Same Feud, New Year
"Wreaths belong to those who labor"
"Wreaths belong to those who labor"
North of Ferres, near the Veleazan border
77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0840 hours
The first days of spring didn't bring the warm and sunny weather generally associated with the season. Northern Chalcia was as cold and humid as it had been throughout the winter, with the snowfalls only ceasing to be replaced by downpours of rain. The ground was muddy and puddles of rainwater had formed virtually everywhere, most prominently on the craters left on the ground by the war that had ended only mere months ago. Visibility was bad, and one could only see about a dozen metres around him through the punishing rain and thick fog of the early morning. What was - arguably - even worse was that sound was as equally blocked by the rainfall, and the eight men of the patrol could barely hear each other talk, let alone hear possible hostile vehicles or infantry nearby.
The 8-man squad of the Chalcian Army belonged to 5th Platoon, 2nd Company, 77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion and were patrolling across the Veleazan-Chalcian border, north of the city of Ferres. All of them wore olive drab waterproof ponchos over their webbing and lizard-pattern uniform, and were equipped with G3A4s, MINIMIs and a couple of RPG-18s. Half of them were veterans of the war, with scars to prove it, and had experienced combat first hand. The other half, however, were conscripts that were drafted too late in the war and had never seen battle, their squad leader included. The were nearing the end of the patrol, and all of them were anxious to return to the base and get a wam meal and change into some dry clothes.
They walked in a tight column along the dirt road, trying to stay on the middle of it so as to not sink in the mud on the sides of the path. Regardless, most of them had the dark brown sludge up to their calfs, and despite their waterproof combat boots, their feet and socks where soaked in rainwater. Only the last waypoint of their patrol had remained, on a crossroads about a kilometre from the border. They were walking on an old dirt road through open ground that was once a corn field, one of the many in the area, but was now filled with bomb craters from the war, and the corn crops had been trampled by tanks and heavy vehicles passing through. It was a different patrol route that their usual one, but the SL, Sergeant Ilias Vasiliou, had assured them that they would reach the last waypoint in about 5 minutes. From there, they would backtrack halfway towards their starting area where another squad would arrive to replace them in a truck.
Sgt. Vasiliou, leading the column, stopped abruptly and the soldiers behind him almost crashed into each others backs. He stood there, frozen, without turning to face them. The fog had somewhat dissipated and the downpour had lightened up, but the soldiers on the column still couln't see what was ahead. Irritated and anxious to get on with it and return to base, Corporal Nikos Makris, the squad's second-in-command and one of the veterans, bypassed the others from his position in the column's rear and walked up to the sergeant to see what was going on. What he saw made him freeze as well. The soldiers behind them stared at them; the new ones where confused, and the veterans worried. And they were right to be worried. Instead of an asphat crossroads, the path stopped abruptly on a wall of barbed wire and tank traps. A sign was behind the barbed wire that read "WARNING - MINEFIELD" in Veleazan, Chalcian and English. Bellow the text was the Veleazan flag, notably the now outdated, communist one. This was the border. They had lost their way in the fog and rain and had ended up on the bloody border.
Makris was ready to disregard rank and start yelling at the Sergeant for misreading the map and leading them right next to Veleazan turf when they heard a voice yelling at them across the border.
"Take cover, now!" Makris shouted at the others and shoved Vasiliou into cover inside a ditch on the side of the road. The men obeyed and scrambled to whatever cover their could find, hinding in ditches, craters and behind large rocks, and he dove in the ditch alongside Vasiliou. The sergeant seemed to be returning to his senses and was checking his rifle.
They heard a voice again, which was now amplified by a megaphone, enabling them to actually hear what was being said over the rain. It was in english, but the strong Veleazan accent was notable.
*"THIS IS THE VELEAZAN ARMY. TURN AROUND IMMEDEATELY!"*
Before Markis could say anything, Vasiliou was shouting back "WE ARE ON OUR STANDARD PATROL ROUTE. WE ARE NOT TO BE HARASSED-"
"What the fuck are you doing!?" the corporal interupted him.
"Watch your language, corporal" Vasiliou glared at him "You heard the Major's instructions; we're not to be intimidated by the Veleazans. They won't do anything anyway, they just want to scare us."
"Are you out of your mind? You fucked up and lead us straight to the border, and now you want to play tough?" he had to restrain himself from screaming at his squad leader's face.
*"TURN AROUND IMMEDEATELY, OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE!"* the man across the border shouted at them through his megaphone again.
"Sergeant, sir, what are our orders?" one of the other squad members asked from behind a rock.
"Once again, corporal, you're out of line." Vasiliou seemed to ignore the soldier's plea "Watch your mouth, or i'll have to report you. For the last time, we cannot let ourselves be bossed around by the enemy"
Vasiliou raised his head to shout again, but Makris grabbed him by the webbing and brought him back into the ditch "The enemy? What enemy? The war's over you green piece of shit! Are you trying to start it again?"
"Orders are orders!" Vasiliou protested, yanking the corporal's arm off his webbing.
Makris was ready to punch the sergeant unconscious but the loud *crack* of incoming fire interupted him. Long bursts of green tracer fire kicked up mud, hitting near, but not quite on the Chalcian soldiers. While visibiliy had increased after the fog thinned out, the Veleazans were still shooting at vague shapes from their side of the border fence. What appeared to be .50 cal fire hit near the ditch they where sheltering in, and Vasiliou instinctively almost burried his face into the mud in reaction. Makris felt him shudder next to him; it was after all the inexperienced Sergeant's first time under hostile fire. The veteran corporal took the initiative.
"Return fire! Papas, Kontos, smoke grenades, now!"
The two SAW gunners of the squad started responding to the Veleazan fire with their MINIMIs, letting off bursts of red 5.56 tracers. Their fire was shortly after reinforced by the riflemen's G3s, who fired in single-shot but in rapid succession. Markis heard the distintive sound of the smoke grenades being activated and thrown, after after some seconds he dared raise his head and take a look around. The smoke had expanded well enough to cover their retreat, though both sides were still firing blindly through it. He added to the Chalcian fire with his own rifle, trying to aim at the muzzle flashes he saw through the fog or at least the vague origin of the tracer fire. He looked back into the ditch and saw that Vasiliou was still lying face down into the mud, now visibly shaking. That was a CSR case if he'd ever seen one. He grabbed the Sergeant by the webbing and flipped him around, revealing a face covered with sludge. He shook him violently and after cursing him, his mother, and various other members of his family, he addressed the men.
"Fall back! Fire and maneuever! Petrides, you got the mauenuver fireteam, go!"
"Yes sir!" the veteran squad marksman replied.
Petrides got up from cover, followed by two of the riflemen, the rest of the squad - minus Vasiliou who was still in shock - providing cover for them. After some moments, the three retreating soldiers turned around, went prone and started providing covering fire. Makris got up, dragging Vasiliou behind him. They bypassed to covering fireteam and took positions themselves, opening fire shortly after. The shellshocked sergeant seemed to be getting better now, and he started firing as well. Returning enemy fire always pumped some confidence into a soldier. The process was repeated several times until they were far enough that the fog and rain engulfed them, concealing them from Veleazan fire that now was wildly off target. After they made sure visibility between them and the hostiles was entirely obstructed, they made a mad dash back towards the way they came.
The managed to reach a treeline, where they took shelter, some of the men collapsing from fatigue while a couple standing guard, their rifles ready. There, Makris opened his thigh pouch, took out the local maps and started studying them. He looked around, trying to spot landmarks, paths and roads through the fog. After a while, he showed the map to Vasiliou, emphatically pointing with his finger the turn that the sergeant had missed on their way here. Vasiliou looking both physically and mentally exhausted, just looked away.
"Laskaris, get over here" Makris called to the squad radioman.
The young soldier got on his feet and approached "Sir!"
"Radio Company HQ - no, actually, call Battalion. Tell them we were fired upon by Veleazans on the border two clicks north of Iphitis hill, the one with the temple on it. Let them know that we may have pursuers, so we will fall back to the base of the hill next to the eastern road and take up a defensive positions there. Tell them to pick us up there."
"Yes sir!" the radioman said and went to call Battalion HQ.
"5 minutes rest everyone, and we're off for Iphitis" Makris announced to the men.