The two came upon a blown out pill box, it was isolated, and made for a good shelter for the night. The two ate and slept in shifts, and the Major considered taking some of the honey, admiring the glass jar in the container. He thought to himself about the many stories he and his friends would share between each other at the academy, until a rustling in the bushes stole his attention. He kept calm, and took out his flashlight, revealing a large man in a brown uniform, bearing the crest of Shade academy. The man put his hands over his eyes to block out the light, simply asking, “Have you seen my rifle?” The Major took a moment to make sense of the situation, he looked around the area to see if anyone else was nearby, he had no intel suggesting this unit was nearby. “What's your unit soldier?”
“Elder pine battery, my rifle fell out of the truck have you seen it?”
The Major looked over the man, his equipment outdated but in relatively new condition, as if freshly pulled from the shelves, and much more concerning, his ribcage blown out and pulled open, allowing all manner of innards and tissue to get tangled up with the unfastened straps. Yet somehow there was no blood anywhere else, nor was there a trail in the snow, “I’ll— I’ll take a look around for it,” the man looked downward as though he was confused, “Oh… thanks,” and with that he walked off.
The Major froze for a moment, allowing his eyes to dart every which way in their sockets, before another figure startled him. “Shift change Sir,” the Corporal's voice calmed the man, and he allowed himself some rest before first light. He felt the cold ground through his sleeping pad, and for a moment before falling asleep, he remembered sleeping in a watchtower while back in the academy.
The Corporal sat alone on fire watch, and noticed the Majors rifle leaned up against the wall. It was one of the most finely decorated rifles he had ever seen. A form fitting wood fashioned stock with a equally customized grip with an ebony black diamond lay in an ivory fitting imbedded in the bottom of it, the blued steel of the receiver had golden inlays of wolves and deer on it. The muzzle bore a large brass device that seemed to fill the role of a muzzle break. Yet the most fascinating thing about the weapon was what was engraved and inlaid in the stock. “De la foret noir, au sable blanche, jusqu’au paradis, je serais,” the Corporal was smart enough to pretend he couldn’t understand the language, less he be stuck in an office all day back home. He looked at the sleeping Major, and then back at the rifle.
“From the dark forest, to the white sands, until paradise, I shall be.” The Corporal in his time, had seen a thousand rifles be named and written on. Girls, Gods, friends and family, but never that.
A shot rang out, piercing the air of the trenchworks nearby, the Lieutenant got up to look at the uniforms running up and down the trenches, their boots slapping the wet mud in an almost synchronized fashion, as a tall woman yelled at the crowd to find out what was going on, “It's the First Lieutenant Ma’am, dead by his own hand,” the First Sergeant informed the Captain as the body was dragged out by its jackboots. He was loaded onto a stretcher and carried to the medical bay, and the First Sergeant spoke again, “What of the billet Ma’am,” the Captain did not respond, only looked at the corpse as it was carried away. “Ma’am!?” She finally snapped out of it and looked at the First Sergeant, “Who’s going to replace him?” He demanded, and she looked around for a moment before pointing to him, “He will,” her voice still indicated a dazed, possibly confused demeanor. “Chasseur, get your billet out of the XO’s office and report to mine in 10!”
The newly appointed First lieutenant went into the room to find a pair of rank insignia, but would also find the diary of the rooms former occupant, he kept it. He left the room, his shaking hands fastening on the pins,“Goddamnit,” he thought to himself, “we were supposed to go on leave together.”
His watch shook him awake, and he took a moment to get himself together before addressing the Corporal. The ruck was back on, they would reach the silo before sundown. The live maps on their scrolls were made unusable by the jammers in the area. The Corporal played look out this time, his faunus nose would pick up the scent of the enemy, as they walked against the wind. The rundown bunkers would have made good cover if they were maintained. The Corporal stopped at one point to admire a warning light on one of the buildings, “were close Sir,” he said while pointing at the light.
“That an explosion resistant signal,” he finished, the Major admired the small red plastic within a large, almost gelatinous looking casing.
They continued, and bore witness to birds, wolves, and all manner of wildlife that went unbothered by the war. Eventually the faunus stopped again, raising his left hand. He looked back at the Major and pointed to his nose, after which he held up a finger, and then two. The two advanced searching mainly for cover to safely observe their surroundings.
Finally the Corporal spotted a man in a prone position facing a clearing, the Major drew his revolver and revealed the forward curved blade loaded into its handle. The Corporal stood guard with his scope on the figure. The man crawled towards the enemy, weapon in hand, getting close enough to hear the radio chatter from lookout. Strangely, he was alone, and before he could realise it the Major stood right above him, one leg one either side of his hips. He lifted the man by the right side of his belt and his uniform collar. It was over in a moment. The Major slid his right leg in between the enemies, and kicked outward to get him on his back, killing him with a blade. Laying down next to the corpse, he signaled the Corporal to come forward.
The two looked around to find who the man was looking for, or if he had a partner. The boy spotted something, in the snowy haze, a red figure lay down, some 200 meters away, on the edge of the clearing, unknowing of their vulnerability. The Major brought up his rifle, and gazed at the red hood. The red cloaked figure was in sight, and had no reason to look in the direction of her lookout.
The Major's heartbeat rose, and he took aim. He took a deep breath, and placed his finger on the trigger, soaking up the importance of the situation. As his heart rate sank he breathed slowly as he worked back the trigger. Finally he hit the wall, and exhaled a final time, only breathing in again after lining up the optic that was displaced by the recoil. He saw the red color spread in the snow around the target.
The boy spoke as he lowered his binoculars, “Holy shit,” there was silence for a moment, “Holy shit I think you got her Sir.”
In the camp, Charmaines unit was readying up for another advance on the silo. The small 4 man team consisted of himself, the old goat, the rabbit, and the amphibian. The latter of which was equipped with one of the most grossly offensive and aggressive setups that Charmaine had ever laid eyes on. He had on one side of his belt, several water bottles filled with an unknown red paste in them, with screws and nails pressed against the inside of the plastic. The bottle was topped with a hardened black substance with wires poking out and snaking back in. His knife was a large curved dagger, with several long, thin, and razor sharp teeth on its backside, meant to maximise its effect on the way out. His weapon was a shotgun that had been adapted to include an underslung grenade launcher. Normally this kind of equipment would be used for flares, and special signaling shells, however the disposition of its user suggested that was merely an excuse to carry it.
“Corporal what the fuck are you wearing?” Charmaine chuckled as he spoke. The amphibians beady, almost glowing eyes locked onto the company First Corporal. “We call this a barracks battery, really useful during company brawls. Tossed one into the Captain's quarters on a dare once, they would have given me the whip if they had caught me.” The rabbit spoke, “Where did you say your last post was?” “Signal corps, Hydrophone division, I worked to repair the underwater cables and microphones, my unit actually sounded the first alert on the advancing atlas fleet. Had to get reassigned after they depth charged the thing to hell. Huh,”
The old goat spoke next “Ain't them the ones who snuck up on the Schnee dust rig? The one up north,” “That's the one, Freedom’s Frogmen,” he responded. The goat pointed towards the batteries, “We got our own improvised rituals,” he said, pulling a glass jar out of his bag, he shook it, and the large black flying insects that inhabited the container vibrated the glass. “We call this one a hillbilly bastard, or a red chorus. Made by finding a nest of meat wasps, and trapping the whole hive inside.” The rabbit spoke, “So you throw a jar of carnivorous wasps onto the enemy? Also I thought those were called redwings”
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“I’ve heard them called gorenets. Did you get the honey too?”
Charmaines watch buzzed, and it was time to advance on the silo, they continued they’re talk, addressing topics from the faunus wars to the use of chemicals on the battlefield. The amphibian and the goat were especially talkative, but they made sure to take turns swapping out who was listening at the front of the formation. The amphibian lit a cigar as they walked, and the rabbit objected, “Won’t that give away our position?” “Many things smell like smoke, the scent’ll cover our fragrance. The rabbit continued, “I meant through thermals.” The amphibian paused for a moment, his eyes darting between the cigar and the rabbit, until the goat intervened. “Stick it in this,” he said as he handed him an empty beer can with the opening widened, “That’ll cover the heat signature.”
As they approached the silo, Charmaine looked around for the signal emitter, finding it rather quickly, he gave the others a rundown and had them update the rest of the company. Charmaine climbed up the radio tower, and got to work. His radio went off, startling him, it was the rabbit, “Hey, I found some odd casings down here, 9.3 APEX, does that ring a bell?” the boy's heart sank, “dig in and stand your ground until I get back down there, the enemy could be nearby,” he spat into the radio. He finished the conversion process, and quickly let himself down, panting as he did so.
The amphibian had his weapon raised and trained on a snowbank, Charmaine raised his thermal sight, catching up to a platoons worth of signatures in that general direction. When he got the rest of the teams attention, he pointed in that direction, and racked his weapon, the others followed suit. They all knelt, and the First Corporal stuck out his hand at a slight upward angle, palm outward, before bring it down sharply. A volley of fire, to include every weapon and a couple grenades, tore down several tree and turned a well structured ambush on its head. A moment of silence passed before what remained of the enemy got up and gave chase, and they were still out numbered.
“Retreat!” Called out the First Corporal, and as they did so, the amphibian caught the silhouette of one of the company trucks, “Backups arrived!” called out the amphibian, as they raced in order to take cover behind the armor. Somewhere along the race, the goat fell over, Charmaine covered the amphibian as best he could as he tried to get him back on his feet. “Get up you old bastard!” the compliment was cut short as a round punched clean through his elbow, leaving his forearm dangling by a mere strand of flesh connected to the humerus bone. The next moments flew by in a few seconds, as the amphibian juggled his weapon by the grip, to hold it by the grenade launcher handle, and spun the shotgun about his shoulder to fire it in a style reminiscent of a rocket launcher. After this he sprinted toward the truck to catch up to the rest of the team.
The rest of the company opened fire with a symphony of munitions, a red chorus even, and the faunus bore witness to the aggressor running away. A medic from within one of the trucks got down to help the amphibian, who had already gotten to work cutting what held the loose limb, and puking up some internally stored glucose to stop the bleeding. “Get the surgeon, he’ll reattach it,” barked Charmaine, “No need, it’ll grow back in a couple weeks at most.”
Charmaine allowed himself to calm down after that, maybe too soon, as the crack of a rifle sounded one last time, and his head snapped to look straight upwards, his mask flying off. A medic rushed to his collapsed body. Having no blood around the boy, he felt around his neck to check for a pulse, and if any bones had broken. He saw recognition in the boy's eyes, “Can you see me,” the boy's eyes darted around, the white portions turning blood red before he replied. The left half of his face started to swell up, but he survived. The medic proceeded to lightly squeeze parts of his neck to see what the boy would respond to, finding an area that made him flinch when disturbed. “Looks like you sprained your neck.”
One of the machine guns from the truck let loose a burst of ammunition into a nearby tree, the enemy sniper fell out in multiple pieces.
Renka came out from the back of a truck, to examine her First Corporal, “Oh shit,” she started, “I could smell that from inside the truck,” she pointed at his crotch area, around which lay yellow stained snow.
The Major approached his kill looking around for any movement as he did so, same as his corporal. Finally they reached it.
They flipped over the corpse, revealing a 30 to 40 year old overweight man, wrapped in a bed sheet. The Major exhaled with what could be possibly taken for relief. “Fat fuck died cosplaying,” said the Corporal, “No,” responded the Major, “This man knew his place and died to protect his hero, theres gotta be some merit in that.” The Corporal eyed the body, and the Major spoke again, “Even if he died as a distraction, he wanted to give his side a chance to get us.” The Corporal looked around, “You think they're looking at us now?” The Major responded, “If they are there probably deciding which of us is more important, I say we go for the treeline, and head towards that silo.”
The war was changing, and new man came into play, out of a train yard came a Colonel, the head of the Atlas Chemical Corps, he was stocky, and chose to wear his PPE at all times, with rumors saying that it was just as much to keep him in as it was to keep the air out. The Major would have to answer to him, but he knew he was just as much willing to let him loose as he was with the rest of his men. Though kept busy with projects involving the use of chemicals to disable the corrosive properties of caustic gases, the Major General had seen fit to employ him against the standard infantry of the lower region. He turned his scroll to the enemy’s channels
“This is a great day for all the citizens of Vacuo,” the broadcast stated, “diplomatic relations have inspired the militant forces of nearby allied assembly that are removed from imperial military command to give what they could spare to fight the Northern usurpers.”
The footage cut from the anchor and to a man dressed in a jungle uniform of the battalion known as the Jackboot Raders, the first thing he noticed was the massive rifle that was so big that it looked like it may have been fashioned from industrial pipes. The man wore a large iron helmet with a yet larger white plume on top of it, and stood in cavalry style brown jackboots that lay flush with the knee. “I had lived in the south of Vacuo all my life, my father and his father served in the Rader’s against General Lagune, and when I found out that a 17 year old was the source of the Atlas nightmare, it felt shameful, and even cowardly to refuse to reenlist, or otherwise pretend it wasn’t my fight. I sat in my home when I first heard the broadcast and was reminded that every generation will always have to answer their call to action, and it felt like a good way to get back at the dust company.” The reporter was silent for a moment in reaction to the speech. “That’s quite a story soldier, what's your name?”
“Well… It's Marine, and my friends know me by Jackboot John.” The camera cut back to the anchor, “And you’ll be happy to know that the good news doesn’t quite end there, the Southern Vacuen academy, has extended the offer of reduced and maybe even entirely commuted sentences to prisoners and felons in exchange for service in the 5150th penal regiment. These young men and women have volunteered for the fraye in exchange for their freedom, and specialise in sniper tactics.” The camera cut again to a boy who knelt next to a disassembled bolt action rifle, “Both my parents were in the white fang, and I was born into it. I saw the offer as a way to clear up the family name.”
Another man spoke as old and new footage of marching and military training flashed on the holographic display. The footage was black and white, clearly belonging to a bygone era.
“The Southern warriors of the South Point march on after the victory at Peasants Prairie, in this Beacon of Vacuo, the young man is raised in the traditions of his forefathers, no doubt enduring the brunt of the very hell he aims to deny access to the land of his family and ancestors.”
The Colonel was a man who believed that any who partook in the fighting were fair game, that those who didn’t were not, but those who attempted to blur the line in between these two sacred roles should get the worst of it. Under his command, they would. He was greeted by a warrant officer, and was given the correct salute, “Ah, Standing Iron, beautiful.”
“Yes Sir, hard to believe so many Schnee workers were killed here during the Faunus revolt.”
“Yeah,” the Colonel said, “that's why I don’t.”
