The Nydonian Experience in the Twelve Years War
July 28th, 1943
Today started out just like any other this week; my whole platoon packing up all of our gear, loading up in the halftracks, and then trying to stay entertained and comfortable as the drivers did their best to jolt us all out into the sand. I was playing a game of Traders with Shad, the squad mate across from me, trying my best not to loose any cards when our truck was hit with a high explosive shell, sending fire cascading back into us. Of course, we jumped out of the back as fast as we could and thankfully we all made it, although Tamrin and John were burned pretty bad. We didn't have a second to try and understand what was happened as gunshots sounded all around, the sand kicking up and small geysers where the bullets impacted. One zipped not two inches from my head, put a whole clean through my helmet net, which had fallen down over my face. It was my first time hearing that terrible noise, and it wouldn't be the last that day either. I quickly dove behind a small rock outcropping and caught my breath before chambering a round in my rifle and cautiously peeking my head up. I scanned the ridge 100 yards or so ahead and saw constellations of muzzle flashes among the cervices. I shouted as much to our machine gunner but he just lay there beside me, eyes wide. It took me another few seconds to see the dark pool of blood forming under his back, and I gritted my teeth and grabbed his gun from where it lay beside him. Setting the bipod down on the rock in front of me I sprayed the ridgeline with hot lead for a good few seconds. They certainly took notice, as round began to shatter chips off of the rocks to my flanks and I quickly ducked back down into cover. I took the respite as an opportunity to glance around me in an attempt to understand our current situation. It seemed that at least seven other halftracks besides our own had been destroyed out of our initial column of ten by what were presumably Stanni static gun emplacements dug into the ridge ahead, the remaining two managing to fall back behind a boulder or small rock formation and the former occupants of the destroyed following suit. Really it was somewhat of an obvious position, but at the rate we had been eating ground at, we simply couldn't afford to stop and examine every ridge-line we saw; we would be many miles back if we had. But now we were paying the price for our pace. My next attempt to begin letting loose with my fallen comrade's machine gun was cut short when a round impacted directly in front of me, throwing gravel into my eyes and sending me to sprawl on my back. Weather the shot was from a sniper trained on where my automatic fire was emanating or simply a random shot loosed by a rifleman I knew not, but before thoughts of how many times I had cheated death in the past few minutes began to permeate my mind, my inverted gaze fell upon the most glorious sight they could have beheld at that moment. Our attached armor platoon that had been following us at a distance had arrived. I grinned dumbly as the four Scorpion tanks ground their way indomitably towards the enemy, a shell from a Stanni static gun glancing off of one of their turrets to spiral off into the sand inna shower of debris as I watched. Then all four tanks began to let loose with their main guns, the booming of their firing seeming to reverberate up from the ground and into my chest in rapid succession. I scrambled back up to my feet just in time to see a good portion of the ridge-line disappear in an oddly beautiful starburst of fire and smoke as a tank shell detonated some ammunition reserve within the emplacement. The remaining guns returned fire but were quickly dispatched, only managing to detrack the Scorpion closest to me in the process. Cautiously, my squad and I got to our feet, then more quickly as our sergeant yelled at us to fall in behind the tanks as we pushed up to the enemy emplacements in case any survivors wished to try and be some kind of hero. I wouldn't have been surpised if there had been, with the Stanni relgion-addled brains, further exacerbated by recent nearby explosions. We did not find any survivors however. Oh there had been nearly half a dozen that had survived the blasts, but they had taken their own lives long before we managed to reach their position. Really makes you wonder what kind of people they think we are to do something like that, or if they did it for some bizarre religious reason. Either way, we didn’t have room for POWs anymore with just two halftracks remaining, let alone the surviving 3/4s of my platoon. We had to wait for another four days by that gory ridge before we got new halftracks, then back at it we went, still not examining ridgelines half as well as we should, though twice as well as before.
Today started out just like any other this week; my whole platoon packing up all of our gear, loading up in the halftracks, and then trying to stay entertained and comfortable as the drivers did their best to jolt us all out into the sand. I was playing a game of Traders with Shad, the squad mate across from me, trying my best not to loose any cards when our truck was hit with a high explosive shell, sending fire cascading back into us. Of course, we jumped out of the back as fast as we could and thankfully we all made it, although Tamrin and John were burned pretty bad. We didn't have a second to try and understand what was happened as gunshots sounded all around, the sand kicking up and small geysers where the bullets impacted. One zipped not two inches from my head, put a whole clean through my helmet net, which had fallen down over my face. It was my first time hearing that terrible noise, and it wouldn't be the last that day either. I quickly dove behind a small rock outcropping and caught my breath before chambering a round in my rifle and cautiously peeking my head up. I scanned the ridge 100 yards or so ahead and saw constellations of muzzle flashes among the cervices. I shouted as much to our machine gunner but he just lay there beside me, eyes wide. It took me another few seconds to see the dark pool of blood forming under his back, and I gritted my teeth and grabbed his gun from where it lay beside him. Setting the bipod down on the rock in front of me I sprayed the ridgeline with hot lead for a good few seconds. They certainly took notice, as round began to shatter chips off of the rocks to my flanks and I quickly ducked back down into cover. I took the respite as an opportunity to glance around me in an attempt to understand our current situation. It seemed that at least seven other halftracks besides our own had been destroyed out of our initial column of ten by what were presumably Stanni static gun emplacements dug into the ridge ahead, the remaining two managing to fall back behind a boulder or small rock formation and the former occupants of the destroyed following suit. Really it was somewhat of an obvious position, but at the rate we had been eating ground at, we simply couldn't afford to stop and examine every ridge-line we saw; we would be many miles back if we had. But now we were paying the price for our pace. My next attempt to begin letting loose with my fallen comrade's machine gun was cut short when a round impacted directly in front of me, throwing gravel into my eyes and sending me to sprawl on my back. Weather the shot was from a sniper trained on where my automatic fire was emanating or simply a random shot loosed by a rifleman I knew not, but before thoughts of how many times I had cheated death in the past few minutes began to permeate my mind, my inverted gaze fell upon the most glorious sight they could have beheld at that moment. Our attached armor platoon that had been following us at a distance had arrived. I grinned dumbly as the four Scorpion tanks ground their way indomitably towards the enemy, a shell from a Stanni static gun glancing off of one of their turrets to spiral off into the sand inna shower of debris as I watched. Then all four tanks began to let loose with their main guns, the booming of their firing seeming to reverberate up from the ground and into my chest in rapid succession. I scrambled back up to my feet just in time to see a good portion of the ridge-line disappear in an oddly beautiful starburst of fire and smoke as a tank shell detonated some ammunition reserve within the emplacement. The remaining guns returned fire but were quickly dispatched, only managing to detrack the Scorpion closest to me in the process. Cautiously, my squad and I got to our feet, then more quickly as our sergeant yelled at us to fall in behind the tanks as we pushed up to the enemy emplacements in case any survivors wished to try and be some kind of hero. I wouldn't have been surpised if there had been, with the Stanni relgion-addled brains, further exacerbated by recent nearby explosions. We did not find any survivors however. Oh there had been nearly half a dozen that had survived the blasts, but they had taken their own lives long before we managed to reach their position. Really makes you wonder what kind of people they think we are to do something like that, or if they did it for some bizarre religious reason. Either way, we didn’t have room for POWs anymore with just two halftracks remaining, let alone the surviving 3/4s of my platoon. We had to wait for another four days by that gory ridge before we got new halftracks, then back at it we went, still not examining ridgelines half as well as we should, though twice as well as before.
Conflict Type
War, Theatre
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