The Fall of Lancaster

A metafic account

A man was making his way back to the front line in the glow of the April sun. The day was bright, almost blinding, flooding the forest road with its golden light. With what lied on the side of the road, maybe darkness would have been preferable

The man went past a long line of soldiers, draped in whatever had been at hand. Blood soaked rags, mostly. He wondered if there were any familiar faces hiding under those covers. He shuddered and pried his eyes away from the Lancaster dead.

Artillery shells pounded the earth like the hammer of God, shaking it and filling the air with echoes. The dead weren't even allowed a restful sleep. Thankfully, it was too early for flies, so the men were spared that indignity. And at the very least, the worst was over for them. The living were the ones that needed help.

The cries of the wounded and dying came to him as he passed the medic tent. Some high, some low, sobs, yells, prayers, and curses arose from the tent. Somehow, the smell was even fouler than that of the dead. Death was dining there.

The situation was dire. Lancaster was being pushed back, losses were heavy, and bad news kept on coming from all around the front. Now was the time for men to take up arms and fight like demons. Every man needed to be an unconquerable fortress, anything to stop the Tiamat advance

Finally, the man saw some living soldiers, he was back with his own. He walked up to the soldier, a Private named Umbrione. Umbrione recognized him and asked, "Hello, Lieutenant. How was the hospital?" Lieutenant Venom Ahab smiled and said, "Can't complain. They dug out the shrapnel out of my ass and sterilized my wounds and mind with alcohol."

Umbrione nodded. "GNRC is over there, you'll probably want to talk to him," he said. Venom thanked him and headed off. It felt odd, being addressed so informally. It wasn't that long ago when he had to be addressed as sir, according to his rank. Such formalities had long since fallen out of use here, and if anyone was stupid enough to ask for such recognition, they were branded a self-important fool.

Venom looked around as he went. The soldiers were dirty, emaciated, and few. Oh, so pitifully few. Where had all the men gone? Were his eyes deceiving him, or were there really more men at the side of the road than here? No, impossible. Still, the soldiers there seemed to have some good spirit left. They were talking, playing cards, telling stories and laughing. A man might lose much in a war, but not his sense of humor.

Captain Generic, their company commander, sat by a fire, brewing coffee and poking the fire with a stick. "GNRC, you son of a bitch, am I glad to see you!" Venom practically shouted. GNRC lifted his gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible smile flashed across his face. "Welcome back. How do you feel?" GNRC asked. "Like hell, but they said I am healthy enough to be shot at once again," Venom said, his mood immediately lifted by the sight of an old friend.

GNRC poured them some coffee. It was black, even more bitter than smoke, but it kept them on their feet and their eyes open, so they drank it gladly. They initially talked about civil matters. How was the missus, mother, brother, or cousin? A bit of warming up before the talk could turn to the elephant in the room.

"So, how are things here?" Venom asked. GNRC looked at his coffee cup, as if looking for an answer there and said, "About as well as they look." A steel wire tightened around Venom's throat. GNRC's resigned response was somehow even worse than all the bad news from the front he had heard in the hospital.

The two men stared at each other. GNRC looked into Venom's disbelieving eyes, sighed, and told him, "There is no hope, not even the slightest chance. The war is lost, the best we can do now is get ourselves and our men home alive." "No! No, god damnit! I will not stand for it!" Venom cursed. Tears began to form in his eyes. The tempest raging within twisted his face into an expression of rage that would have been comical during peacetime.

GNRC looked at him with amused pity. Did Venom truly not understand their situation? Had he been struck blind when walking the forest road? "There is no other way," GNRC said bluntly, "We'll wait. We'll wait for an armistice, a surrender, or a ceasefire, but we'll wait. That is our lot now."

"There's always another way," Venom managed to say, barely keeping his voice stable, "It'll only hurt once." GNRC shook his head, "You'll serve Lancaster better if you're alive. We've got enough martyrs already." "What could there be for me without a war?" Venom inquired. "Lots, you could go back to your meme farm, start a family, let your descendants worry about Lancaster's future. Hell, if you're that desperate to fight, you could find another flag to fight under, that's what I plan to do," GNRC listed.

GNRC's calculating pragmatism shocked Venom. There wasn't a hint of that idealism they had shared when they first met. They had sworn oaths, sung songs, and drunkenly boasted how they would gladly die for Lancaster. Now all that was to be forgotten. With tucked tails, they were to flee for their wretched lives, go home, and play that nothing had ever happened.

On some level, Venom recognized GNRC's wisdom. They had their work cut out for them, all they had to do was shut up and keep on keeping on. But something just wouldn't let that sit. Defeat wasn't an option, never had been.

When Venom had heard of the war, he had knelt beside his bed and thanked his god for this chance. This felt like his calling, his destiny unveiling itself. He was to be a soldier, serving Lancaster with his entire being. The war would be his crusade, his jihad where Lancaster's enemies were to be destroyed. Heretics and unbelievers would be served truth from the tip of his sword and they would be baptized with their own blood.

The dream had been beautiful, but it was not without its adversaries, reality not least among them. Lancaster had a lot of powerful enemies, and it had even incurred the wrath of Tiamat, which was traditionally viewed as an ally. Numeric and material superiority was not undone by beautiful words and dedication.

Venom sat silently as his inner propagandists debated on. His world was slowly covered in a black depression as the last bits of hope were lost in the dust of the battlefield. Each sign of the imminent defeat started falling into place. GNRC looked at him. He had long since made his peace with the facts, and he had seen others make theirs. This was nothing new, just the same old stages of grief.

GNRC downed the last of his coffee and rose. He patted his friend on the shoulder. "It'll be alright, food will be here soon enough," he said and strode away, happily noting the uncharacteristic warmth and brightness of this April day.

GNRC's prediction came to pass, the food did indeed arrive. It had been sorely missed. Hunger is an active participant in every war. But as hungry as they were, the men felt like making a few jokes at the food's expense. Today they had pea soup, and the men had a riot coming up with quips about the unfortunate phonetic similarity between the words, "pea" and "pee".

"God damn, is this how they treat us, the heroes of Lancaster? I wouldn't feed this waste to a White Rose soldier!" a soldier called Spider yelled. "What kind of heroes are we? We lost the war," a man named Kirby shot back, and chuckled. Venom was disturbed by their banter. Lancaster's dreams were shattered, and these people just met it all with cynical mockery.

The soldiers went on. Someone said something about a girl waiting back home. Another one brought up his studies. A third one was hopeful that ice hockey tournaments could resume after the war. All of them had their eyes on the future. The war was just a question of practicality for them.

Venom rose. He needed to be alone. He felt isolated, alone in his desperation. He had put all his stock in Lancaster. He had become one with it. Everything about him hinged on this war, and all of his compatriots were just readily giving up.

He sat on a rock, away from the rest. As he fell deep into his thoughts, his depression started getting new shades. Anger lifted its head as Venom sought someone to blame for all this. Enemies, friends, god, himself, seemingly everyone was now a culprit.

He had given everything, and it had not been enough. No, he had not given everything. He still lived, and that meant he still had fight in him. If dying for Lancaster was required, die for Lancaster he would.

Filled with grim determination, he rose and lit a cigarette. Now was not the time run, a lion was at its most dangerous when it was grievously wounded. They might take everything he had, but they would pay for the pleasure. Oh, how dearly they would pay.

GNRC was looking over some maps, tapping his forehead with a pen. "If we'll go here, cross there... yes, that might just work," he muttered to himself. This position was untenable, they had to fall back. There was no one to cover their retreat, but slim chances are better than none.

Bugger what the brass would say, this wasn't the hill they would die on. They could court martial him, but he would bring his boys to safety first. GNRC was deep in thought and didn't even notice Venom until the cigarette smoke stung his eyes. "You're going to kill yourself with that," GNRC coughed. "I doubt tobacco is going to be what gets us here," said Venom with a strained smile.

GNRC wasn't amused. "Scrap your death wish, we need to move," he spat, "We'll use the cover of the night, it's going to be risky, but at least we don't die as surely as we will here." "We've been ordered to…" Venom began, but GNRC cut him off, "Fuck the orders, like you care for them anyway."

Their argument was interrupted when a messenger appeared. GNRC was bewildered, they were being ordered to recapture a post they had lost to the enemy. "Are they mad?" GNRC growled. Venom crushed the cigarette in his hand. "I'll go," he said, "I'll take a few volunteers, and I will go."

GNRC sighed, "Fine." Their plan was simple. A small squad would sneak their way across no man's land, jump into the enemy trench and clear the way for the rest of the troops. A simple plan indeed. To Venom's surprise he had no trouble finding volunteers. Some men just had an unquenchable thirst for adventure.

And so, they were off. Quietly, their stomachs on the ground, their submachine guns tightly in their grip. Through the tattered field they crawled, a scant few bushes and twigs as their cover from the reaper's eye. Despite the danger, the men found that they enjoyed the rush of adrenaline this effort gave them. The horrors of war were no chivalrous adventure, but damn if this wasn't exciting.

Behind them, Lancaster machine guns spat lead and death upon the enemy, hoping to keep their attention elsewhere. The battle and its sounds faded into the background. Right now, these men had only one thought. That stretch of land between them and the enemy trench was their whole world.

"From Hell's heart, I stab at thee," Venom murmured to himself as they crawled. Even the slightest movement was shadowed by fear. There wasn't much hope for them if they were spotted prematurely. Tiamat soldiers would just turn their machine guns towards them and cut them down like weeds.

Inch by inch, their unholy pilgrimage went by. Perhaps some slight spark of hope rekindled in their hearts as their mission progressed without much disturbance. They were now shaking with anticipation rather than fear. They were going to make it.

And then somebody stood up. Venom didn't see who it was, nor did he know why he had done it. Had his nerves given up? Had he thought that they had been spotted? Had he just miscalculated the distance?

Nobody ever got to ask him, for he had been shot before he took his first step. Some vigilant Tiamat soldier had just earned his provisions. The Lancaster soldier's limp body fell with a soft thud, but Venom had no time to mourn for the poor soul. Now they had to run.

The trench was straight ahead. There lied their only chance of salvation, if there was such a thing. "Onward!" Venom screamed as he got up, "Don't lie in the fire!" His men sprang to their feet as bullets whizzed around them like angry little insects.

Their last desperate spurt was accompanied by the stutter of their SMGs. Venom didn't dare to look back, but amidst the gunfire he heard the wails of his compatriots. But as horrid their cries were, even worse was their subsequent quiet.

As his comrades vanished, an unyielding bloodlust washed over Venom. All his doubt, fear, and sense was swept away in a red storm. There was only him and the enemy. An animalistic cry rose from his throat as he charged at them.

His rage was too fierce to be expressed with pen or speech, but a gun translated his sentiment well enough. Wherever his eyes met a Tiamat soldier, there went a spray of bullets. Some might have even hit.

Venom squeezed the trigger even after he had run out of ammo. The job wasn't finished, those sentient scum in the trench still breathed. He grasped the barrel of his gun, as if meaning to clobber his enemies to death, when a spray of bullets opened a window into his heart.

"It's an end," he managed to think before darkness overtook him. He fell on his back, dead before he touched the bloodstained soil. A pair of motionless eyes reflected the blue sky, not seeing the few gathering clouds. It was a bitter end for a bitter man.

The Lancaster volunteers had given their sacrifices at the altar of humanity's primal desire for carnage. Their dreams, thoughts, hopes and bodies were all trampled on in the march of history. They had played their minor parts, and now they would rest.

The dead would later be buried in a mass grave by Tiamat soldiers. There, Tiamat and Lancaster men finally managed to coexist without violence. The Volunteers had also their own individual funerals and graves back home, since their loved ones couldn't make it to the mass burial. Lancaster compensated the grieving families with medals for their children's service, something to remember their dead by. A poor trade for a son.

GNRC took the news of the failed raid with the same coolness he met all bad news. This in all honesty didn't change much. He would still fall back as he had planned, only with fewer friends.

GNRC began preparations as soon as the fighting died down. With all the subtlety that the chaotic war allowed, he instructed his troops, hoping that the enemy wouldn't try anything before nightfall.

When he was organizing the transportation of the machine guns, someone asked, "Captain, what of the dead?" It was Umbrione. GNRC looked at him briefly and said, "The wounded are heavy enough." He took one last glance towards the battlefield, hoping that the dead might find some rest there.

With the cover of the dark, the Lancaster fighters began their retreat. The tired, demoralized, and the wounded. They were even too weary to speak. A traveler might have mistaken them for a band of beggars, had one chanced on their path in the dark forest.

GNRC took some heat for his unauthorized undertaking, but nothing that caused him too much harm. His ability was recognized, and punishing him would have only weakened Lancaster, so he got off with a tongue-lashing and a strict order to hold the line. Simple enough. And so, the Lancaster men dug a new trench, ready for another attack.

Eventually, the Tiamat soldiers came, but something else came too, peace. The rumors had been true, the war would end. It wouldn't end favorably for Lancaster, but to a soldier on his last legs, this was an answer to their prayers.

Bullets pattered into the edge of the Lancaster trench. Peace was only minutes away, but Tiamat still kept shooting. Nobody on the Lancaster side even thought about returning the fire. It wouldn't change a damned thing. The terms were already set. Nobody wanted to be the last casualty of the war.

Captain GNRC was there, among his men until the end. He grappled with a man whose nerves had given out just before the end. A few minutes, just a few minutes and this fool could run and cry to his heart's content.

Finally, the gunfire died down, and GNRC fell to the bottom of the trench, letting out a deep sigh. It was over, for Lancaster at least. What the future held for him personally, he didn't rightly know. Slowly he got up despite the fearful looks from his comrades. Standing up had been a death sentence a mere moment ago, so it was a small wonder that nobody had yanked him down out of habit. Funny what little things you might lose to war.

GNRC took off his helmet and rose to the edge of the trench. He could hear faint cheers from the Tiamat side. "Let them cheer," he thought. In an odd way, he found the devastation of the battlefield to be much more interesting. What man had torn up in seconds with fire and lead, nature might take decades to fix with water and wind. Reaper had had quite the harvest there.

The wind felt good against his dusty face. Wind is not something you might consciously miss while trapped in a hole, fearing for your life, but something that you are happy to recover, nonetheless.

It began to drizzle. It was as if the heavens were crying. Crying over the dead, over the foul deeds of man, over the futility of it all. GNRC felt as the rain washed away some of the dirt from his face and hair. War was such a crazy thing.

End