....the villages had been the worst, I think.
Many had been emptied out a long time ago - the Al-Masedis and others had done good work evacuating people around here. A lot of the time, those village strongpoints just got flattened by air strikes and artillery once Command confirmed it was evacuated.
But some other villages and towns couldn't just be blown up: the evacuations only achieved so much, and there were still folk left behind. Sometimes the record just wasn't there and the place was emptied out long ago, wasting everyone's - save the enemy's - time. Couldn't risk the uncertainty of collateral damage. Sometimes there was important infrastructure in place or an MSR. Whatever the reason, these places had to be taken the hard way.
And the things I saw in some of those places once the Varezhi were evicted were strange and exotic just like the recruiter told me -- in the worst possible way. Every such village and town told the same story; mass graves, diabolical scenes in farmhouse cellars, empty looks in people's eyes -- it wasn't anything like a war movie where everyone comes out and cheers the liberating heroes and all the men have lipstick all over their face by the time they're through.
There was no big celebration, no parade, no thanks given. Just a mutual acknowledgment: 'it's finally over'.
After that first unevacuated country town and the shit we saw there, we started seeing more and more bodies stacked up on the side of roads. Varezhi POWs. More bruises, spit - hells, shit - on Varezhi POWs being marched back to the rear. I even heard that a few fellas in another regiment'd gotten themselves put on a firing line for losing their cool with the whole situation -- they stacked up an entire platoon of Varezhi prisoners.
Everyone is at the end of their rope, that's for certain; even the veterans that've seen some shit, the Grognards were discombobulated by just how much death and destruction'd been visited on this span of arid hills and desert. And those fellas've seen a lot - chemical warfare, looted villages and ideologically-driven massacres and such, back during the War of Unification.
It's probably why the entire Division's been put on rear-line duty - we've been given a bullshit mission to 'fortify' the southern shores of Lake Hormiz, clear out pockets of stay-behinds, assist with humanitarian efforts, clear the MSRs of debris, bodies and such. 5th Area Army's starting to pour into this sector; Territorials and Regulars are going to take over for us on the line.
Here we are, missing the rest of the war, taking a working vacation on the shores of Lake Hormiz, playing at being humanitarians.
See you soon.
-OPENED BY EXAMINER 47-
-LETTER MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION-
COMMENTS BY CENSOR: Refers extensively to ongoing military operations, casts the Imperial Army in a negative light. Recommend disciplinary action.
-LETTER MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION-
COMMENTS BY CENSOR: Refers extensively to ongoing military operations, casts the Imperial Army in a negative light. Recommend disciplinary action.
Romeo clapped his friend on the back as he slipped underneath the camo netting of a foxhole - that friend writing a letter back home as he felt a heavy slap through his plate carrier and his splitter-camo blouse - and foisted a chilled bottle into his lap, tearing the letter he'd spent the last fifteen minutes writing in two on its way down.
Before Artel could even get out a 'hey, what the fuck', Romeo bellowed out laughing. "Buddy, you're not gonna believe this," he said, a bemused expression on his face. "Varezh got the rug pulled out from underneath them. Blueblood said Division's ordered a full stop. War looks like it's over, man. Check the bottle."
It was a bottle of Capitoline spiced rum, and Artel's mouth watered.
"I'm almost willing to ignore that I have to rewrite this letter, you fucking asshole," Artel said. "Where'd you get this?"
"Don't ask questions, brother man." Romeo replied with a toothy smile, pulling out his standard issue multitool, flicking out a corkscrew from its many hinges.
"You laid it on that H&S cougar, didn't you?" asserted Artel. Romeo only gave an incriminating grin as a reply, a heavy silence filling the air. "Fuckin' knew it."
"There's no shame in my game, brother. Gets lonely out here, yaknow?" said the guilty man, sliding the multitool to Artel. "All this death and destruction, and I'm still out here living my best life. You should be happy for me--"
"She's married, you utter beef curtain."
"There's people out here literally popping unarmed Varezhis, man. Think MPs have better shit to do than--"
"What?" said a third voice, interrupting from behind the two, a more noble inflection than either were used to.
Both men looked behind and above them, jaws open slightly - it was none other than Blueblood standing at the edge of the foxhole.
"How much did you-" said Romeo, aghast.
"Enough," said Blueblood, crawling in. "You are also quite correct, Lancer, in that minor transgressions such as partaking in contraband materials or adulterous behavior are very low priorities for... disciplinary action, all things considered."
A pause. The two Guardsmen blushed pink, flustered, feeling the cold eyes of their company commander on both of them.
"Alas, it can't be ignored," said Blueblood, pointing a finger aggressively at the two. "I expect that bottle to disappear by roll call tomorrow morn. One way or the other. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," the two said in unison.
"Very good. Any more.. night visits to the rear.. or any more intoxicants, and I'll see to it personally that you two are burning latrines and running circles around base like dogs for the rest of this tour. Are we understood?"
"Yes, sir," the two said in unison.
"Very good," said Blueblood. "Enjoy the respite from all this nastiness, gentlemen. We've all certainly earned it."
He bowed - of course - before taking his leave, leaving Artel and Romeo to their bottle of now-cool rum, sweating just as much as they were.
By the end of the evening, the bottle was, as promised, gone - the two friends toasted their fallen comrades and friends through the afternoon. Lugnut. Choir Boy. Tom Thumb. A few dozen other names, all rendered meaningless by Man's excesses on earth. Left unspoken was the horrors they'd both seen in the last week alone.
If there was any solace at all this day for either of them, it was that neither of them would dream of those horrors for the first time in what seemed like years when they finally passed out in the foxhole they'd chosen as their drinking spot.
ARTASHIR, ORMAZD
"Fools," said Colonel-General de Ròcanera to the skyline, to nobody in particular, leaning against the railing of a balcony, a cold glass of whisky in his hand. "Bloody fucking fools."
"Aye," replied Rear Admiral Raimon de Vielcastèl, also nursing a glass of whisky sitting back in a rocking chair. "They're giving them extra time to put their house, and their battle lines, in perfect order for another go."
"We're stopping when the work's practically almost finished. Do you understand? We could chase them to --" de Ròcanera was interrupted by de Vielcastèl suddenly, who cut in before he could finish his shpiel.
"Old friend. Realize this: the kings, the politicians and the diplomats -- they're the ones in charge, and they're the ones with the complete picture. We are, as military men, subservient to their designs. It's better off this way, otherwise you get state-sized abominations such as the Old Empire, or more presently speaking, the recent events in Varezh."
"I suppose you're right." de Ròcanera took another gulp of his cold whisky. "It's for the best that this conflict dies down, even if our enemies aren't totally beaten. I'm more worried about what happens if negotiations fall through; by then, the Harkenians and their Varezhi puppets will have solid defensive positions. It'll cost us much more in blood to send them packing from fortified positions a second time."
"That's for our civilian government to take up with theirs. My friends at Court tell me the Emperor is displeased as you are, but even His Imperial Highness is willing to give this... unconventional bargaining strategy a shot. Worst comes to worst, the war resumes. Think of it as an opportunity to perfect our own deployments."
"Aye," said de Ròcanera. "The incoming elements of 5th Area Army are shoring up the southern front around Lake Hormiz, and the 10th are reinforcing the Palmyrians, Kharilians and Ormazdian units around Mehrabad. Our initial offensive force took significant losses on the Karmazh front, so they're being rotated to the rear for light duty until they can be reinforced and re-equipped. The rest would do them some good, too."
"That it would," said de Vielcastèl. "I saw the latest casualty estimates. Two thousand, four hundred dead and wounded."
"It's why I'm feeling dreadful at the prospect of this supposed cease-fire falling through," admitted de Ròcanera. "We paid a steep price at Karmazh. We could very well find ourselves paying it again if things don't work out."
"That's our lot," said de Vielcastèl, chortling ever so quietly. "Ours but to do and die, said a poet a long time ago."
de Ròcanera was silent, if not fuming; his response to his friend was to cast the glass he'd been holding into the street 30 stories below.
