t seen anything. It’s just stopped. It was like clockwork sir; they never missed a morning.” Clive climbed back up next to the soldier, taking over the visor. “Also, sir, do you notice anything strange?” The soldier offered; Clive looked at him, expecting an answer. “There is no smoke or steam from their kitchens or boilers, I mean, its been a while now since we have tried to hide things from each other, you know sir, as the wars dragged on and all, but its pretty bloody obvious where we all are.” The solider stopped thinking he had gone on too far stating things the officer was well aware of and not for his squaddie like brain to comprehend. Clive looked back into the visor, zooming in on the enemy’s front line, moving the scope up and down concrete bunkers and revetments. The man was right. There was no movement, no sign of life. The morning light was now bright enough where the dead features of No-Man's Land stood out clearly. He was about to reply to the soldier when a movement out of the corner of his eye, caught his attention at the edge of the magnified landscape.

He swung the telescope around, and saw it again, it appeared out of a crater, moving raggedly towards the Allied line. A group of 4 men and women in the dark green, gray uniforms of the enemy were hurriedly moving in the direction of the British Trenches. They looked panic-stricken, some brandishing weapons others in headlong flight, looking over their shoulders at some invisible pursuer. Clive jumped down from the platform, “Corporal, call Captain Farquhar of “C” Company, tell him the enemy are to his front, but to hold his fire until he hears from me.” Clive didn’t hear the Corporal’s response; he was already out of the bunker and legging it down the frontline. “ON YOUR FIRE STEPS, HOLD YOUR FIRE, FIRE CONTROL FROM YOUR OFFICERS”, he bellowed. Whistles blew, and the soldiers of “B” Company mounted the parapet. He had a feeling and he knew that feeling could get him killed.

Where he judged the enemy would be, he bound up the steps to the “Gate” HADES was scrawled on a piece of wood next to the last step. “Fucking hell, ‘ere we go!” Said a voice as he ran through the gate, drawing his revolver, bending down to move towards the closest piece of cover. He heard footsteps and breathing behind him, and as he came to a rest next to an overturned rotting gun carriage, two young soldiers piled in behind him. “Sorry sir, but we thought you might like some company.” Clive looked at the two grinning faces and clocked them from 2 Platoon. He couldn’t immediately place their names, but he knew them and was a little relieved to have them along. “Tolentino and Lee, sir.” As if they read his mind. “Right”, Clive responded with a grin. “Glad you came.” “I want you to stay here, cover me but only shoot if I tell you to, is that understood?” The two boys looked at each other and nodded eagerly. “I’m hoping we can get some solid intel so the least number of casualties the better.” Clive justified. “Yes sir, we understand.” Said Lee. “Great, wish me luck.” Clive removed his peak cap and set off.

The group was still quite a way away, but as Clive slowly moved forward, he straightened up, hoping they would see him and not be panicked by the presence of a British Officer. He holstered his weapon, “Here goes nothing,” he thought. Moving into a clearing on the edge of a bomb crater, he stood still with his hands in the air. He could hear them talking in German, crying out loud, sobbing and cursing, but it was mixed and there didn’t seem to be any coherent line of conversation. He stood very still, not seeing anyone pursuing, his curiosity rising. As they got nearer, a woman in an officer’s uniform saw him first. She stopped abruptly and held up her hand. The group huddled around her, paying him no attention but staring behind her.

“It’s okay”, Clive called. “Drop your weapons and move forward with your hands up. You will be safe.” Clive urged. The women officer looked over her shoulder, “Captain”, she replied. “What is coming makes none of us safe, it is advisable we keep moving, please.” Her last words more of a plead than request. Clive scanned the horizon, a slight orange fog had appeared but besides that, not seeing anything that would indicate an issue. “Okay but drop your weapons.” Clive insisted, his hand moving down to the hilt of his weapon. One of the men, said something and then stumbled forward towards the Allied trench. “No”, Clive yelled, “Stop!” It was pointless, they were too panic stricken to listen, only the officer seemed to remain calm and proceeded to walk towards Clive. Clive had his weapon in his hand, but they paid him no attention and ran right past. Passing either side of him, not sparing him a thought or consideration. He watched their backs as they ran towards his lines. He moved forward and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her after him. A single shot rang out. There were overlapping shouts, English, and German. Then a barrage of shots, some rounds flying dangerously overhead, ended the conversation. He crouched down, dragging her to the safety of the gun carriage, the two soldiers still there, looking over their shoulders in disbelief. “Sir, they just ran right into our guns?” Lee said, his voice trembling. Clive ignored the young man, peering into No-man’s land, the silence returning, the tinted orange mist mixing with bluish organic vapor drifting lazily over the broken land in-between the two lines. The mist thickened into a distinct orange fog, slowly creeping slowly towards where they were situated. The German Officer joined him at his shoulder, her trembling breath producing puffs of condensation, pointing through the remaining struts of the overturned gun-carriage wheel. “There”, she said. The orange cloud passed in front of where she was pointing, but then as it cleared, he saw.

He would remember the feeling of cold fear, deep in his bones for years to come. On a small hill overlooking the enemy lines stood a large black animal, like a draught horse. He couldn’t see it in detail. It was too far away. On its back sat a black helmeted figure, holding a lance with black pennant. The animal raised itself off the ground and the figure on its back raised the lance into the air, letting out a vicious and unholy scream, as it disappeared behind a swirling cloud, vanishing.

He blinked his eyes and looked again, imagination, a reaction to the toxic gas lingering in No-Man's Land. Clive did not stop to think for another moment. He was up, grabbing the German by the wrist, “Come on!” he shouted, running; the two lads followed in closely. No pursuing shots following their retreat.

When they regained the lines, Clive was still trying to process what had just happened and what he had seen. Once back in safety, he retrieved his Greatcoat and moved to sit next to the German Officer, her uniform bloody and mud-streaked, her face lined and gray. A member of his company stood over her rifle at ease, while another handed her a hot mug of tea.

Clive had questions and she quite possibly had answers. Peter Crossman was also there, leaning against the wall, his chin supported by crossed arms, and a hand. He studied the guest, as did some of the other soldiers on either side of where she sat. Clive looked at Lt. Crossman, coking his head, “What do you think?”

Peter, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “Good question?” “Possibly a trick, Trojan horse type stuff or something is truly not right in the world.” Clive looked back at the female officer; she sat staring straight forward, occasionally sipping the tea. “How do you feel?” He asked. She did not immediately respond. Slowly, as if waking up, she looked in his direction. “Captain, the world is in danger, we are all in danger.” Her words became stronger, hurried. “It is not human; they are not human.” Her hand raised to her forehead, trembling. “We were unaware, they just appeared in the night, hunting my soldiers in their trenches.” Her voice became more intense. “They are not alive; they are not human!” She forced. She grabbed his jacket and then slumped forward, collapsing into the bottom of the trench before Clive could catch her. “Orderly”, he commanded, “Get a stretcher, take her to the infirmary.” “She needs rest and a chance to recover.” Clive picked her up and cradled her in his arms as the orderlies appeared and moved her onto the waiting stretcher.

Colonel Campbell and his 2ic appeared, passing the orderlies carrying the unconscious prisoner, hurrying away down the trench to the next entrance of the bunker complex. Clive and Crossman snapped to attention, and the nearby men and women, stiffened in the presence of the brass. “Bit of fun this morning then?” The Colonel asked. “What’s going on, heard Jerrys making mad dashes across no-man’s land?”

“That is correct sir, not to sure what the cause is and do not wish to hazard a guess.” Clive replied. “I see”, bemused the boss. “Right, extend stand-to for another hour and double daytime and triple nighttime strength on guard duty.” The Colonel commanded. “Baker, get yourself sorted out for tonight.” “Command still sees the need for your task, more now so than ever I can imagine.” He turned and walked away, greeting the men and women of “B” Company that he recognized. The Battalion 2ic following closely behind.

“Short and sweet,” Peter mumbled, “You should get going sir, we can hold down the fort.” Clive nodded an agreement as his eyes followed the orderlies and the Colonel’s retreating back. “Thank you Peter, can you tell the Sergeant Major to report to me once you’ve all stood down, oh, and one other thing, please have Kelly and Petrov pick 10 rifles from each of their platoons, you too, if you would be so kind.” He moved away, as Peter made his necessary mental note, nodding his acknowledgement. “Peter”, Clive stopped, looking back at his 2 Platoon Commander, “Fancy joining me tonight?” Peters shoulders slumped; he shook his head as a smile appeared across his face. “No bloody choice, right?” Lt. Crossman replied, “Thanks Peter”, as Clive waved goodbye with his leather gloves over his shoulder. “Fuck sakes”, thought Peter, “Fun and games.”

Chapter 5

His meeting with the Sergeant Major was brief. Lt. Banner would be in command until he returned. Patrol roster to be gathered from Platoon Commanders at 16:00 Hours. Patrol to assemble at 17:00 Hours, to gather kit. Four hours preparation and a quick sleep before the kick-off. Sergeant Major to support Kelly Banner as required. After their chat, the Sergeant Major slammed home a salute and vanished from Clive’s closet like Company Office.

The rest of the morning he spent getting the proper documentation and forms for his patrol’s task that night. He was in and out of armories, ammo dumps and stores, testing, signing and asking for all the necessary equipment he would need. His mole like Administrative Assistant Mortimer Crest, not more than two steps behind. Gathering up paperwork, reviewing on the go and filing once back at company offices. Clive only stopped for a corned beef sandwich and, glancing at his watch, realized it was already close to 3 in the afternoon. Placing his peak cap on his head, he decided to take a stroll down to the infirmary to see how their guest was getting on.

The hospital unit was no more than a hundred and fifty meters from Clive’s sector. He walked the distance quite quickly, his mind going over a few last-minute thoughts on equipment and the job soon to be on-hand. Arriving at the orderly station, the usual hub of activity was quite quiet. He poked his head over the reception area desk, but there was no one to be found. Moving into the triage room of the ward, there was an MP and a nervous looking member of the clergy. As he entered the MP slammed to attention, his hand saluting briskly to his peak cap and back to his trouser seams. The priest mumbled a hello and then went back to his rosary.

“Is everything alright Corporal?”, he asked the MP. “No sir, suicide sir.” The peak cap snapped back. He glanced at the door; suicide was an altogether common circumstance at the front. Clive had had men and women in his command take their lives, a lot more in his early years as an officer. Things had calmed down over the last year as the war had dragged on and become a “Wait and see who creates the next masterpiece of death to end the war…” scenario.

A doctor appeared, a smatter of blood on the white pocket liner of his long coat. He pulled a cigarette out and fumbled for a lighter. The Corporal stepped forward to offer his, which the doctor accepted, waving his thanks as he took a deep draw on the now burning stick of tobacco. “Horrible, whatever she had been through was enough to make her end it all, tragic!” The doctor exclaimed, brandishing his cigarette. “Doctor, would you mind?” Clive ventured, motioning to the ward swing door. “Of course, Captain, please yourself.” The doctor responded.

Clive moved through the swinging doors, looking for the prisoner. The ward was quite quiet, 4 beds occupied, but the patients had no visible bandages, or attending medical apparatus. Mental wounds, the ones that had given up or needed healing psychologically. Another MP was standing at the end of the ward by a door, a medical orderly arranging a movable bed. Clive’s curiosity was up and he moved towards them, the MP mimicking his colleague outside; Clive responded and then pushed through the door into a storage room to have a look. There she was, hanging from the top shelf, her face gray and swollen. Her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth, a thin thread of spittle, frozen in mid-air.

He retreated out of the room, colliding with the young orderly who was getting ready to enter and remove the body. “Sorry sir,” the young man stammered. “Quite alright”, Clive replied. “When did you find her?” He asked. The young orderly looked to the MP, who took one step forward, reaching into a leather folder he had in his left hand. “She was found not more than 30 minutes ago sir.” “She left this next to her bed.” The MP offered. A note was retrieved from the case and Clive hurriedly opened it.

The writing was impeccable, neatly formed in pencil across the thin piece of paper. “It came from the East, grotesque and horrifying in form and in intent. You have been an honorable enemy, I wish you luck!”

Clive folded the paper up and handed it back to the MP. He took a last look at the door and then moved out and back towards his office.

He opened his notebook once back at his desk in B Company Office, jotting down the few points that she had left in her message. Trying to process her few final words. It was now past 16:00 hours and the roster of the men and women joining him would be prepared. He got up to move his thoughts and work to the mess, where he had instructed the patrol and his officers to meet. As he entered there were small groups of discussion going on around the room. His entry prompted a quick silence with a bark from Sergeant Major bringing everyone to attention.

“At ease everyone”, he gestured. “Right, our mission very simply is to get as close to enemy lines and see what is going on.” “As I am sure you have all heard, the German Officer we brought in has taken her own life, bit of a screw up in security but not our job.” He pushed his hands behind his back, clenching them together. “This is one of either 2 things, a trap which we will spring or a nightmare we need to survive.” “Lieutenant Crossman will brief section commanders.” He looked across the faces in front of him, all preparing for the task at hand and anxious to get dinner down them before they pushed off. “Any questions?” He said as an afterthought. Corporal McAuley from Peter Crossman’s Platoon raised a hand. “Yes Corporal, what is it?” “Sir, apologies but we’re all wondering what the Jerries were on about with their performance this morning. What is going on do you reckon?” The Corporal concluded.

Clive straightened his back and craned his head forward. “Everyone, I know there have been some rumors circulating about plagues in the East but what I know at this time, is that there is potentially a new weapon. You should not be shocked or surprised, we have all become accustom to the ways this war has affected not only people but the world in general. So, as soldiers we will do what we get paid for, seek out and destroy.” “Are you alright with that Corporal McAuley?” The Corporal grinned, “Ai sir, that will do nicely.”

He looked once more across the room and then concluded. “Right draw your kit, get your instruction and then get some dinner down you. Full warfare gear, no regimentals or Khakis, I want everyone geared up for the worst.” Clive nodded at Peter, who took his lead and started issuing orders. Peter held the folder that Clive had prepared for him, giving him timings, objectives, and marching orders. Meanwhile, Clive ducked out to get his own gear ready. As he walked down the corridor, Lieutenant Morgan stepped out of the officers mess, turning; as she almost walked into him.

“Sorry sir,.” She exclaimed, was just coming to see you. Clive took a step back to give them a bit of space. “Good timing, would rather we spoke face to face than you tackle me from behind”, Clive smiled. Tracy Morgan was also a very good rugby player, and when they furloughed through to depot in England, she would join the Regimental Team in its schedule.

She smiled; her face overshadowed by the light bulb, now shining red, sitting on the wall behind her head. “Tracy”, Clive continued. I want your platoon on alert from the moment we leave the trenches until we get back.” He knew he didn’t have to say anything; she’d have her platoon ready to move at a moment’s notice but Clive felt it was always good for his leaders to hear how important they were to his plans and the various missions that they undertook, especially Tracy, the attraction sat there like a watching bystander. She stiffened and threw up a salute to the peak of her cap, her face slightly flushed, a thin smile running up the side of her full lips, “Of course sir, we will be ready to help at a moment’s notice.”

Clive grinned, he could feel the heat on the back of his neck, “Excellent, thank-you Lieutenant, we will be moving forward at 23:00, so come and see me, I mean us off if you wish.” She nodded, the grin exploding into a full blown smile, of course she would be there. With that she moved away as Clive continued his journey, looking over her shoulder briefly, to see him turn to look as he hit the corridor corner to his offices, they grinned at each other like a couple of idiots, enjoying the mutually shared attraction.

Once back at his own billet, he pushed aside Tracy’s wicked smile to prepare himself mentally and to get his gear ready. He had already drawn the snub-nosed trench SMG with its 30 Round clips, he had also asked for and received 4 AP Grenades and a side arm. The Warfare Gear was a great improvement on the Khakis. A lighter but much warmer material with a patchwork of earth colors to provide camouflage. The kit included a chest piece for storing his magazines and a layer of synthetic metal armor that covered his chest, back, shoulders, upper arms, and thighs. It was a tad on the heavy side, but it came with all the necessary pouches and pockets to secret away the remainder of his kit. It was easier to move in, much more comfortable, and gave protection from everything close to a direct shot from an enemy’s weapon. Likewise, the helmet had been redesigned; it was quite comfortable and made from a stronger alloy giving more protection; a great improvement on the tin helmets issued when he first joined. He hung up his usual regimental garb that through some old doctrine had to be worn while not out on a hunting party.

He looked at his watch; it was almost 20:00. He hustled down to the mess and ordered a ham sandwich and a bowl of soup. Wolfing it down, he was back in his own quarters and ready for a quick nap at 20:35. Although he had the urge to check on his patrol, he knew Peter would have everything ready so, not to offend; he left Lieutenant Crossman to it and lay down for a nap.

His alarm went off at 22:00; he was up and dressed, any additional kit stored in a small daypack, rations etc. He took one look at his small room to see if he had missed anything, and then was out the door and down the corridor. He stepped into the mess where he had left everyone a few hours earlier. They were all there, dressed identically besides the variety of weapons. Repeating rifles, Trench SMGs, section weapons, not to mention the Field Aid Kit and Wireless Kit to keep in touch with HQ. He deposited his daypack on a table and his weapon and then moved around the room to see how everyone was doing. The old sweats intermingled with the young ones, helping out with kit and packing. Cigarette smoke wafted in clouds, and although not allowed in areas outside the mess or in the fighting trench, it filled the room, the ventilators doing a poor job of keeping the air clear.

He looked at his watch, now 22:35, time to be off. He picked his kit up and nodded to Peter, who gave the command to fall in. They moved in single file out of the soldiers mess, section commanders hustling their teams along, doing a last minute once over to make sure their soldiers were not missing anything. Hitting the first exit, they moved up the steps and were soon out into the night air. The various trench sentry posts were manned by sections who did a 3-hour stag until they were relieved. There were more soldiers in the trench tonight, per the CO’s orders and the fact that his patrol was about to move out. Something he was sure would create all sorts of barrack room whispers.

He checked his watch, 22:45, almost there. He took a quick look through a trench scope, swinging left to right. The moon was only a silver slither in the sky, so no-man’s land was hard to make out, with silhouetted lines indicating the churned-up mess it had become. Some of his patrol took the opportunity to have a last-minute cigarette. Huddled down behind the fire step, out of sight of the trench ledge and possible snipers looking for a glimmer of activity. The time ticked by slowly, as he applied camouflage cream to his hands and face, while doing a last-minute check to make sure nothing was loose and would make a noise. One last look at his watch; it was time to go. He raised his hands and signaled for his patrol to follow him.

Clive’s mouth was dry, and he felt chilled, forcing his limbs to move. He moved over the fire-step and over the ledge. In the crouch position, he was soon joined by Peter and his small team of radio operators and security. The other members of the patrol crawled over the edge of the trench to follow his lead, crouching down, weapons ready, looking out into no-man’s land. They sat waiting, listening. A flare was fired quite a bit further down the line. The red illuminance lighting up the night sky, Clive silently cursed and tried to get closer to the dirt. The soldiers around him doing the same.

It seemed forever until the light was finally extinguished. He sat up again and listened; no shots rang out, and he heard no noise besides the creak of rusting wire moving in the wind. He moved forward, the patrol following, passing the remains of an old foundation from an ancient church. The stones lying exposed, like an open mouth of gray and decaying teeth. He moved to the building and laid down, the men and women of his patrol, following his example. A black rat crawled up and over a loose piece of masonry and came face to face with Clive, it’s nose sniffing the air, trying to determine if he was alive, and to be avoided or putrefied and good for a meal. Clive moved his gloved hand and the rat moved away, looking for an easier selection.

The patrol had its direction, and the order of march was set. Two soldiers moved out as scouts, and Clive and his small group followed, the rest of the patrol, staggering itself to form a long winding line. They moved slowly and quietly, looking for cover and trying not to step off the mounds of dirt in-between the many craters. Black water, shimmering in the low moon light, filled the craters, and more black rats, cousins to the one Clive had met at the former church, scurried about, stripping rotting flesh from pieces of bodies or gnawing on white exposed bones. They scanned No-man’s land, looking for movement and listening for trouble. It had been quite a while since there had been a major offensive, so the rotting bodies had a stronger, heavier scent.

As they crept forward, Clive recognized landmarks he had seen in the aerial reconnaissance photos, a rise with an ancient tank poised on top; a skeletal member of its crew lying on the back, hollow eyes staring straight at them as they crept past. A pockmarked concrete bunker, or what was left of it, facing the allied lines. Rusting belt munition swinging in the breeze, protruding from the destroyed breech of the machine gun that had once served this emplacement. They arrived at their first objective, a section of old trench, one that had made up the front line, which had held back the enemy as the Royal Corps of Engineers had carved the new trench line out of the dirt, reinforcing these new defenses with iron rebar and molded concrete. This had been before Clive’s time, 1925 or 28, he couldn’t remember, right after the big bomb, a trench mine that had obliterated a mile of frontline defenses and almost cost the allies the war.

Clive slid down the side of the trench, kneeling at the bottom. Tufts of green stood out from the stark landscape that surrounded this length of disused trenchworks. A few puddles of black water with a viscus film of bluish green, poke marked the floor of the trench. Clive’s senses were always on edge, waiting, half expecting that explosion of sound that would come, should they be discovered. He knelt for a while as the rest of the patrol filed in after him, spreading out along the remaining earthworks. Taking defensive positions where the trench still offered cover. Once movement stopped and the silence of the night returned, Clive moved forward to have a look around. “Inspect all structures of interest”, had been the printed order. He saw three likely opportunities to investigate. Ripped, and decaying material shifted in the breeze on dark holes he would have to venture down, his security team would proceed first, lanterns ready. Once confirmed as safe, Clive entered, discovering the first bunker was bare, a few pieces of decaying equipment, and a lone bunk that sat in the middle of the room. What fascinated Clive was the wording all over the walls, years of graffiti, some many years before he was born. As he looked closer, he caught a glimpse of dull gold. A cap badge protruding from between 2 wooden beams. He tugged on the crown and it fell into his hands, released from the rotting wood. Green and bent, all he could make out were the words, “Nunquam Cede”, he’d investigate later when he was back in his mess.

The second bunker was much like the first, big rats moved along the rotting beams; the floor was partially covered in cement that had cracked, water forming one large puddle in the middle of the room. A wall had collapsed, and a steel observation shutter filled a wooden frame facing the enemy’s trenches. Seeing nothing of interest, he and his small group left the dug-out, moving up the stairs and into the night as quietly as they could.

The final bunker was further away from the first two, a torn and rotting curtain, cover the entrance way. One of the section 2's gun teams had their weapon set-up near its entrance, the bipod of the Lewis gun, propped up behind a rotting mound. Its slender barrel silhouetted against the gray horizon; this version of the Lewis Gun was the LMG SW4, still bearing its great grandfathers name, “The Lewis Gun” A gas-operated machine gun that had proven its worth time and again, especially in the mud and dirt of no-man’s land.

Clive and his team approached the curtain, to find a stout door behind. He pushed against it, but it was fastened securely from the inside. There was no sign of a lock or door handle; he strained against it once more; but again the result was the same. The wood of the door had been scavenged from various parts of the battlefield. Side runners from an old ambulance, skirts from a Bedford Truck, what looked like a piece from a fighter plane or bomber. It had been very well constructed, surprising considering the surroundings and situation.

So, what to do, how to gain entrance without blowing the hinges or using brute force to get a way in, both noisy options. He crouched up against the frame of the door. A thought crossed his mind. He stood-up in front of the door and knocked lightly. He waited a few seconds and then knocked again, this time a little louder. Silence, then he heard a slow shuffling come from behind. Something moved. He knocked again, this time, a knock came in reply. More movement and faint sound from behind. He thought he heard a voice. There was silence and then a sliding sound and the door opened. Faint light emitting from inside. One of his team, moved in front of him, protectively. “Hello”, said a British voice, “Who be you?”

“Captain Baker, B Company, Royal Kent”, he straightened, “Who am I speaking with?” The door moved further in and a head appeared, “Come in sir, quickly!” Hastened the head.

Clive stepped in, two of his team joining him. The door closing in behind them the light increasing in intensity. He stood in amazement; this bunker was much larger; very spacious, bunks and well-constructed furniture were organized neatly around the room. It had a homey, almost cozy feel. The interior walls were finished properly, and it was subdivided by well-constructed walls of all manner of material.

As his eyes adjusted to the lighted interior, his amazement grew as he could see men in various uniforms from different ages. Old soldiers in uniforms he’d only seen on the pages of his history books in school, glared at him warily. There was at least 20 men in the room, not only allies but the enemy. A time capsule of the war throughout the years. Some of the men held weapons, nervously, cautiously, waiting to see if what had entered was a threat to their hidden world.

Clive had heard about the groups of men and women who had left their posts to escape into the wild of no-man’s land or further, beyond the front lines and into the blackness that had once been Eastern Europe. Not being able to stomach the fight further, losing their minds and themselves.

A few years ago, the allied command had given these men and women clemency, allowing them to hand themselves over, to be returned to their home countries or offered lives in England, given jobs to help the effort. Out of the 30 to 40,000 that were estimated to be living as deserters, only a few thousand turned themselves over. The rest were too content to never return home or face a society many would never be able to recognize. The stale mate that war had become, had given them the opportunity to create these isolated communities; however, Clive guessed, very few were put together as well as this bubble of humanity.

He stood in what seemed to be the main gathering area, eyes fixed upon him and warily surveying his two soldiers. A man in a beige shirt appeared from behind a curtain, followed by the man that had opened the door. He wore pants that may have indicated he was an officer or had stolen them from someone who had been. He was slightly shorter than Clive, but his face was hard and scared. A full beard jutted from his jaw. The eyes were empty; no energy, just pools of darkness. He held his hand out to Clive, “Nice to meet you Captain, I am Stefan Mueller, once of his imperial majesties grand army.” Clive took the hand and could feel the strength and resilience in his handshake. “You have come, I presume to find out what monsters have recently joined the war” Herr Mueller offered, his English was slightly accented but crisp. Clive nodded, “Correct, we’ve heard and seen some very strange things, wanted to find out more, the source possibly.”

Stefan gestured for him to follow; they chatted politely as he led Clive on a tour of the bunker, explaining lightly how they had created such a livable environment. He also went into “their society” as they called it. Clive was further surprised not only by the length and depth of the bunker but the many artifacts and antiques, both human and material of the war; he was led to the top of a stairs which disappeared deep into the earth. Even this was cut expertly out of the ground, with revetment and wood trusses shoring up the walls. Candles burning in lanterns hanging from the ceiling. He stopped and hesitated, although he could not sense any ill will from Stefan, he felt a need to be just a little cautious. Herr Mueller sensed this, “Do not worry Captain, we are not cannibals’ as I am sure you have heard the stories, we only fight to defend and frighten, killing is our last resort, wishing to leave that exercise to those that still fight this senseless war.”

Clive looked over his shoulder; one of his men had joined him; the other left behind placing himself by the front door. The young soldier’s eyes betrayed all sorts of discomfort and mistrust, but Clive motioned for him to stay. Following Stefan down at least 20 flights of stairs before opening into a room that contained more bunks and what seemed to be a map room and the makings of an infirmary, tunnels led off in different directions indicating more space. Stefan led the way, a bespectacled older man looking up from the table, his Engineer Corps shoulder flashes indicating he may be behind this underground habitat. He did not look friendly, and an obvious scowl crossed his lips. “Do not worry about our designer Captain, he has no love for the English, being Scottish, he loves his formulas and tools much more.” They moved through the room to the infirmary. A bed sat at the far wall; an attendant stood over a post casualty tent, organizing and arranging a tray of surgical instruments.

They stopped a few feet from the side of the bed. Stefan held his hand to his face and spoke quietly. “My men are constantly scavenging at night, we find the most amazing things”, he motioned to his right, part of the infirmary wall was the upper wing of a French fighter plane. “We also discover things, like this, creature” Stefan moved forward, the orderly stepping back, and allowed the full horror of what lay underneath the recovery tent to be revealed. Clive’s nostrils filled with the smell of blood and putrid flesh, he reeled back from the exposed pink intestines, held back by what looked like glass. The creatures body was half human half machine. The face was half metal. The same could be said for the skull cap. A blue human eye protruded from the face, wide open, but the other eye had been replaced by a round metal ball, protruding from the socket. The entire body was a mix of human and machine. Symbols were painted on the chest plate, four numbers and then symbols Clive was unfamiliar with. Stefan leaned in, “Cyrillic Herr Captain, Russian.” The monster was chained to the bed, cuffs, and rope kept him secured in place. It did not strain or pull at its bindings but just lay staring upwards.

“We found him 3 nights ago.” Stefan turned away, his hand covering his nose. “He has been like that since, it only becomes occasionally active, pulling at its restraints, without explanation.” Stefan moved away, touching Clive’s sleeve and ushering him back to the stairs, “This creature is beyond medical belief, a curiosity to say the least” They proceeded up the stairs to the main room.

Once at the top, Clive’s soldier stood up from a small stool. He was visibly relieved. The visit was over, not announced, but felt. Stefan moved them to the door. “Captain, under normal situations, I would never have allowed you access. However, this creature, is not just another bizarre freak of nature created by war.” Clive remembered something that he had seen on the German Officers note. “Stefan, I thank you for your hospitality and wish you all continued safety.” Clive was going to add, the reminder of amnesty but decided that would have been unnecessary. Stefan stood straight, his heels clicking together and extending his hand. “You are most welcome!” Stefan grinned. Clive returned the grin and then shook Stefan’s hand in thanks. Clive and his men nodded farewell, and they moved back into the world.

As the door was sealed shut behind him, he was greeted by a very anxious Crossman. “Bloody hell sir, we thought you’d been swallowed up by the ground.” Peter was agitated, and Clive could see it on his face. The night sky was beginning to lighten. “Sorry Peter but that was quite the adventure.”

They doubled over, moving to the other end of the trench. “We’ll stay here for today Peter; I need to think over what I saw today and how to best execute the next phase of this mission.” Peter nodded and moved away to the appointed section commanders, getting the men organized for the day.

The command team took up residence in the first bunker they had explored. For the most part it was dry, and the rats seemed to vacate as soon as his soldiers had set-up the wireless systems and made up some bunks for anyone to take turns getting some rest between shifts. The other bunker had been similarly occupied; however, no-one dared sleep on the floor, instead propping themselves up on abandoned containers or sitting on their kit bags.

Clive stood over a low table, looking at maps and the aerial pictures of the surrounding area; he considered knocking on the deserter’s door again, but decided it was best to leave them alone.

The day wore on, Clive busied himself with the next phase of the mission; his orders were to move on, traveling parallel to the enemy trenches. His urge was to move straight towards the enemy’s fortifications, and see first-hand what was there. He grabbed a cup of hot tea from a radio operator and after finishing it off, took a look around their new forward base in the day light. His patrol had dug out some of the old earthworks to make sure they had the best defensive advantage possible. Everyone crouched down, the trench rim had degraded with time, now easily exposing someone if they stood straight up in broad daylight. The Lewis guns formed the center, and the flanks of the defensive position; fire-teams occupied the positions in between. Soldiers either sat eating or enjoying a hot cup of tea while others kept watch to their front.

The men and women on the patrol were a mix of young and old, some of whom should have retired if not for the need for experienced soldiers. The old sweats groaned, and complained more than the youngsters, but they were a comfort to have, if things got hairy. The war had changed so much, social restrictions had fallen away from the sheer need to keep the war machine operating. Things had changed after 1928 when the enemy had pushed the allies back, almost obliterating the French with a new breed of mechanized weapon that resembled the weapons Tracy and her platoon now operated. It had become a war where if you proved yourself and were capable, you got the job. A long way from the past socially rigid structure and horrendous mismanagement so common in the early years. Clive felt that because of these changes his company was one of the finest in the regiment.

The day wore on, he managed to get himself an hour's sleep, and awoke as the gray skies darkened. He could sense the preparation as he stood from the overturned barrel he had used as a seat. A spider had decided to join him and crawled out of his parka collar to be brushed away dismissively. He packed up the few things left out of his day pack and picked up his weapon, heading out into the darkening evening. Everyone moved slowly but deliberately, keeping noise to a minimum.

He moved down the earth works to find Lt. Crossman lying against the torn and muddy trench, peering towards ‌enemy lines, his head behind a low wall of rotting sandbags. In his hands was a pair of lumination binos, binoculars that had special filters to pull any surrounding light into the object being viewed. You couldn’t see specific details, but it gave a pretty good general view. Peter looked at Clive as he moved in beside him, “What’s going on, any activity?” He asked. Crossman handed him the binos, “No movement but there is a strange cloud forming over the enemy’s lines, do you think it could be gas?” Gas had not been used for years, and as an unspoken rule, both sides had committed to ending the practice.

Clive peered through the binos, the cloud grew, and billowed, but did not move. The wind was light and blowing across their front. However, the gas seemed fixed in place. He handed the binos back to the Lieutenant. “Don’t know”. Clive said. “But we should get moving, quicker we are on the go the better.” Clive moved back as Peter replaced the binos in the case and followed him back down into the trench.

After a few more minutes of quiet activity, all section commanders reported in that they were good to go. Clive moved to the northern most end of their temporary home, scanned to his front, and prepared to move to the next piece of cover. He looked back to see the sections crouched and ready, Peter sitting next to the 2 Section’s LMG, who were acting as rear guard. He moved forward, doubled over, weapon ready. As he took a few steps forward, a cluster of flares fired from the allied lines further up from their position. Clive froze, his team following suit. They were the mortar flares and illuminated large swaths of no-man’s land. He closed his left eye to preserve his night vision, but reopened his eyes with the sight that the flares had uncovered. The clouds Peter and he had seen were now moving across no-man’s land, and inside he could see movement, figures running, jumping, of all sizes from tiny to huge, dark, and black.

His senses snapped back to where they currently were. One of the LMGs burst into action as the gunner yelled, “Enemy front!!” They were quickly joined by the other two section guns. The evening darkness lit up and someone fired a flare from the trench, his patrol taking up positions, rifles and SMGs joining the fight. Clive half-crawled back into the trench. He looked up over the edge. No fire was being returned, but he could hear and see the cloud bearing down on them, the same black figures as he had seen in the flares glow, moving within. The cloud stretched across their entire front and ran on to what seemed like forever.

“Pick your targets and make your shots count”, Peter yelled, “Aim high, put them down and make sure they don’t get up.” He continued. The firing was sporadic bursts from the LMGs and intermingled with a constant barrage of small arms fire. “Mortar!” Clive yelled, the team had already reacted and were sighting the tube. “50 yards to our front, independent fire!” A woosh and then a bright flash as the round impacted the front edge of the advancing cloud. Clive could hear noises, snarls, garbled screams, and grunts, as if it were a herd of wild animals. He took aim at a silhouette and fired, it kept moving. He saw it break the cloud, but then pull back, black and evil. This time he aimed higher, hoping to find its head. He fired, again, no effect. He adjusted slightly right and fired. He saw it go down, or at least seem to fall down. “Fire for the heads, LMGS, adjust to shoulder level and maintain that arc.” The cloud was getting closer, moving slower than it was to their flank. He got up and moved to find Peter; Lt. Crossman was next to one of the LMG teams, firing his personal weapon.

“Peter, move Sections 1 and 3 back, I’ll bring up the rear. Find a decent spot we can leapfrog back through to our lines, once you are there send up a red flare, move now!” Peter leapt up, “Sir, sections 1 and 3, prepare to move!” The two sections, packed up, section commanders behind the sections as they continued to fire into the approaching enemy. Peter moved to the exit point of the trench, “Follow me”, standing up. Peter dashed off into the darkness; the two sections following behind. The firing immediately decreased as the sections moved off. Clive watched their backs as they retreated. The cloud was now within 10 yards of the trench. He turned back and resumed firing. Anxious seconds passed, as he waited for the flare to go up. The soldiers around him, continued firing, this one section looking very fragile in comparison to what loomed in front of them.

Clive moved to the back of the trench, looking over his shoulder to make sure he did not miss the flare as he fired to his front. The cloud now sat right at the edge of the trench, a deep orange color, it did not move, billowing right on the edge of their defenses. The remaining soldiers of 2-section, stopped firing, moving back and away from it. Clive saw one of the young men in the section reach out to touch it, before he could shout a warning. A black, needle like claw, flashed from the cloud, removing the young soldiers head and the tips of his fingers on his outstretched hands. His body slumped forward, blood spirting into the wet mud and rusting corrugated iron of the trench wall. “Get back!” Clive yelled, but before any of his men could react, the cloud moved forward, engulfing them, more screams. A shot rang out, followed by a burst from the LMG. He heard a voice calling then another scream, someone whimpering. Clive looked around him. He could see nothing in this orange blanket. “Fall back, move to your back and make your own way back to our lines!” He cried into the cloud. He thought he heard footsteps, someone running away.

He moved blindly, in what he tried to imagine was the right direction, checking for anyone who had not heard his command. Groping through the cloud, he almost fell over an inert body, lying upside down. Its stomach contents spilled across the ground. The LMG Gunner, his weapon sitting ready to be fired. Clive shouldered his own weapon and picked up the LMG, its magazine still fully charged. He removed the satchel that was looped over the gunners head, containing 2 fully loaded magazines. There was scratching, thumping movement all around. The air smelt like rotting flesh hanging all around him. Hoping everyone had heard and made it out of the trench, he found the back wall and leant against the parapet. Bringing the weapon to his hip, he fired in a wide arc from left to right. There was an inhuman shriek, which he hoped meant he’d hurt someone or something. Clive went down on one knee to reload, opening the satchel, he grasped a full magazine, popping open the breech. A flutter of air and a sharp jolt pushed him sideways. He went down, stunned, eyes clamped shut fearing what was next to come. He lay in silence, the slice of steel and death never coming. Clive scrabbled up, leaning against the back of the trench. From behind, a claw grabbed his shoulder, lifting him up, and out of the trench, pitching him headlong into a watery shell-hole.

He pushed himself out of the stinking slime, using his feet to kick his way to the edge, facing his attacker. It rose from all fours. Clive had never seen such a thing; it's face, disfigured human, monster, and machine. A human eye, a metal plate covering its head; the jawbone, white exposed teeth, and rotting flesh. A noise emitted from deep down, growling, rumbling. It wore parts of a uniform, old and tattered. He made out skull and cross bones on a shoulder flash. Moving slowly towards him, reaching out with razor-sharp claws, jaws snapping as the eye peered into his, seeking his humanity. It stood over him, raising its hand into the air, claws stretched out to strike. Clive closed his eyes, “This is it, I’m done.” Waiting for the inevitable.

There was a loud bang and the flash of an explosion right above him, he felt heat and fragments, the warm splatter of organic material. The stench of dead flesh. As he opened his eyes, a figure, bent down to lift him up. He couldn’t make out details, his head rung, eyes blurred. “Captain”, came a voice through the fog, “Captain.” It repeated getting clearer. “We have to go; you need to move.” He mumbled a yes, looking for his weapon. The voice pushing his SMG into his hands. “Come with me.” The figure held his arm firmly, pulling him out of the water and along, another man appeared, not one of his. They stumbled on, moving across the broken ground. Clive was starting to regain his senses. A flash to his right as a grenade went off in the distance. “Keep moving Captain, we are almost there.” He looked at his feet and saw one of his patrol lying prone on the ground, the torso ripped into two distinct pieces. “My patrol”, he mumbled; the figure leading the way looking back, Clive still not able to make out the details of his savior’s face. “Most made it back, I’m sorry though, you’ve lost a few, we were too late, it started too soon.” More bangs from the cloud either side of them, they moved on, the pace quickening as Clive felt better on his feet. His eyes were still muddled, not realizing that they had been covered in the mire of the creature set on killing him.

Just as Clive thought they were close to the safety of the front line, he was shoved to the ground, looking up; he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. The man who had saved him and two more, all knelt behind cover, their unique weapons pointing into the cloud in the direction they had just come, scanning the fog as it swirled around him. “Can I help”, Clive offered; an open palm coming as a response. Seconds past, Clive was propped up on an old ammo crate, filled with rusting ration cans. Then, he heard a faint noise, a clinking. It grew louder, a mild vibration in the ground. The man next to him tensed, bringing the weapon up into his shoulder.

Silence. The vibration stopped. Clive slowly looked up and over the edge of the crate. The only noise, sporadic fire from down the line, an explosion, the whoosh of a flare. Bursts from heavy machine guns and the occasional crump of artillery.

He wanted to ask what they were waiting for. The intensity was building and along with his personal anxiety to see his patrol alive.

The cloud broke apart and Clive’s eyes widen as a giant tripod, lumbered forward; it had appendages with guns and what looked like signal flares, in a multiple gatling gun like tube. A goldfish bowl like pod sat in the middle; inside sat another creature, this one more human than the one that had tried to kill him. It’s uniform in better shape, suspended in the machine, tubes running from its head and limbs. His party fired, their weapons causing explosions around the pod, its occupant oblivious. They kept firing, having little effect. The guns on the machine, moved into place and leveled themselves towards the bit of ground his party was using as cover. “MOVE!” Yelled the leader of the group. He grabbed Clive, who had already guessed they had to vacate and was getting up and moving. The weapon banged repeatedly punching the air; shock waves making Clive stumble. He tripped and went once more headfirst into a partial crater, tepid water greeting his face. As he emerged and scrambled to the edge, he saw the small explosions of the weapon track the remaining members of his party. One got caught by a round in the back blowing his upper body to pieces. Clive did not hang around, and was up and running again. His momentary halt had put him alongside the machine. Clive put his head down and ran as fast as he could, forgetting about evasion, just trying to get to the safety of his line.

The blasts from the monster’s weapons tracked in behind him, he knew it was only a matter of time and that sinking feeling, he was probably going to die. He could see familiar landmarks, knowing he was close, but also knowing he was still too far away. A shell exploded right behind him; he felt the sting as shrapnel peppered his legs and found holes in his body armor. It pushed him forward and he stumbled and fell once again. “Oh fuck”, he cursed. Coming to rest on the wet bones of what looked like a horse, twisting around, he pulled his service revolver. Aimed and fired, emptying his clip into the armored glass in front of the creature controlling the metallic monster. It slowed, both weapons systems swiveled and took aim at him. This time, Clive didn’t want to close his eyes; this time, he wanted to see it coming.

He stared straight at the creature within; it did not seem to register, and looked over him towards the allied lines. Clive braced, the left gun fired, the round passing over his head, missing completely; then there was a barrage of fire, heavy weapons, and rockets. The metallic monster sparked and lit up; it staggered back under the weight of the fire. Clive saw the glass crack and break, the pod split apart. An arm and the torso were ripped apart by two well-placed shots. He saw the creature controller within turn into pulp as the protective pod, was smashed to pieces.

He lay, wet, cold, and covered in blood. He felt bruised, his shoulder throbbed, and felt dislocated. The orange cloud began to retreat, and soon Clive could make out scenes around him. He decided to just lay where he had fallen. Soon becoming familiar with the dead animal smell and the muffled scurrying of the rodents inside the carcass, emerging from their warrens now that the sounds of battle were retreating.

He felt the vibrations on his back, passing through the armored plating, a hiss, and a large metal foot appeared. Clive looked up to see Tracy sitting in the command hatch of her KA2. “You alright sir?” She yelled. He waved a hand, and she moved forward, followed by her platoon. Soldiers from the trenches were now there; a missile team moved past looking for the mechanized enemy, but by now the cloud was back close to enemy lines.

Clive sat for a while, taking it all in, what had happened? What were they and where did they come from? He tried to get up, his shoulder lanced in pain. A hand took him gently by the arm and helped him gain his footing. “Glad you made it Captain, sorry I wasn’t able to come back to you but well, now you are safe.” Clive was startled, the voice being that of the gentlemen he had met at the station. “Allow me to introduce myself, Major Pearce Trentworth, Military Intelligence and now, special forces.” Clive was at a loss for words. Major Trentworth had traded in his bowler hat, and he with the 4 troopers standing around him, wore an assortment of civilian and military equipment. “When you have had time to recover, we need to compare notes.” “I’ll be in touch”. With that he shook Clive’s good hand and walked off.

“Okay”, said Clive. “This is going from a military horror show to boy’s action comic, I wonder what could be next…” he wondered.

Chapter 3

After the patrol, activity up and down the line increased. They were “officially” called probing attacks by this new threat. However; no one wanted to hazard an opinion on what the threat actually was.

Clive had spent 2 days in the infirmary, having his shoulder fixed and being required to spend the necessary time under observation. His shoulder bandaged, which restricted movement, he was soon up and around, attending to his duties. The patrol had suffered 6 casualties, the majority being in the section that had provided the rear guard. Besides that, the rest had escaped. Clive found himself the subject of many meetings and a normal debriefing process, turned into a procession of senior officers and doctors asking him to continually repeat information they had gained from the patrol. He never once mentioned the underground deserters and the world they had discovered.

This lasted the better part of 4 weeks; he grew tired of the constant attention and would hide by throwing himself into the daily company routines, stand-to, fighting patrols etc., trying to be as hard to locate as possible. Eventually things calmed down and he believed those that had previously been so interested, now had moved on to something else. His life returned to the duties of a company commander.

Throughout this time, attacks on their part of the line had intensified and a war rhythm had reemerged after months of complacency. Clive found himself on the fire step more times in the last 4 weeks, directing fire, than he had over the last 8 months. The general rule had become that although targets were difficult to single out, superior fire across the attack front seemed to prevent the enemies advance, and the Orange cloud, that sheltered the horrors within, seemed to never venture further than halfway across no-man’s land, almost watching, waiting for the right opportunity. Clive felt many times just that, they were being watched, observed from the cloud, almost studied.

The end of July and the weather started to warm up; there was still the gray and depressing weather, the toxic waste and pollution still floating around, yet life thrived where it could. Small plants grew and color appeared in no-man’s land. The sun appearing much more frequently. It felt good to stand at the bottom of the fire line, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face.

After a while the world and the war returned to a pattern. Artillery fire decreased and despite the occasional stand to and panicked, “this is it”, with accompanying mellow dramatics, things returned to normal. Unfortunately, this was not to last for Clive.

A Tuesday morning and Clive had been back in the trenches for almost 2 months. He was due for a long weekend back at the rest areas in the rear. Tracey had hinted she was trying to match his schedule which he had flushed in anticipation for the opportunity. However; as he appeared from his quarters, an orderly from the Battalion HQ was hurriedly approaching. “Sorry sir, boss wants a word.” He stammered as Clive nosed out of his billet. “Don’t like that…” Clive thought as he acknowledged.

Clive moved down the corridor following the orderly, past a line of pioneers on their way somewhere to fix or build something. Big women and men, with tools and equipment in large waxed satchels. Moving slowly down the corridor; their uniforms a variety of civilian and military issue. They were given leeway, considering they could produce miracles, in a short period of time, whilst under fire. Reenforced concrete bunker, no problem; during an artillery barrage, easy. He followed the corridor past these Pioneers, walking into their trail of Woodbine smoke and the scent of machine grease.

As he got to HQ he noticed immediately the increased energy and activity, two officers he did not recognize stood by the first door, whispering a conversation to each other. He flew up a salute to the senior of the pair, this was returned by the tip of an officer’s baton. He got to the door of the CO’s Office and knocked on the frame, the door open but the curtain drawn. “Enter” came the sharp reply.

As he stepped into the room, besides the CO and the Adjutant, another officer stood leaned over the map table and a familiar figure stood against a support beam to the right of the CO’s desk. The bowler hat was unmistakable, and the precision cut moustache and mix of military and hunting clothes. “I think you know Major Trentworth”, said the officer leaning over the map table. The CO and Adjutant watched without comment. “Captain, we have a job for you, have a seat.”

After an hour and a half of deep conversation and instruction, ‌which Clive had not contributed. In very simple terms, it was a larger more formal endeavor than his last patrol. He was to take his company plus elements of 22nd Armor as far East as he could. There were 3 columns doing the same thing, all exiting the defenses at the same time. To traverse No Mans Land and beyond. To find out what they could, probing deep into enemy land, only to turn back if they experienced severe loss of men and material or their commanders were incapacitated. They were however, to venture as far as they possibly could. Which to Clive, almost came with an “Or else.” type sentiment at the end.

His instruction were explicit, Major Trentworth would join him, with his team. They were to travel in armored troop carriers, supported by a squad of heavy armor, with their own compliment of heavy weapons. Which meant that Tracey was to join them, so no rest area for her either. Orders were given, rosters were drawn and equipment lists finalized. The preparation took several days, the morning of their departure was heralded by a mass attack further North along the line. The enemy had probed and then launched a full scale attack. Casualties had been high and parts of the trench lost to the enemy. Barrack room rumors spread quickly, ungodly war machines, dragging away the dead and wounded. A slew of rumors gained attention across the defensive lines of the allies.

Western European troops, a mix of Dutch, Belgic and French Soldiers, had pushed the enemy out of the allies positions. The victory was celebrated but doubt had been cast that the orange mist controlled their retreated, which meant that it was not an all out victory but a planned withdrawal.

Clive had listened with interest for some tangible information that could give him more of an understanding of what they may meet. Not hearing anything of worth, he set out, his column moving out of the concrete bunkers at the rear of the front line, from the Great Western Wall Defenses. Clive in the lead group, his Headquarter Vehicle a Bison Armored Reconnaissance Lorry. His command consisted of his entire company, 130 all ranks, 3 Heavy Main Battle Tanks, “Rolls Royce Avengers”, 2 Light Ferret Fighting Platforms, 8 Armored Troop Carriers and Tracey’s Heavy Weapons Platoon of KA 1 and KA 2 Units. The column snaked out into No Man’s Land. Clive fretted at the noise his machines made, as without the usual sounds of battle, he knew they could be heard for miles.

They passed unhindered across the distance between fortifications, passing the brutalized landscape. Moving forms in the mud and bluish fog that lay low over old entrenchments and craters. Scavengers, both human and animal moving about seeking out food or shelter. Nothing of moment occurred, until they traversed what had once been the enemy’s frontline. Clive had expected an eruption of fire and tracer, artillery and machine guns. Yet, nothing, a ghostly silence besides the roar of his mission’s vehicles. Things changed drastically when one of the MBT’s collapsed an underground passage or once household cellar and found itself trapped front forward into a deep chasm. The crew made the attempt to retrieve the vehicle but had to give up as water from the surrounding craters had started to fill in the space, swamping the vehicles interior, shorting the electrics and soaking the batteries. They abandoned the vehicle and moved on. Clive decided to push the scouts out further, instructing the lead vehicle to find as many established trails as possible, until they got well beyond the battlefield. They continued to move in a North Easterly direction, in the direction of the city of Bourges.

The day wore on, and as they made their way across the battlefield behind the enemy frontlines, they passed old towns as well as gray, ominous fortifications, Clive grew anxious, he could sense they were being watched. Lights peaked through slim spaces in decaying walls, his vehicle commanders reported that there was movement on walls of the fortifications or gun turrets tracked their progress. yet nothing, no shots, no contact, everyone was silent. Discarded equipment, empty revetments and ‌front line support structures, artillery positions and the like. Piles of rusted out casings but some much newer, heavy fighting and the earth displayed fresh gashes but no bodies, no human detritus of the aftermath.

The land improved as they moved further on, fields appeared and they finally found a substantial road to follow. It seemed as if there had been extensive fighting from the destroyed and abandoned equipment, the landscape was green but with the visual signs of conflict, yet no bodies could be seen.

It had been a long day, they had covered a good 30 kilometers, so it was late evening when they found a small copes of trees in a slight valley to laager the vehicles and set-up an all-around defense in preparation for the night. The weather had held, despite it looking like rain from the time they had left the safety of their positions. Vehicle crews set to the task of camouflaging and preparing their vehicles, Clive’s troopers, set about preparing billets and defensive positions for sentries to man in stags throughout the night. Clive submitted his first report of the mission, Major Trentworth in his own team’s vehicle, had stopped briefly by to report similar observations to what Clive had seen and was about to send off.

It grew pitch black and after supper, the small army under Clive’s command began their night routine. He walked around to inspect, check and have the odd chat with those under his command. They were professionals and things could not have been better put together. Sandy, Company Sergeant Major, followed him around the laager. As Clive stopped to look at or comment, Sandy would hang back, his low growl of a voice, pointing out his soldier’s mistakes or the opposite, applauding for a job well done. His attention to soldierly detail like an ever active radar.

Tracy’s platoon had situated their vehicles at the intersections of where the other vehicles met. The fighting platform, protruding above the lip of the indent in the land. As they were armored, it gave an ideal observation post. Clive had seen her exiting her armored mech., shouldering her weapon, moving to the storage containers on her unit, to extract camo nets and the needed tools to properly hide her vehicle. Once done she too would inspect the vehicles in her troop.

Convinced there was no more he could do, Clive lay down to get some rest. His billet at the back of his command vehicle, adjacent to the senior comms NCO. He dozed off fully clothed. Enjoying a colorful memory of Tracey at a regimental dance they had attended back in England at the depot. He had been taken aback at how truly beautiful she was, astounded for not noticing after their weeks together in the trenches. The attraction, had blossomed from there.

Clive’s next recollection was the shaking of his world, as Sandy brought him out of his sleep. “Sir, we have a situation, you need to come now.” He was up and out, grabbing his weapon and following Sandy’s lead. They ran across the temporary compound, vehicle shapes outlined in the moonlight, he noticed his troopers billets were empty, everyone stood to. Sandy led him to the rearmost post. He followed the CSM into the dugout, occupied by 3 troopers, two very young looking soldiers and a corporal that was probably his dad’s age. There were binoculars up as they looked West towards the horizon.

“What is going on?” he asked, still trying to shake off his sleep. The corporal handed him a pair of field binoculars and pointed out across fields and hedgerows. A dim sun had started to rise and an orange and red smear illuminated the horizon, peaking through distant trees.

What was probably just over 3 to 4 miles away, came into view. An army advancing. It was hard to decern details in the light, but there could be no mistaking the dull sheen bouncing showing off helmets and equipment, vehicles moved, there was mounted infantry and a range of other mechanisms and vehicles. Clive removed the binoculars cocking his ear to listen, he could hear as well as see this very large fighting force. “When did you first see this?” he asked, “‘Bout ‘alf an ‘our a go,” the Corporal replied. Clive scrambled back out of the indent dug into the side of the embankment of the small valley that was their temporary shelter. “Keep watching, I need to report this in”, Sandy remained with the guard as Clive, ran back to the communications vehicle. Luckily there did not seem to be any aviation units accompanying this moving force and even luckier still, they had been this piece of depressed ground, hiding them from this massive force.

As he moved back to his command vehicle, Major Trentworth appeared, he was wearing a camouflage smock and looked as if he’d already been out and about by the sweat mixing in with the camouflage paint on his face. He grabbed Clive by the arm and led him to the back of his vehicle, the cammo net drabbed over it, like the other vehicles laagered in this position. “Captain, you’ve obviously seen the small army moving to our West,” he gestured to two of his men similarly dressed as the major. “We were out this morning, having a look around when we almost ended up in the middle of that mass. They are the same creatures that we have encountered over recent weeks and months, a notable difference being is that there does not seem to be the usual toxic fog that follows them or guides them as they move. They were organized, almost structured, we could identify leadership amongst the masses.” Clive listened intently, although anxious that every moment he stood here, was a moment they moved closer to the defensive wall of the allies. “I have already sent my notes to HQ,” Trentworth interjected, sensing perhaps that Clive was thinking along those lines. “They have already reported probing attacks across the entire front. This army may be the following wave of attacks, once they have learnt from their current activity.” Clive, relaxed considerably after the Major’s assurances, was now thinking on what his next move should be, mount up and head back, or continue on and try and find the beginnings of these monster.

Again Major Trentworth interjected, not wanting to force his opinion on the young man standing in front of him, therefore, taking a suggestive tone as he outlined his thoughts to possibly continue on and try and discern where this threat was actually emanating from. Clive’s decision had already been made but he was happy that the Major was in agreement. “Yes Major, we need to move forward and find out where these forces come from, we will wait until they have passed or at least their forces are sufficiently occupied elsewhere.” Clive confirmed, more to himself than to anyone else.

They waited, the soldiers under his command watching, looking for any signs to indicate the enemy had seen them or were coming in their direction. Some stood guard, eyes watching over gun sights or in vehicle turrets, others employed very powerful observation binoculars, used by artillery observers to judge fall of shot. Taking count on the number and types of soldiers and vehicles in this distant armies inventory. In the early afternoon under a gloomy and darkly clouded sky, a large zeppelin, bristling with guns and underslung fighters, broke through the clouds and suddenly appeared directly above them. Creating some concern as everyone froze or moved further back under the safety of the secured camouflage nets. It moved on, its engines beating the air above them, a klaxon sounded from its interior, as it moved. However; nothing was directed their way, nor were any dive bombers dispatched, so things relaxed as it moved off. Finally at around 5 in the evening, as the early evening light started to dim, Sandy came to find Clive. Reporting that the numbers of the enemy were significantly less and the tail end seemed to be insight.

Clive used this opportunity to speak with his leaders, informing them individually of his plan to continue moving forward. Once the enemy had gotten completely on their way, they would make a move, as quietly as possible without the aid of lights until they were a distance from any potential discovery. However; Clive was also aware that they may very well run into enemy units making their individual way to the front. He emphasized the need for their teams to be on the highest level of alert, getting ambushed prior to achieving their objective was not desirable.

Just after 9, Sandy once more reported, all enemy activity had ceased for the last hour. It was time to move.

The men and women under Clive’s command, moved quickly and quietly, removing any evidence they had been in this little safe haven. Nets were stored, equipment packed and baggage stowed on the sides of their vehicles. The scouts with Tracey’s troop moved first, followed by one of the remaining Avengers, lumbering up the slope to disappear ahead of the armored personnel carriers that slowly followed in the MBT’s track prints. Clive sat in the turret of his command vehicle, frequently checking the rear, the rear most vehicles all had their turrets to the rear, tracking any movement or sign they had been discovered.

They moved on through the darkness, not daring to turn on their lights, vehicle interiors on “Red Light Mode” to preserve the night vision of their drivers and crews. Clive lifted the handset, held in a cradle to his right side. “Section commanders report in.” he said quietly, conscious of the need to continue to be silent. Their voices chimed in with the needed response, all good, nothing to report. Tracey’s voice put a smile on Clive’s face. He could just imagine her sitting inside her KV1, its motors humming, the heat from the engines, causing her to sweat. Knowing that despite the discomfort and the noise, there would be no place she would rather be, or was better suited. He drifted for a moment but then returned to look over his shoulder.

The horizon lite up, the sound travelling seconds later, finally hitting them as they rolled in the opposite direction. Flashes of angry lights lite the dark night and the clouds above. It had begun, he hoped their intelligence, provided to H.Q at regular intervals during the day had helped. And as he sat there thinking about it, realized how happy he was Tracy and his officers and soldiers where all with him here. As perilous as their journey was, at least they were away from that nightmare and together. He picked up the handset once more, “Stay alert everyone, seems things have kicked off back at the front, we can expect there to be increased enemy activity. See anything, no matter how insignificant, make sure to bring attention to it, pass this along to your soldiers.” Their confirmation came back in order, platoon by platoon, with vehicles in order of convoy, Ferrets first to the last large Avenger at the rear of his convoy.

The night’s darkness started to wain, a barely perceivable brightening, with objects becoming recognizable and detailed as they drove by. They had found a road to follow and were now moving down a two lane paved highway, as the darkness retreated, dark funnels of black smoke, stood out from the early morning light. Clive called the convoy to halt, standing slightly higher in his vehicles turret. Training his binoculars towards the source of the smoke, 500 meters to his front, he could make out buildings with glowing embers of what was once fire, casting small points of bright light. He got down and moved forward of his convoy. Meeting Peter Crossman along the way, he too had dismounted, his trench SMG lying across the crook of his arms. Clive moved up to stand next to him. Both looking at the dark smoke that was becoming more evident as the day chased away the night. “Peter”, Clive started, “I’m going forward, take command and move us off this road and into any form of cover you can find.” Peter’s response was immediate, “Understood boss,” moving to remounted his vehicle, reaching for the handset.

Clive walked forward, Sandy joined him and three troopers also appeared from Sandy’s vehicle. They crossed an empty stretch of road, passing Tracy’s KV2 and her section, who had placed themselves in defensive positions beyond the verge of the road. He didn’t see her face but he knew she would be watching him move forward, ready to react if anything occurred or threatened Clive and the small group of soldiers joining him.

They came up to one of the Ferrets, its engine humming inside the cowl at the back of the vehicle, Clive clambered up, beside the turret and the commander whose helmet was barely visible over the lip of the hatch.

“Liam Jones was it not?” Clive inquired, “That’s right sir, came the soft Welsh accent underneath the helmet. “Can you take us forward, to scout out that town down the road from us?” “Certainly sir, watch the exhaust, nasty burn if you catch yourself on it.” Clive motioned to his men to climb up, they placed themselves above the engine compartment, Sandy and Clive occupying space either side of the turret.

The vehicle lurched as the driver found the gear and they moved forward down the road. Clive pulled his goggles out from the front of his jacket where they had shifted below his chin. Pulling them onto his face and eyes.

The smoke and haze grew closer, he could see the building much clearer now and also burnt out husks of vehicles, he could smell the bodies before he could ascertain between dark mass of detritus and once human being. He leaned into the turret and instructed the Ferret commander to slow it down, the vehicle once more lurching as the driver geared down and applied some brake. They were now quite close and Clive decided that walking the rest of the way, would be better than announcing their arrival. Although the Ferrets engines were quite quiet, they would still be picked up between the crackle of burning wood and the occasional bang or crash, as a building collapsed from the heat.

He touched the vehicle commanders shoulder and indicated for him to stop, the vehicle rolled on for another 10 feet and then came to a halt. “Stay here and stay alert, you hear anything, call for help, if we are not back in an hour, go and ask Major Trentworth for instructions.” Clive spoke directly to Lieutenant Jones. Who nodded his understanding and then sitting up slightly higher in the turret, pulling the handle of the turret mounted 30 cal., close, moving the turret in line with the main road of the town Clive and his men were about to enter.

As Clive dismounted, he paused to consider where Major Trentworth may be, the Major came and went like the wind. Clive bashed himself out, making sure he had everything, Clive and Sandy moved cautiously forward their troopers following along behind. Clive moved stooped and ready, stopping as they came to a destroyed vehicle or part of a building lying in the street. Clive knelt down by the side of what had once been a truck, its black and burnt driver still sitting frozen in its seat, its mouth open in the form of a horrific silent scream. The helmet that sat on the dead driver’s head, was equally burnt but the markings of the 2nd Austrian Wehrmacht, a wolf’s head over a red and white stripe, could still be made out.

There were vehicles all along the road, blackened and burning. The stench of burnt flesh much stronger, filling their nostrils. Clive looked around at Sandy, who was crouched next to the front bumper of the vehicle, doing his best to stay behind cover but not touch the still hot metal. “When do you reckon this happened Sandy, I’m thinking this morning at the latest.” Clive offered after crouching down next to his Sergeant Major. “I’d agree sir, this is a fresh killing ground.” Sandy responded, keeping his eye’s down the street, watching for any indication of threat.

Clive looked around, the buildings were spaced out quite far and they had not entered the town proper, most of the houses had gardens, some, side lanes that ran off in different directions. “We need to learn more.” he spoke to the world and to no-one in particular. “Sandy, take one of this lot and go left, I will take another and follow this street.” Clive, looked behind him, the 3 young soldiers had found varying positions of cover. “Hanson, you will stay here and keep an eye open, if we are not back in 30 mins, leg it back to the Ferret and report back to Major Trentworth.” Clive instructed. Hanson nodded confirmation. Sandy was up, gesturing to the young man closes to the side of the road they were on, to follow, the two of them moved off. Clive looked at Burns, the remaining soldier, and they too continued further into town, hugging the low wall that ran along the street into town.

As they moved down the street, they could make out where the fiercest fighting had taken place. Bodies lying in groups and the multiple scars from a large caliber weapon, were easy signs to follow. One of the CEP Main Battle Wagons sat in the middle of a side street, its hull rendered and torn, a body lying on the back of the engine compartment and the main gun, bent straight up. They moved past, seeing that the battle had been fought in multiple directions, down several side streets.

Clive moved to the corner of a large grey building, it could have been a post office or local government building, its facade had ornate figures carved into the tops of the pillars that sat at the side of two large wooden doors, one now lying on the top step. A sign post extended from above the front door but there was no sign.

He sat listening, searching out empty windows and doors, there were civilian dead amongst the Austrians, a pink scarf fluttered in the wind created by the still burning buildings. Clive peered around the edge of the building, they had reached the town square, a statue of a man on a horse lay in the middle of the square and judging by the bodies, this had been where the fiercest fighting had taken place. Clive was about to make a move, when a sudden noise stopped him dead in his tracks. Voices, guttural and low, movement, a piece of masonry skittered across the square, kicked by who ever it was now moving down a side street into the square, on the opposite side of the building Clive and his trooper were positioned. Clive held up a finger, pointing in the direction of the noise, indicating that Burns should get down.

A massive, lumbering figure in a green uniform, stomped out into the square, it stood at least 8 feet tall, a black helmet in a style Clive had never seen before covered its obviously huge head, what looked like a respirator covered the face. The body was covered in a green smock and pants, that had what looked like medieval armor across the chest, torso and front of the giants legs. The boots sparked against the cobbled square. Three more figures appeared behind the creature, one seemed to be plugged into the beast, a cable ran from the back of the monster, into a grey box, which its smaller compatriot seemed to use to steer and control this massive beast. The smaller figures were similarly dressed, although probably the same height as a normal person, they looked tiny against the lumbering giant that had appeared from the rubble.

Clive could hear them speaking, although unable to make out any distinct language, it was guttural and broken. The four moved into the center of the square, the giant’s weapon, a large auto cannon, swung back and forth, Clive held out his arm, stopping Burns, pushing him back against the side of the building to avoid detection.

The crackle and pop of burning buildings didn’t hide the noise of this evolved threat that Clive had encountered all those weeks ago. The almost beast like quality had gone, instead they were soldierly, weapons evident and held tactically. Heads moving back and forth checking corners and fields of fire, they had developed, which Clive found neither comforting nor a relief, that they had left their more beast like qualities behind.

These new monsters, were a much more imposing threat, keeping in mind what he had seen yesterday and the army that was now throwing itself against the allied lines. He could still hear the far away battle, faint thumps and bangs, meaning hopefully that the lines had not been breached and that the allies still kept the enemy at bay.

The familiar repetitive bang of a CEP Heavy Weapon, brought the war startlingly closer. A corner window on the second floor of a building facing the square, erupted with muzzle flashes, a rocket from a downstairs window, whooshed out to connect with the large enemy creature, it stumbled back as the High Explosive round engulfed the monster in flame, the one holding the controls, was flung to the ground to lie quietly, its body, lying spread eagle with whisps of smoke emanating from the still hot shards of metal from the projectile. The giant stood head down and arms limp, its autocannon hanging loosely in its grip, like a child with a toy no longer found of interest. The CEP Heavy Weapon continued firing, now centered on the remaining two green uniformed creatures that had taken cover behind brick work and vehicle carcasses' littered across the square.

Clive saw Sandy and the other soldier appear around a corner on a side street opposite where Clive and Burns now took refuge. They had obviously heard the fire fight and moved to the sound. Clive gestured and indicated 2 hostiles, maybe more, center and far side of the square, fire on my command. Sandy indicated he understood and took cover behind a pile of bricks and smoldering lumber at the entrance of the street he and the trooper were on. The young soldier, lay down with his weapon pointing out from under the lumber, aimed into the square.

Clive pulled a grenade out of his web pouch and indicated Burns give him one too. It was as they were getting ready, one of the other creatures had finally retrieved the control unit for the giant from his dead comrade and the monster was now operating again. Its heavy weapon swung up and aimed at the building where the attack had emanated from. Its auto-cannon spun up and started spitting rounds at the building, the second story erupted and blew apart, the sound hammered on, Clive could feel the constant throbs as the shock waves of the weapon, hit his face and hands.

Holding the grenade in his hand, he looked at Sandy, signaling to get ready, Sandy nodded and took aim down the sites of his SMG. Clive pulled the pin, popped the handle and stood out from the corner, throwing the grenade first at the operator of the monster, the second grenade Burns had prepped, he handed it to Clive, who lobbed it at the second creature who had taken a firing position, behind the town square center piece, its cut of sandstone legs protruding from the base.

The first grenade landed exactly where Clive wanted it to, amongst the bricks at the feet of the controller of the beast. The second grenade landed just to the left and a foot behind the prone monster sheltered at the feet of the town square’s past effigy. The first erupted ripping the legs off its intended victim, material flew out in all directions as the body fell forward. The second exploded and threw bricks and material all over the place, this was it, Clive was up and moving, Sandy seeing his commanding officer on the run, aimed at what he could see and squeezed off short bursts while, Johnson, the young lad at his feet, fired from his repeating rifle, until he heard the clank of an empty mag being removed and a fresh one snapped into place.

Clive ran towards the center of the square, firing in the direction of the second grenades recipient. Burns was with him, firing from the hip as he ran. Thankfully the armored monster was still silent but the legless controller was trying to pull itself to where the control box now lay. Sandy, seeing the masked creature, propped up on its arms, pulling its torso over the city debris, concentrated his fire on the creature, hitting the armor on the chest and upper body but then switching to its face, where his aim was rewarded with the head being thrown back and the monsters mask, disintegrated under the burst of fire.

Clive was now into the smoke, his visibility slightly impeded, he didn’t see the figure rise up to his right, a small hand axe ready to chop down on Clive’s head, splitting the skull to the brain. Burns reacted and plowed into his C.O only to have the axe slam down on his neck and shoulders, the warm blood filling his mouth and eyes before the world faded to nothingness. Clive fell to one knee, the creature switched its attack to rush at him. Clive brought his weapon up, pulling the trigger, nothing. “Fuck!” he seethed, seeing only one option, he rammed the weapon up hard, hitting the creature square in the face. The mask skewed, temporarily blinding the attacker. Clive drew his side arm, pumping two rounds into the mask, pushing his opponent down, adjusting the angle and two more under its chin. Black liquid squelched as the creature gurgled its death throes, orange smoke escaped from behind the mask and the holes caused by Clive’s side arm.

Clive ripped the mask away and what he saw brought back memories of his encounter with the deserters. Besides the bullet holes that black ooze seeped from, the face was part human, part machine. The remaining skin was stretched and secured by staples, onto a metal skull. One blue eye protruded from the remains of the person this creature had once been. A fold of sandy brown hair protruded from the top of the flesh, like an outcrop of an unwelcome garden weed. It ceased moving and the sounds emanating from its throat, slowly faded away. Clive looked back at Burns, realizing the boy wasn’t with him, nor moving. He clambered over to where he lay, pulling him up only to feel the body lifeless and limp. The eyes were partially closed and the blood was soaked into his face and hair. He was gone.

Sandy appeared with Johnson, the young man’s face indicated his shock at finding his friend dead. Sandy helped Clive to a corner of the city square statue, to keep the boss safe. Clive shook himself out, regaining his sense of where and what next. As he sat himself up to face where the CEP Troops had staged their defense. A rumbling noise made him turn to where he and Burns had started their attack. A KV1 and 2 KV2s appeared, followed by armored fighting vehicles and the tanks of Clive’s small command. His men spread out around the square, finding cover creating a pocket of security in an all around defense.

“Thank God for Major Trentworthy”, he muttered out loud. “Sir”, Sandy, crouching next to him, bringing Clive’s attention back to the building in front of them. A white sheet, tied to a piece of lumber, protruded from the ground floor window of the building. Clive slowly stood, his hands up and to his sides, open palms facing front. He moved forward, leaving the safety of the town square monument, his men aiming their weapons at the front of the building.

An officer in grey CEP combat fatigues, exited the building holding the white flag and the chair leg that it was attached to. He was followed by an assortment of CEP uniforms, some bandaged and badly injured or war torn and weary filing out from the building into the square. Clive approached the young officer, who snapped to attention, he being only a junior lieutenant. “Leutnant Aigner, 2nd Mechanized Infantry, I would like to discuss a truce.” his English was flawless besides a slight accent. Clive looked at the young man, his unform was a newer version, slightly different camouflage pattern but still the overwhelming grey tones, in contrast to the allies, Khaki Green configuration.

“Certainly, Herr Leutnant, what did you have in mind?” The young man seemed a tad confused at the answer and it was clear to Clive that he had not thought through the next part of the conversation if Clive had agreed. “Umh, we require assistance with our wounded and the rescue of our comrades who have been separated and found shelter in various parts of the wreckage of this village.” he finished triumphantly, happy with the demands he made, despite being surrounded by Clive’s troopers and armored vehicles.

Clive smiled, he had an immidiate linking for this young man and respected his ability to put a defense together, when the men and women he led looked experienced and battle tested. He turned to his men and motioned the medics forward to attend to the young man’s soldiers. “Come, lets talk and stop standing in the open like this, it makes me nervous.” Clive now motioned to the young Leutnant and they moved to one of the parked vehicles, its back doors open as the troopers it carried were now in defensive positions around the town square.

Clive offered the young man a seat, Aigner stepped into the interior of the vehicle, looking around taking in all he could, being in his enemy’s vehicle was a chance at a glimpse of something top secret or that could be of use to the ultimate victory of the mighty CEP!

“Okay, so tell me, what happened.” Clive said, as if he was unaware of what had to have been the destruction of Leutnant Aigner’s command and a sizeable force of CEP Troops, in and around the small town. Aigner sat back in his seat, took off his cap and ran his hand through his short cropped hair.

They talked for a good 15 to 20 minutes, Clive confirmed points as Aigner spoke. The CEP forces had been moving forward in an attempt to retake part of their fortified frontline. The plan had been to secure a Southern point and then move North clearing or pushing this new enemy back. Although Clive received regular updates from HQ, he learnt that these monstrosities of an enemy had changed considerably and the force that they had seen the day before, was just one of many that now moved towards the front. The CEP had been torn apart, central command had been overrun and now their command structure and their armies were scattered across Eastern Europe. Some had joined allied forces, especially in Southern Europe where a new front had formed, brushing aside the existing conflict, as the same monster armies descended down from deep within Russia. The war had taken on a totally new form and according to Stefan, Aigner’s first name, there had been talk of a complete truce between old enemies. Aigner and Clive ran over past events, compared notes on equipment, weapons and technology. He showed Clive on a rough drawn map where he thought the majority of CEP survivors would be located in the remains of the town.

Clive formed his men up, spoke to the section commanders, the plan was to advance through the town on two sides, finally meeting up in the north once the town was cleared and Aigner’s troops had been rescued. Men and women from Aigner’s command were assigned to work with the commanders of each of Clive’s teams, to ensure there were no accidental returns to the war that was on temporary hold. Clive joined Aigner and a stoic Oberwachtmeister, Master Sergeant, who joined Aigner after his troops had been properly attended to and those healthy enough, dispersed to the two commands about to work through the destroyed town.

Clive and Aigner, followed by the ever watchful Oberwachtmeister, whose name turned out to be Kristof, joined the command working their way up from the South, across the town’s Western flank. Tracy had split her team between the two groups, Clive joined her and the remaining KV that was assigned to the Western flank. The troops moved street to street, house to house, their temporary CEP allies, calling out to their trapped colleagues, moving wounded to the back, those that were healthy joining the advance across the town.

Clive moved on foot, his weapon at the ready, moving like his soldiers, Aigner and Kristof, following suit. The troopers leaped frog across the town, shots rang out sporadically. Clive had brought with him Corporal Perry Adanson his radio operator. The bulky box on Corporal Adanson’s back, a link to each of the units now moving across the town. As they moved through the town, besides the wrecked buildings and broken vehicles, the only other signs of a battle were the CEP bodies and the numerous shell holes and pockmarked walls. Besides the large monster, that still stood in the town square, now guarded by an armored vehicle and a section of his men, there was no other sign of the enemy. Clive looked at Kristof, “You did manage to kill a few?”, he asked, Kristof bristled at this question, “Of course, we killed many of these things.” He retorted.

They continued on, stepping over bricks blown across streets and into main roads, ducking under wooden beams forcefully removed from buildings running along the streets. The constant smell of smoke and in places where signs of intense fighting had taken place, death. Black liquid like the stuff Clive had seen after killing the enemy soldier in the town square was splattered evident here and there, authenticating Kristof’s angry comeback.

An intense burst of fighting broke out from across town, the thump of armored vehicles and the bang of an Avengers main gun, rang out. Perry instinctively handed Clive the radio, the radio chatter filled Clive’s ear as he held the headset to his head. Peter Crossman who was in command of the Eastern flanking movement, was orchestrating the situation. A force of the enemy creatures had tried to circle back in and were attempting to break back into the town, through Peter’s flank. A young section commander was breathlessly yelling down the radio that her section was taking heavy fire. Peter’s calm voice broke in to give her a calm and reassuring, get it together or else, short lecture. She got a grip and then reported that her section was under attack by a force, greater than her section, reporting also that there were 4 armored vehicles fighting with the enemy. Peter calmly asked her exact location in reference to a street they had used getting to that point. She responded and Peter moved another section and one of the KVs as well as a Avenger to her location. Peter then reminded her that they had heavy weapons to call upon if she needed mortar fire on enemy positions.

Clive decided he needed to see more, wanted to be closer to the fight, he turned to his CEP partners, “I am going to see what’s going on, on the other side of town. Care to join me, or if you want, stay here with Petrov”, his 3rd Platoon Commander and in charge of the Western flank. Aigner moved to follow, his Master Sergeant doing the same. Corporal Adanson following along, the radio weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Two of Clive’s troopers joined them, as well as a CEP Corporal, who carried a very impressive section weapon, she was crisscrossed with belt ammunition for her weapon. They moved down a nearby lane that ran East West between the streets that Petrov’s troopers were on. The banging and firing continued, growing in intensity as they got closer. They found Peter first, helmet off, radio headset on one ear, cigarette in his left hand, hunched over a map.

“Peter, what’s going on?” Clive enquired as Peter’s security let him in to their platoon commander. Peter looked up, took a drag from his cigarette and then flicked it into the rubble of a nearby house. “3 sections engaged, with the armor I sent over earlier, I am moving 2 section over to provide support and ensure no more of these horrors, try and sneak back in. It has become quite tense, I’ve sent Gerard, over to help.” Gerard being Peter’s WO1 and right hand man in the platoon.

“Any chance of a look”, said Clive. Peter focused for a moment back on the radio and then turned to Clive, while trying to find the pack of cigarettes that had disappeared into one of his smock pockets. “Would I ever deny my Commanding Officer”, he said as he finally found the object of his search, pulling a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth. Clive looked Peter up and down, he was a good officer with a ton of potential but if Clive didn’t know him, he’d think he was a common soldier with discipline problems. His kit was all over the map and his web belt lay on the ground at his feet, side arm and all. Another day, thought Clive, he moved off, followed by the entourage that had joined him after leaving Petrov.

The firing intensified and it was hard not to know where the contact had occurred, as it thumped and rumbled, shaking the ground and the few remaining window sills. They leapt frogged forward, coming to a corner as the small side street opened up onto a main road. The zing of bullets coming down range, slapped into the road and buildings, beyond the lane they hid safely in. The CEP Trooper with the section weapon, pushed a large beam into the main street, threw a couple of large blocks in front of it, then extending the bi-pod on the weapon, placed herself into a firing position, with as much of her body angled into the small laneway as possible. She pulled the stock into her shoulder and sighted the weapon.

“Right”, said Clive, as if the actions of the young CEP Soldier had been part of an unspoken plan, “Let’s get across the street and see if we can move further up the road.” Clive motioned to the two young troopers who had joined from his own men to act as security. One of the troopers, tapped the gunner on her shoulder and she fired down the street in bursts of three, with that he dashed across the road, puffs of dust and brick work kicked up as shots were directed at the sudden movement. Clive didn’t wait and before the trooper had gained shelter, he too was across the road and into a door jam. The remaining members of the party did likewise, Aigner indicating to the young gunner to stay where she was, when they needed to return.

Clive looked first down the street, he could see one of his armored vehicles, its gun protruding from the shell of a building but facing away from the shooting, probably security. Up the street, he could see a body lying in the street, one of his, the Avenger was sitting on the left hand side, up on the curve, its turret swiveling back and forth, the MG sporadically engaging, only to be joined by the vehicles main gun, when a target that warranted a larger caliber showed itself. Another armored vehicle sat opposite of the Avenger, it was smoking but still operating, one of his armored transports. A medic kneeled behind the vehicle, seemingly to tend to two wounded troopers, ducking as shots came close, although Clive could not see.