The Great War: Firing Line

Firing Line: A Great War Story

3220

Colonel Taylor Ricci was about to utter a line he didn't even think he would utter once in his military career. He watched his men sink into position in the trenches he had ordered dug early this morning. Men and women of different genii stood awaiting his command, as they had been trained to do. Ricci found the situation as confusing as it was laughable, that in a modern age they were waging war in these terms.

"Nock bolts!"

His voice hadn't even finished carrying when the entire line of two hundred and fifty men pulled back on their crossbow drawstrings and the first metallic bolt slid from the side mounted magazine into the 'chamber'. Sounds of clicking cycled through the bright and sunny afternoon as birds chirped. Ricci knelt down into cover in his command post further down the line and placed a pair of binoculars to his eyes. In the distance, down a slight incline, perhaps maybe a kilometer and a half, he could see the approaching Overlander force.

They had received word ten days ago that a contingent of the 5th Spearhead Division would be passing by their area of operation. Ricci's company had been stationed out here early to prepare for the first wave to cross over the Colorado. Officially, this was one of the first engagements in the war, and the colonel had a deep gnawing feeling in his stomach just being here.

He gazed at the approaching force once more, making out potential commanders, mechanized units, or artillery. He located several hovercraft that served as fast attach vehicles for the Ovies, and a single main battle tank. He bit his lip and frowned.

Crossbows. Goddamned crossbows.

Two months ago, when the declaration of war had been formally announced by the Kingdom, Ricci was not even the commanding officer of his entire unit. That had been Colonel Talbot, a respected member of the Kingdom's Nobility. He had allegedly come from a house that had a lord as a regent at least once in the Kingdom's thousand-year history. Talbot, a spry and energetic shrew, had been told that no RAF force would carry a firearm into battle.

The silence had been palpable around the table. Ricci had been present at that announcement, and a pin could be heard hitting the floor one room over. Flag officers of nearly every stripe gazed at the man who had given the announcement, who Ricci remembered vividly as being none other than General Amadeus Prower, a tactical genius who spoke for the King in that moment. All at once, the room was in an uproar. Men rose and raised their voices at the simple, clipped, and finality of this announcement.

"No firearms?!" Colonel William T. Canus asked. "You want to disarm our men?"

Prower raised his hands slightly in defense and his deep azure eyes shifted around the conference room. He said, "Steps are being taken to assure that our men will have offensive capability."

"What the hell does that mean?" Colonel Talbot, who sat one seat over from Ricci, asked.

Prower's thick brows met at an angle, clearly agitated. "It means, my good colonel, that we won't leave our men defenseless."

"Sir, I urge you to listen."

"I will be continuing, colonel, if I could ask you..."

"Overlanders are armed with weapons we can't produce! Particle beams, hypervelocity railguns, energy shielding..."

"I stated that I would be moving on, colonel, if I could ask you..."

Talbot continued, "Advanced body armor! Our armor piercing ammunition can punch through as is, making these fights even more or less, but now you're saying..."

"Colonel, speak out of turn again, and I'll have you arrested for insubordination."

Silence. Talbot stood, gazing at the young fox with his soda bottle eyeglasses slightly slid down his nose. His nostrils were flared, his breathing easily audible. He looked around with fixed eyes, smoothed the front of his uniform jacket, and slowly sat back in his chair. The other high-ranking officers gazed at Talbot, then to each other.

Prower had taken a single breath and clasped his hands in front of him. "Any more objections, or may I continue?"

Nobody said anything, not even Talbot, who leaned back in his chair, right index finger scratching his cheek, remaining four curled over his mouth, eyes menacing.

"Very good. His highness the King Maximilian has determined that in light of concerns over the proliferation of firearms in military and public hands, a massive confiscation is now underway. As I speak, armories are currently having weapon compliments removed, catalogued, and stored in inventory. When the decision comes to reverse the decision, all equipment will be returned to service immediately."

"What do you want our men to use?" General Tosk asked from the back of the room. "What do you want to arm five million of our boys with?"

"We are currently determining what the best alternative would be."

"That's bullshit, son!" another voice in the back said. Ricci didn't turn his head fast enough to see who the speaker was, but Prower's face grew dark.

"General, I will eject you from this meeting!"

"Did Kodos put you up to this?" Talbot asked again.

Prower's mouth opened as if he were to say something, but then his ear twitched. He turned in place, looking behind him. A duo of honor guards stepped back and saluted, placing their halberds at their sides.

"As a matter of fact I did, colonel."

The figure who came through the door was immense, and dressed in a tan uniform. He was monstrous at nearly seven feet even, and what wasn't covered by multicam was amber in color. A lion, the biggest lion that anyone in the room had ever seen made his way next to Prower, placed his hands behind his back, and spread his legs to shoulder width. His massive biceps flexed with the motion, ballooning as if threatening to explode. His mane was cut short, almost disappearing completely, which only served to highlight his tawny eyes.

"Warmaster!" someone shouted.

At once, everyone jumped to their feet, hands snapping to temples.

General Kodos, Warmaster for the Kingdom of Acorn cracked a smile, looking at all present. His eyes scanned those in attendance, possibly, Ricci realized, to take names on those unhappy with this new position.

"At ease, gentlemen, at ease." the Warmaster spoke, in that clipped, slightly nasally North Afrik accent. He spoke English fluently though, which was one of the reasons why he had fit in so well.

"The Royal Highness the King's judgment," he began slowly and looking at the floor, "is absolute. No doubt as you are aware in times of war, which we can all agree on now we are within, sidesteps the Council. His Royal Highness makes this command which he entrusts me to carry out, to which I entrust my staff to carry out in turn." He nodded towards Prower, who assumed a similar stance to the Warmaster.

"But my Warmaster," Tosk asked, "What is the reasoning behind such an edict? To fight a war against an enemy without means of defending ourselves?"

"The king's decree is that to fight an honorable war that favors the just, we cannot stoop to the level of the enemy. As a matter of fact," he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a datapad, "I have his exact words."

The room looked around. Ricci met the eyes of Brigadier General Bernice Lynx, sitting opposite to him on the table. Bernice was an expert in combined arms movements, coordinating foot soldiers with armored units. The fact that half of her forces would no longer be able to fight the way she was trained meant that her job had just been turned upside down.

Kodos cleared his throat and said in a monotone but clear voice, "Our enemies seek to morally overpower us with weapons of mass destruction, made for nothing but the destruction of the lives we hold dear. We find contempt with these means and these tools, and we shall overpower hate with our resolve. Honor over barbarism. Fight death with life. The gun is a tool of hate, and we shall not be consumed by it."

Ricci's eyes grew wide. This read like madness. This was madness. Their military had been armed since the very beginning, since the Terra Nova Planetary Defense Force, over a thousand years ago when Humans walked alongside them. Now, they wanted to go to... what exactly? He raised his hand.

"Colonel Ricci." Kodos said, eerily knowing the man's name despite not wearing a name tag. He did not think he ever met the Warmaster before personally.

"Have any provisions been made to arm our soldiers?"

"As I think General Prower mentioned previously, we have steps in place. As we speak, our manufacturing sources are working around the clock and we have initiated new forging projects."

"Forges?"  Ricci found himself saying softly.

"Indeed!" Kodos said talking a small walk around the table, hands behind his back. "In the land that I am from, there is honor in fighting your enemy face-to-face. Modern combat has become so..." he swirled his hand around looking for the word, "...disconnected. Fighting an enemy at a thousand feet away means that combat has become so impersonal. So... robotic. In fighting with the tools of our enemies, we forget the value of life."

"Are you arming our boys with swords, Warmaster?" Brigadier Warmheart asked from the far left corner, his pines bristling with what was possibly anger; certainly surprise.

"Not just swords," Kodos was quick to say in an assuaging manner, raising a hand quickly. "Axes, Mattocks, Claws; all manner of weapons that can be effective in close combat to crush our enemy and show them our resolve. As to your next question, ranged combat will not be out of the question either. I have conferred with His Majesty the King and we have agreed on a corollary to his royal edict. Mechanized units will retain their cannons, sans machine guns of course, and naval craft will retain their main weaponry."

"So you've just stripped personal arms." Talbot said.

"Indeed. We cannot become like our enemy, not like how they slaughtered our men in the battle that started this war."

He rested behind Brigadier Lynx. She whirled in her chair to look at him.

"We are superior." Kodos simply said. "Besides, you're also incorrect, Colonel. We will be retaining personal ranged arms, but no... slugthrowers of course; nothing as barbarous."

"I hope you don't want to arm our boys with slings either." Talbot asked back in a monotone voice.

Kodos smiled toothily. "Nothing so primitive either, my good colonel. All will be clear in due time." he said laughing. He was about to move on when Talbot spoke once more.

"Tell me, Warmaster: is this because of Emerson?"

The crypt-like silence returned only this time it had taken on a brand new significance. Colonel Talbot signed a death warrant uttering that sentence in that context. General Prower's mouth visibly drooped, his shoulders dropped, and his hands became unclasped from behind his back. Two dozen officers, Ricci included, stared at the colonel, who had become a pariah in eight syllables.

Ricci knew it well. They all had, for it had resulted in a week of mourning. Emerson was the King's nephew, the son of another king of the same house. Very recently, tragedy had struck. While out and about, admiring nature as he so loved to, the boy had not returned. A search took place, days on end, when at last, Emerson's body was found. Despite his cold body, a large and cauterized burn mark had been augured into his chest - a mark no doubt left by an Overlander energy weapon.

The fury of the king had been the equal of his brother's anguish. The blood of the house had been spilled at the hands of their ancient enemy, and the lack of response from Hyneman's government; indeed there was clearly feigned confusion from the Overlanders, had served to fan the flames, and may have even been a factor in the declaration of war.

Talbot's supposition of the truth had been an inconvenient one. Kodos had dropped his smile, instead adopting a neutral, soulless stare.

The colonel though did not break his gaze, defiant.

"You will all be receiving your orders within twenty-four hours." Kodos said in a voice that seemed unlike his own. "Any questions will be relayed to my office as per proper channels. For House and Kingdom."

The attendees repeated the oath, but without gusto.

The Warmaster turned on his booted heel and walked out of the room. General Prower watched the supreme commander of the military leave and turned back to face the men. He ran a gloved hand through his center-parted hair and looked the men and women over. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again; the words died in his throat. He placed one hand on his ceremonial saber and another to his temple, and left behind the Warmaster.

Two days later, Colonel Talbot was relieved of command, and was reassigned to an undisclosed unit to an undisclosed location by order of His Majesty the King, making Taylor Ricci the leader of his division. No more than a day later, the 5th was on the move.

It was worse than he ever could have imagined. During the mustering and the deployment, radio reports from Mobotropolis indicated that a blanket ban had started. Confiscations of all form of firearms and arrests to those who resisted. All over one dead boy. A tragedy as it was. Manufacturers switched overnight to more 'honorable' forms of weapon manufacturing. Companies who manufactured bullets became fletchers overnight, and instead of battle plating for mechanized units, 'forges' rolled out swords and shields. All around the country, quartermasters announced that all RAF members were to turn in their arms by royal decree and were issued with their 'new' weaponry. Nearly all of them accepting with disgust on their face.

They hadn't even had time to train. Ricci had looked at his men, swords slung across their back, fronts padded with their ballistic Kevlar, looking like men out of time led by people who didn't know what they hell they were doing.

It was only disgrace that Ricci could feel. The disgrace he felt serving a country that had removed, eliminated an effective commander for speaking his mind, because the truth that the disarming of a whole military... no a whole nation...

Ricci couldn't even follow through with this line of thought. He returned his binoculars to his eyes and summed up the approaching force. At least a battalion. Two hundred and fifty perhaps two hundred and seventy five mixed units, primarily foot mobiles, perhaps two thirds. The remainders were hover tanks, or armored jeeps.

His laser rangefinder suggested a kilometer distant. He lowered the binoculars and looked to the Ballistic Master - a new position added to the ranks to account for the change.

"Are we in range?"

The Ballistic Master, a tall and lanky young weasel, lifted up the sheets of the clipboard in his hands, consulted a column of numbers, and asked quickly, "Range?"

"Nine hundred meters."

"Negative. Effective is seven hundred fifty."

"Maximum?"

"Eight hundred seventy five."

"What about for penetration?"

"Six hundred."

Ricci looked at the men who had their weapons sighted. Composite crossbows with diamond-carbide tips sat in carbon-fiber chassis topped with magnified scopes. large bottles of pressurized gas were fixed in the stocks of the guns to work the actions of their weapons. They had tried so hard to keep the battlefield even, but there was only so much that could be done.

The Overlander line opened fire as they advanced. A bright sapphire beam of insanely intense energy zipped over the firing line. Ricci could smell ozone from the torn air. It was the first lance of energy of many. Soon, more joined it. From the back, the muzzle flash from self-propelled artillery sounded.

"Hold your ranks, boys!" Ricci said. "Don't break!"

The soldiers stayed still, unflinching as the beams of energy sliced over their heads, but the colonel knew what was coming, and shouted, "Brace!"

No sooner had he uttered that, the road exploded in plumes of dirt, stone, and shrapnel. The mortars rained upon the firing line.

"Range!" The Ballistic Master shouted over the impacts. Ruby red lances of energy reached out over the distance at the speed of light, slapping into soldiers, uniforms burst into flame, flesh exploded as moisture vaporized. Many men simply just slumped into the dirt.

Ricci raised the binoculars one more time. His shivering hands struggled to keep the instrument steady. An artillery strike obliterated a platoon on the far left, flinging bodies into the air only to crunch to the hard ground. He read the number. "Five hundred eighty!"

"Positive Effect!" the BM screamed, attempting to raise his voice over the hellish warped cacophony of war. "Fire when ready!"

Ricci turned to his men. "Fire!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Send them everything you've got! Fire!"

The battalion opened fire, a twang of over a hundred drawstrings sending the bolts downrange. A collective his of the pressurized gas action blowing the carrier back, stripping another bolt from the magazine, and locking for another round.

They fired in concert, sending volley after volley, but in another second, the foot soldiers began to eliminate more of his men. They fell out of step, firing now at their own pace. Cries of needing to reload, screams of pain, and the other sounds associated with battle filled the small gorge.

"Second line move up!" Ricci shouted into a radio. "First line take cover! Ballistae move up!"

Metal goliaths on mechanized frames rolled up to the firing line. Massive explosive-tipped projectiles sat on tensed frames. The drivers pulled a lever, locking the vehicles in place as four legs dug into the earth.

"Fire when ready!" Ricci shouted. "Target armor!"

A deeper, much more massive twang issued from each vehicle, with a four foot long solid iron missile flying through the air, hissing as it whizzed over the first firing line, now at forty percent strength. The first two hover tanks were hit and blossomed into yellow flowers of explosions, but the remaining tanks targeted the artillery before another shot could be loaded, blowing the ranged artillery to smithereens. The Ballistae got off one more shot before being demolished. A good effort, wasted. They were outside effective range and had small reserves.

The second line took heavy casualties. Ricci ordered the third, but before that point, the Overlanders had closed to two hundred meters.

"Retreat!" Someone shouted.

"Stand your ground!" Ricci ordered. "Face them like men!"

Four hundred men against less than half of the footstrength, now separated by centuries of technological difference.

"Short arms at the ready!" Ricci ordered, sweating. They were going to be overrun. The battle was lost before it even started. They couldn't protect tanks. They had no tanks. They had been reallocated to better reinforce other units who had taken far more casualties. They had been in contact for less than seven minutes. Blood everywhere.

Ricci cursed at the hopelessness of it all. He reached into his pack and pulled something out - a smuggled forty-five caliber pistol that had been in his family for generations. He had hidden it, but drew it now in defiance. He racked the slide, sending a bullet into the chamber. If he was going out, it was going to be on his terms, fighting on even footing. He was crestfallen that his men didn't have the same option.

He stepped down from his command position to the line. In his left hand was a dagger, in his right the forty-five steady in his hand. His finger rested on the textured trigger, hammer locked back and ready to fire. His men looked up at him, waiting for the order.

"Men of the 13th Riflemen! Show them what we're made of!"

A roar from the men, suddenly invigorated. The sight of their commander's resolve raising their souls.

God damn the king, he thought.

He breathed only once, shouted, "No quarter! Charge!"

His men rose, drew their weapons, and moved as one. Ricci moved with them with gun forward, joined in their warcry, and pulled the trigger.