A Battle

A random battle I've written about for a Bolthole group story.

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Caleb made the mistake of taking a particularly deep breath, and winced as the frigid air hit the back of his throat. He coughed automatically, the sound suppressed by the collar of his greatcoat that he had turned up so it covered his mouth and chin. He glanced around quickly; sound carried a great distance in the still air of the forest, and sergeant Ryann had repeatedly emphasised the importance of noise discipline. Nobody was looking at him though; each of the other nine guardsmen seemed oblivious.

Like him, the others were clad in standard-issue Corinthian winter gear; dirty white smocks, greatcoats and gloves. Most had turned up their collars to protect their faces against the cold, and Caleb thought it likely that a few were wearing two or more pairs of socks, just as he was. Long periods of tramping through deep snow had a bad effect on the feet; Caleb had heard of several cases of frostbite being reported already. Apparently one guardsman had lost all the toes on one foot, and rumour had it that Aldritch’s cadets were none too happy about what they saw as avoidable carelessness. In Caleb’s experience, when commissars became displeased, they tended to get even more trigger-happy than usual.

It didn’t help that the last few months had been so utterly tedious. Since setting up camp outside of Eigersund, there had been no contact with the enemy bar a few skirmishes, usually over before they even had a chance to get started. Caleb’s squad hadn’t taken part in any action for quite a while now, nobody in their entire platoon had. In fact, Caleb was hard-pressed to remember having seen anything noteworthy on even one of the seemingly endless patrols that he had participated in through the area around Eigersund. He had reached the point where it would be easy to believe that the world outside of their camp was nothing but an endless expanse of trees and snow, notable only for how utterly mind-numbingly dull it was.

Lost in his thoughts, Caleb ignored the first flicker of movement off to one side. Only when the movement persisted did he look up, and even then it took a few seconds for what he was seeing to fully register. In the distance, several men were moving between the trees, and more stepped into view as he watched. There had to be at least fifteen of them, five more than Caleb's squad. They were clad in winter gear, just as the Corinthians were, but the markings were different. They had to be the enemy.

Caleb turned towards the sergeant and made a series of frantic hand signals. Ryann glanced at him, irritated, his expression slowly changing as he took in what Caleb was trying to tell him. Ryann looked into the distance and Caleb followed his gaze. The guardsman felt his heart lurch in his chest as he saw one of the enemy soldiers staring directly at him, his arm outstretched. They had been spotted.

"Forward, now! Get to cover!" Ryann's shout galvanised Caleb into action and he threw himself towards the nearest large tree, cursing as his boots sank deep into the snow with every step and slowed his progress. He could see the enemy running forward as well, and now the first las-volleys began hissing past, although fortunately the still-large distance between the combatants meant that none of the shots found their targets. He crouched behind the tree and tried to position his finger over his lasrifle’s trigger, but was hampered by the extra bulk of his glove getting jammed in the trigger guard. He cursed, gripping the end of his glove between his teeth and yanking it off his hand in one movement. Ignoring the sudden pain of the cold air biting into his exposed flesh, Caleb let the glove fall to the ground and carefully looked round the side of the tree. He caught a brief glimpse of running figures before several lasblasts slammed into the trunk, forcing him to duck back into cover. Snow dislodged from the branches above drifted past his face.

The rest of the squad was moving forward in groups, covering each other as they darted from tree to tree. Ryann half-fell, half-slid into cover behind a nearby tree, but within a few seconds was back on his feet, loosing another volley at the enemy.

“Caleb, keep moving, damn you!” He yelled. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, Caleb stood up and broke from cover.

He ran forward as quickly as he could, gaze fixed on a fallen tree about ten metres from his position. A vaguely-seen shape to his left was another man from his squad, weapon up and firing as he ran. Caleb looked ahead and saw an enemy trooper step from behind a tree, lasrifle pointed directly at him. Before he could react, a volley of lasfire from somewhere behind Caleb smacked into the man’s chest and sent him reeling backwards. Another soldier appeared but this time Caleb was ready; he fired wildly, forcing the man back into cover before he himself dropped and rolled behind the fallen trunk. He cast a quick glance towards where his squad-mate had been, and flinched as he saw him lying face-down on the ground. Blood was splattered around him, shockingly vivid against the achingly white snow.

Caleb twisted back round and propped his lasrifle across the top of the fallen tree, searching for a target. The enemy troops were no more than a dozen metres away now, and closing rapidly. He fired a quick burst then fumbled at his belt with his gloved hand, eventually grasping a frag grenade. He waited until an enemy soldier broke from cover before yanking the pin from the grenade and hurling it towards him. Caleb cursed as the grenade fell short, the first impact with the absorbent snow robbing it of momentum. A few seconds later it detonated, too far away to kill the trooper but enough to make him stagger as a wave of displaced air slammed into him. Before the man could recover, Caleb shot him three times through the head.

"Grenades!"

The shout came from somewhere to the left. Caleb started to turn, but as he did so he caught sight of two black objects hurtling through the air towards him. The first flew on, landing somewhere behind him, but the second thumped to the ground no more than three metres away. Instinctively he clawed at the trunk in front of him and dragged himself over it, hissing in pain as his outstretched leg scraped along a protruding lump of bark. Once on the other side he pressed himself against the ground as much as he could, then covered his ears and opened his mouth, just as the grenade detonated with a roar.

Shrapnel pounded into the other side of the trunk, the fallen tree shuddering under the impact. Caleb felt sharp stings of pain across his back and legs as stray chunks of metal hit him. The noise of the explosion in such close proximity was near-deafening; he knew that if he hadn't opened his mouth then the change in air pressure might have burst his ear-drums. He rolled over, breathing quickly, one hand groping across the ground for his lasrifle. Caleb's fingers had just closed around it when the shadow fell across him.

Instinctively he raised his lasrifle, and the first bayonet thrust glanced off the weapon's stock and away from his body. Above him his attacker came into view, his face twisted into a visage of fear and anger. He slashed down again and once more Caleb blocked, but this time he hammered his boot into the man's knee, knocking him off balance. The soldier staggered back, giving Caleb enough time to bring his lasrifle round and fire a burst into his chest at point-blank range, piercing his flak armour with ease. His torso a bloody ruin, the man toppled forward, landing on Caleb and driving the breath from his lungs.

As he struggled to move the dead soldier, Caleb could hear screams and yells coming from all around him, accompanied by the metallic screeches of bayonet blades scraping against one another. The enemy had made it into close combat. He was intensely aware of his vulnerability. It would only take one of the enemy glancing in his direction, and he would be finished. After over a minute of struggling, he finally managed to roll the trooper off him, and lay gasping for a few seconds before his instinct for self-preservation forced him into action.

He rose to a crouch, just in time to see one of the enemy drive his bayonet into a guardsman lying prone on the ground. The man's arms and legs shuddered as the blade went in, a plume of thick, dark blood erupting from his mouth. The enemy soldier started to turn, and an almost comical look of dismay appeared on his face as he caught sight of Caleb, only a second before the guardsman shot him.

As the soldier fell, Caleb glanced around, but could see no movement at all. The noise of combat had vanished as well; all he could hear was the sound of his own quick breathing. Was it all over? Could he be the only survivor from both squads? He paused, and looked around more carefully. Still nothing. Now that the adrenalin of combat was dying down, he was becoming increasingly aware of the cold attacking his exposed right hand. He would have to find his glove, before his skin ended up sticking to his lasrifle. But before that, he had to check if any of his squad were still alive.

He moved over to the guardsman he had seen being stabbed. It was Ryann. The lower half of his face was covered in blood, his expression a mask of rage and defiance. The sergeant’s eyes looked up at Caleb, seeing nothing. For a moment he felt as if he should say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

There was a soft crunch from behind him, the sound of snow being compressed by a boot.

Before he could turn, Caleb felt a sudden, searing pain in his back that raced straight through him. There was a brief feeling of pressure in his stomach, then something burst into view. Caleb looked down to see the tip of a bayonet protruding from his gut, blood welling up around it and spilling to the ground. The pain was incredible; he opened his mouth to scream, but his throat was already filling with blood and he could manage nothing more than an agonised gurgle. His unseen assailant wrenched the bayonet from Caleb’s body, and the guardsman fell to his knees.

Obviously he hadn’t been the only survivor, after all.