Post by callmedelta on Jun 17, 2023 20:06:02 GMT -5
“Vous chargez seize tonnes, qu'obtenez-vous?”
“Un autre jour plus vieux et plus endetté.”
“St. Peter, ne m'appelle pas parce que je ne peux pas y aller.”
“Je dois mon âme au magasin de l'entreprise.”
The conscripts sung away, working on making the trench line. Some worked on digging the trench itself, others on making dugouts for the machine guns, others stringing out barbed wire, and more still digging out the deepest parts of the trenchwork to shelter in from artillery. The conscripts had been working on this system of trenchworks for the last week, and today they were finishing up the last line in the forward system.
Meanwhile, just out of sight of the rest of their unit working, the artillery corp was stockpiling ammunition and triple checking their range tables for the day’s event. “Hell of an ‘initiation,’ don’t you think?” Private Clair contemplated, setting down a box of shells.
“Sure don’t envy those poor sods digging trenches out there,” Private Ange commented as he put down a box of his own.
“I mean, it’s kind of cruel, when you think about it,” Clair continued, “We’re shelling our own men, and-“
“Quiet down, Private,” Captain Manoury barked out, “Unless you want to go join them. Maybe then you’ll see why we’re doing it.” The man could give quite a death glare for only having one eye, but he turned the full might of that gaze to Clair. The scar under the eyepatch probably helped the terror it caused, as well as the host of other scars slashed across the man’s face.
“Sir no sir,” Clair hurriedly answered, leaving to go pick up another box.
“Not so fast, Private,” Manoury said, “You just volunteered yourself for spotting duty. Go find some binoculars and get back to me.”
All of the Colonels and their Lt. Colonels had reported back to Major General Leavitt. The men had been given a week to build their defenses, it was time to test them. The officers split, some heading for the command bunker, others going towards bunkers closer to the front lines to stay with their men. The soldiers, blissfully unaware of what was coming, were milling about now that the work on the trenches were done. Almost the entire division was here, sans the artillery and back line supporting elements like cooks. A minute later, a whistle sounded out. 500 meters ahead of the front line of the trenches, the artillery shell crashed down and cratered the dirt. “Artillery! Get to the bunkers!” The officers shouted, and the conscripts didn’t need any more convincing than that, another artillery shell already falling closer, slowly. For now.
Private Clair put his binoculars down. “The command bunker’s raised the flag,” the Private relayed, “There’s no one left outside the bunkers.”
Captain Manoury placed down a clock, noting down the time. 0747 hours. “Commence full bombardment! Give ‘em hell, boys!”
Private Clair could only watch through the binoculars at the scene unfolding down at those trenches. A wave of destruction rolled forward from where that first shell fell, all the way forward to the first line of trenches. It continued on with the meticulously calculated firing ranges, eventually splitting around the islands of densely-packed dirt that were the only markers of the bunker’s locations. The artillery marched the barrage back all the way to the trenches around the command bunker, before slowing down from the 15 rounds per minute to a sustained 2 rounds per minute from each of the 300 guns. This sustained firing went for saturation of fire rather than accuracy, so long as they didn’t hit a bunker.
The Private was so engrossed in watching that he didn’t notice Captain Manoury laying down on the grass next to him until he spoke up. “Hand over the binoculars, Private,” Manoury said. Manoury surveyed the battlefield for himself, producing a flask out of his uniform pocket and unscrewing it. Clair could smell how strong the alcohol was from just opening the flask. Satisfied, Manoury took a swig of the flask, then passed the binoculars back off to Clair. “You’ll be keeping watch for the next two hours, then I’ll send someone up to relieve you.”
Just as Manoury stood to leave, Private Clair spoke up. “Permission to ask a question, sir?”
“Granted.”
“Why the hell are we doing this, sir?” Clair asked, eyes on the destruction raining down on those men, “You said I’d be up here for two hours. If someone else comes up and watches for another two hours, that’s a four hour bombardment at a minimum.”
“Blame Kumo, kid. That’s the reason we got that damn coup, that’s the reason we got those damn protests, and that’s the reason we’re sitting here flinging these damn shells. Cause Kumo bombarded us to hell and back in Elenerre for four hours, and our boys broke and ran. So we’re gonna bombard them so they don’t break and run when the time comes.”
Four hours later, the bombardment ceased. The engineering team swept through, ensuring that no one would be stepping on any unexploded ordnance. Once they were done, the all clear whistle went out. The conscripts, dazed, dirty, and shell-shocked, assembled in the ruins of their trench line to hear the Major General’s words. They were brief.
“Congratulations men. You survived initiation.”
“Un autre jour plus vieux et plus endetté.”
“St. Peter, ne m'appelle pas parce que je ne peux pas y aller.”
“Je dois mon âme au magasin de l'entreprise.”
The conscripts sung away, working on making the trench line. Some worked on digging the trench itself, others on making dugouts for the machine guns, others stringing out barbed wire, and more still digging out the deepest parts of the trenchwork to shelter in from artillery. The conscripts had been working on this system of trenchworks for the last week, and today they were finishing up the last line in the forward system.
Meanwhile, just out of sight of the rest of their unit working, the artillery corp was stockpiling ammunition and triple checking their range tables for the day’s event. “Hell of an ‘initiation,’ don’t you think?” Private Clair contemplated, setting down a box of shells.
“Sure don’t envy those poor sods digging trenches out there,” Private Ange commented as he put down a box of his own.
“I mean, it’s kind of cruel, when you think about it,” Clair continued, “We’re shelling our own men, and-“
“Quiet down, Private,” Captain Manoury barked out, “Unless you want to go join them. Maybe then you’ll see why we’re doing it.” The man could give quite a death glare for only having one eye, but he turned the full might of that gaze to Clair. The scar under the eyepatch probably helped the terror it caused, as well as the host of other scars slashed across the man’s face.
“Sir no sir,” Clair hurriedly answered, leaving to go pick up another box.
“Not so fast, Private,” Manoury said, “You just volunteered yourself for spotting duty. Go find some binoculars and get back to me.”
All of the Colonels and their Lt. Colonels had reported back to Major General Leavitt. The men had been given a week to build their defenses, it was time to test them. The officers split, some heading for the command bunker, others going towards bunkers closer to the front lines to stay with their men. The soldiers, blissfully unaware of what was coming, were milling about now that the work on the trenches were done. Almost the entire division was here, sans the artillery and back line supporting elements like cooks. A minute later, a whistle sounded out. 500 meters ahead of the front line of the trenches, the artillery shell crashed down and cratered the dirt. “Artillery! Get to the bunkers!” The officers shouted, and the conscripts didn’t need any more convincing than that, another artillery shell already falling closer, slowly. For now.
Private Clair put his binoculars down. “The command bunker’s raised the flag,” the Private relayed, “There’s no one left outside the bunkers.”
Captain Manoury placed down a clock, noting down the time. 0747 hours. “Commence full bombardment! Give ‘em hell, boys!”
Private Clair could only watch through the binoculars at the scene unfolding down at those trenches. A wave of destruction rolled forward from where that first shell fell, all the way forward to the first line of trenches. It continued on with the meticulously calculated firing ranges, eventually splitting around the islands of densely-packed dirt that were the only markers of the bunker’s locations. The artillery marched the barrage back all the way to the trenches around the command bunker, before slowing down from the 15 rounds per minute to a sustained 2 rounds per minute from each of the 300 guns. This sustained firing went for saturation of fire rather than accuracy, so long as they didn’t hit a bunker.
The Private was so engrossed in watching that he didn’t notice Captain Manoury laying down on the grass next to him until he spoke up. “Hand over the binoculars, Private,” Manoury said. Manoury surveyed the battlefield for himself, producing a flask out of his uniform pocket and unscrewing it. Clair could smell how strong the alcohol was from just opening the flask. Satisfied, Manoury took a swig of the flask, then passed the binoculars back off to Clair. “You’ll be keeping watch for the next two hours, then I’ll send someone up to relieve you.”
Just as Manoury stood to leave, Private Clair spoke up. “Permission to ask a question, sir?”
“Granted.”
“Why the hell are we doing this, sir?” Clair asked, eyes on the destruction raining down on those men, “You said I’d be up here for two hours. If someone else comes up and watches for another two hours, that’s a four hour bombardment at a minimum.”
“Blame Kumo, kid. That’s the reason we got that damn coup, that’s the reason we got those damn protests, and that’s the reason we’re sitting here flinging these damn shells. Cause Kumo bombarded us to hell and back in Elenerre for four hours, and our boys broke and ran. So we’re gonna bombard them so they don’t break and run when the time comes.”
Four hours later, the bombardment ceased. The engineering team swept through, ensuring that no one would be stepping on any unexploded ordnance. Once they were done, the all clear whistle went out. The conscripts, dazed, dirty, and shell-shocked, assembled in the ruins of their trench line to hear the Major General’s words. They were brief.
“Congratulations men. You survived initiation.”