The Fifty Years War - R.T. Adams (lightweight ebook reader TXT) 📗

War. Nothing truly good comes out of war. Simply death, the waste of supplies, days of laying around, sick people lying around, the wounded requesting to die, it’s all nothing good. Both men and women charge on the front lines, fighting their hearts out, until they’re shot and killed. Mortars rain down, exploding, sending people’s limbs flying, others simply dying of shrapnel. Tanks roll about, crushing their enemies, bombing bases. Planes fly above, dropping bombs, creating craters in the ground. Some even go into dogfights, chasing each other for minutes, sometimes even for hours at a time. The only forms of entertainment we have are disassembling and reassembling our weapons, playing cards, and listening to the radio. We aren’t able to mobilize until told so by the captain of our squad. Many have tried to escape and abandon their position already, but were shot on sight. I was lying prone on the ground, looking through a pair of binoculars. Multiple opposing tanks approaching, crushing barbed wires and people. Our allies were running as fast as they could, trying to keep their lives, even for a short bit longer. I knew, however, none of them would live. They would all either be crushed by the force of tanks, or simply be shot. Suddenly, I felt a heavy rumbling. The dirt was even shaking. I looked around, behind me, even, but I saw nothing. When I looked up, I saw that the sky was gone. Planes filled the sky, bearing a plain black mark. A single X with a red dot in the middle was on each wing. Enemy planes were even going forward. It seems they have decided to go all-out now.

“Retreat!” I heard the captain shouting, waving his arm in the direction where everyone was running, behind him. I threw my binoculars in a pouch and grabbed my rifle, quickly standing up and running. Bullets flew past, tank shells exploded. The ground was rumbling. We lost this base, it was simply inevitable.

By the time all the men had retreated to another base, the enemies were still short on our tail. They kept following us, skipping by the previous base and continuing to attack us, relentlessly. Our allies sat in the base only meters away, firing their weapons. Two turrets sit atop the base, firing nonstop at the planes overhead. Many planes were now practically skydiving, slamming and exploding into the ground, creating even more craters. Rockets and machine guns were being fired at the approaching tanks and soldiers. When I looked to my left, I saw allied tanks approaching, firing their own shells at the opposing tanks. I lowered my rifle and just stared. Is this hell? Death, over and over, running for your life, killing anyone who stands in your way. It must be hell, it just has to be.

“Aeroman, get over here,” my captain was calling for me.

“Yes, sir?” I stood front and center, as stiff as a board. My captain had gray hair and a somewhat wrinkly face. He was pretty much an elderly man, yet still capable of fighting. He had somewhat bushy eyebrows. He, of course, never smiled.

“If I die in this next operation, I will be promoting you to the captain of this squad,” I simply said “yes sir,” and he dismissed me. It was honorable, being promoted to captain if he died.

“Alright everyone, grab your weapon, we’re mobilizing!” the captain shouted. Multiple soldiers grabbed their rifles and stood up. The captain was the first to leave the trench, running forward. Quickly following, many soldiers hopped up and began running. I was one of the last few to actually begin running. Most of the enemy tanks were already downed, so we headed directly for the soldiers. We lifted our rifles at the sight of an enemy and fired, unhesitantly killing them. There were roughly forty people following us, while there were about two hundred enemies. What kind of operation is this? Operation Suicide? No matter what happened, however, I continued to fire, over and over, watching the enemies drop. My allies around me were falling twice as fast as the enemies I saw falling. From forty to twenty in only about thirty seconds. We had only killed about seven percent of the enemies. Soon, the enemy tanks were all destroyed and the allied tanks were moving forward, firing shells into the crowds of enemies. I watched as enemy limbs flew around. When the enemies realized they were being quickly killed, they began to retreat. One, however, refused, and ran forward, into the crowd I was standing in, directly for the captain. He pulled out a knife and ran forward, planting the knife into the captain’s body. I heard a muffled gunshot. Both the captain and the enemy soldier fell. They were dead. My captain was dead. Not just my captain, but, if I must say so, my own family. We were taught that each and every ally is our family, by our captain, himself. Our captain’s words meant a lot, especially that day. He naturally would never speak like that, in a way of creating a sentiment air.

“Captain!” I shouted and ran towards him. He still had a few last breaths in him.

“Aeroman,” he paused for a moment, short breaths between somewhat long pauses of silence, “Take this.” He pulled a handgun from his holster and slowly lifted it to my chest, grabbing my hand and placing it on the gun on my chest.

“Captain,” I simply said his title, what every soldier I knew called him. I gripped the gun tightly as the captain slowly faded. I stood up, the handgun in my hand.

“Aeroman,” a soldier approached me, “What were his last words?” The soldiers even around him seemed curious. I lifted the handgun and presented it to them.

“Before we left on this operation,” I began, “He stated that, if he died, he wanted me to be the new captain of this squad.” I told the truth. They seemed understanding enough, and trusted my words. I kept the handgun in my hand, without even releasing my grip in the slightest. We made our way back to the base and reported to the commander.

“Aeroman, tell me what happened during the operation,” the commander demanded I tell her what happened.

“We launched the operation from the base trenches, charging directly for the open area where the enemy tanks had been destroyed. Multiple allies had been killed in the operation. Later on, after our troops had been cut to half, allied tanks came and backed us up, causing the enemies to retreat. However, one enemy pulled a knife and plunged it into the captain. The captain shot the enemy and later fell. I knelt next to the captain and he,” I paused for just a moment, “He gave me this.” I lifted the handgun and placed it on the desk. The commander leaned over from her chair and examined the handgun. She then leaned back.

“It would seem the captain wished for you to be the next captain,” she said. I simply nodded, which isn’t often appreciated by many commanders. However, it would seem this commander is slightly more lenient. The commander handed the handgun back to me and took a seat.

“Sir, is there something you need?” I asked this because a commander would naturally dismiss the soldier after they have said what they need.

“It would seem Captain Willows appreciated you, Aeroman,” she said, “He must have placed a lot of respect and responsibility in you, especially knowing he’d die. Willows, what a fool you were.” The commander muttered the last sentence, so I could only barely hear it, but I still couldn’t make out what she said entirely. However, I was taught not to request a repeat or to question a higher-up at all, just do as you’re told. The commander waved her hand for me to leave, so I did. I placed the handgun in a holster I received from the armory. Today was going to be another long day.

The soldiers I was now in command of were sitting around, playing cards, observing their guns, and training their bodies. It would more than likely be very harsh these next few days. Not only were we bombarded by the enemy just yesterday, but they sent another few hundred soldiers to attack at left flank early this morning. Luckily, a guard caught sight of them and warned the commander. It wasn’t exactly easy to see today, as there was a hell of a lot of fog. I was sitting around with a few of the soldiers, playing poker with them.

“Full House,” a soldier laid his cards down, stating what he had. Two of the other soldiers sighed and just laid their cards down.

“Straight Flush,” I stated my hand.

“Damn, Captain,” the soldier with the Full House seemed slightly irritated. The soldier pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and put it in his mouth. He grabbed his lighter and kept clicking until it lit a flame. He blew it out and shoved his lighter back into his pocket, puffing smoke from his lips from the cigarette.

“You will get better at your hands soon, Lieutenant Tentman, just wait,” I simply smiled a small smile and we resumed the game. Abruptly ending our game, an explosion was just outside the base, rumbling the ground and making dirt fall. Only seconds later, an alarm began to sound. I stood quickly from my chair.

“Alright, you know what to do!” I shouted at the soldiers, who were already grabbing their weapons, charging out of the room. I grabbed a rifle and continued outside with the soldiers. They were standing on boxes set up just so the rifle could peer out and fire at the enemies. Their rifles exploded with sound with each shot, practically deafening to anyone nearby. I stood on a crate next to two other soldiers, setting up my rifle and continuously pulling the trigger, only hoping to hit an enemy soldier. We couldn’t see with all this fog, and I had no idea how they could, either. Suddenly, bullets began to barrage our location.

“Cover!” a soldier shouted. The soldiers pulled their rifles back and crouched down in the trench, waiting for the bullets to stop raining hell on us. The sound of a mortar was approaching. All we could do was hope it didn’t hit our location. An explosion from just outside the trench, twenty feet left of our location.

“Continue firing!” I shouted. The soldiers stood back up and set up their rifles, the enemies now visible, as they had continued to approach. I steadily aimed, fired, and reloaded, repeating this process multiple times. I pulled my rifle out of the trench and tossed it to the ground, pulling out my handgun. I called over to one of the soldiers, the lieutenant, to give the order to advance.

“Advance, captain’s orders!” the lieutenant shouted and the soldiers pulled their rifles back and began hopping out of the trench and ran forward. I pulled myself up and followed shortly behind the soldiers, firing my handgun at the enemy soldiers. The enemy soldiers continued to fall, their blood on the hard soil. Soon, the soldiers quickly ran back. I’m beginning to sense a pattern here. My thought is that they are using guerilla tactics. It is a tactic in which you, or your enemy, runs forth, attacks, then runs away, and continues that pattern. I decided to get an appointment with the commander. She sent a soldier to retrieve me, whom I followed. The soldier opened the door and saluted. I saluted back and entered the room, in front of the commander.

“Aeroman,” the commander spoke only my name, “What is it you wanted?”

“I believe I know the enemy's’ tactic,” I said, waiting for her permission to continue.

“What do you believe