General Enzo

By Emerson Kluge

“General!” A message runner stood in the door to a makeshift North West Republic command building, helmet under his arm, feet together and arm raised to his forehead in a stiff salute. 

                General Enzo, commander of the Southern Forces straightened up from his hunched position over a map covered central table and half-swiveled  to face the private saluting back as he turned.

                The Storm Trooper stiffly dropped his hand and continued with his message. “Sir, two outposts have reported fires again, the same locations as yesterday, and the electritians report that the radios are still inoperative.”

                This was grim news to the battle scarred general who simply nodded in reply before turning back to the table.  Black grease-pen lines and scribbled writing covered every square centimeter of the acetate sheets, blurring the normally shiny surface into a dark unintelligible smudge.  They had suddenly become useless as the message told him everything he needed to know.

The Prols had attacked yesterday from smoke cover provided by massive fires and – never ones to do anything different the second time around –  would attack again exactly the same as they had last time. The report from the electricians meant that the men with him were fighting on their own as were all the other units; the General could not call for reinforcements nor could he coordinate the rest of the Southern Forces.

Enzo leaned on the table and stared through the charts; clearing his mind, letting the new information sink in and intermingle with every thought flowing through his brain.  He thought of nothing and everything at the same time; meditation on demand.

                “What are we going to do, General?”  asked one of the colonels surrounding the table.

                The silver haired general looked up, and without replying un-slung his rifle making a quick inspection.  A hand crafted weapon built at his request it incorporated features not found on standard weapons. It was identical in its dimensions to a regular RI-18, but the details were all custom: all interior surfaces chrome plated, extra strong springs on the extractor claw, the barrel of a sniper rifle and a stainless steel case.  The rifle was in prefect order and the magazine was full. He slung it again
                “General?” Asked the colonel, half confused.

 “The battle is better met there, than greeted here.” Enzo replied gravely.  He reached to his waist and grabbing the lowest straps on his amour, yanked them tight   “We’re going to the line.”

                The acrid smoke of burning green wood already chocked the positions the NWR Storm Troopers had dug yesterday - an attempt to hold their ground just east of Helena - as the command vehicles arrived.  The gamble of fortifying in such a tenuous but surprising position after falling back from the collection of homesteads they had been stationed at had paid off and the Prols were forced to retreat trading hundreds of men for only a scrap of land.  However, the Prols now knew were the NWR troops were and could form en mass for their preferred tactic: a human wave assault.  Though their troops were poorly trained and equipped, the force of thousands of people running towards an objective was often too much to handle.  No matter how badly off the attackers were, if the defenders could not shoot them fast enough, they would be forced to retreat.

                The General ducked almost to a crouch as he stepped out of his Storch APC.  He was much taller than the average Storm Trooper and the thick soles and deep waffle of his boots only increased his height so that he towered over the other men.   He walked forward, the rest of the command squad - a colonel two majors and six privates  - close behind him and surveyed the makeshift fortifications.  Made of only sandbags and holes they formed a loose line on top of a very shallow rise in the terrain.  Each position afforded barely enough cover to hide its occupants from fire but it had been enough to repulse the uncoordinated and scattered attack of yesterday. 

No new information could be gained from direct observation as it was clear that the situation on the hill was as grim as it was at the bunker; the positions would not hold.  Retreating was not an option.  The ground for kilometers behind them was the same open and flat terrain they currently occupied and moving back would only delay being overrun for a scant few hours.  The only option left was to attack.  Lacking knowledge on the enemy made a full assault on their positions virtually impossible but that was not the only option the General had.  The smoke would provide cover for the Prols advance, but it would also aid the NWR in launching an attack of their own.

                Another messenger jogged up to Enzo “Some of the scouts are already seeing Prol movement.  They’re falling back to avoid being overrun.”

                “Good.” Replied Enzo gruffly “Now go back to your unit.”  The messenger jogged off before Enzo turned to the colonel.  “We have around three hundred men?” 

                “Around three hundred ready for action, sir.”

                Not many compared to the Prols estimated six thousand but it would be enough if the smoke didn’t let up as it would be vital to surprise the Prols again.

“Make sure everyone has extra magazines, we cant afford to be shy with the ammo.”  The ordered as advanced scouts began to return, moving at a fast jog not burdened by all the equipment that a soldier normally carries.

The scouts lay prone as they arrived and accepted water while they donned their armour, their hurriedness telling more than their words; the Prols couldn’t be far behind, though as of yet, they were invisible through the smoke.

“Lock and load!” the general ordered as he reached the middle of the rise. 

The General accepted his helmet and pilut from one of the privates in the command squad, strapping his helmet to his head and pilot to his belt as he surveyed the troops for the last time. 

 A “pilut” combined a knife, hammer and piercing weapon and served equally defending and attacking in hand to hand.  It comprised of a forty centimeter long handle attached to a head that had a forked hammer on one side and a downward curved blade on the other.  The blade, sharpened on the top side, could be folded against the handle and extended with a flick of the wrist.  

The command squad took position in the shallow trenches stirring a small cloud as they lay down.  The last few weeks had not seen any rain and the ground was powder dry, the smallest movement stirring it so that without constant cleaning, everything was eventually coated with a thin layer of dust.

With nothing left to do and Prols on their way, they waited.

Quietly at first and then rising in volume the sound of a drum drifted to the North West Republic positions.  At first the sharp rap of the snares was all that could be heard, but gradually along with the drum came yelling - bits and pieces of which Enzo and the rest of the Storm Troopers could understand - came through the dense haze.  It was obvious that that both the English in the NWR and that which the Prols spoke descended from the same common tongue.  Separated hundreds of  years ago the result was that to the untrained ear the Prol language sounded like random syllables mixed with perfectly formed and sensible words.  The voices, young enough to crack sometimes, were yelling unconvincingly about the glory of the Prol empire their prowess in battle. 

All sound on the NWR quickly died as the last of the Storm Troopers finished preparations and all guns pointed forward.  They waited.

Appearing through the smoke, large flags bearing the hammer-sword-circle emblem of the Prol Empire fluttered and waved above the Prol ranks.  Each flag was carried by Grounding who had not been issued a rifle.  The NWR had discovered that only about half of the Prol troops received rifles at any given battle since the Prol leadership apparently had no problem with high attrition and wanted to ensure that every rifle their ineffectual industry made was used as much as possible.

The yelling and drums grew in volume and multiplied in numbers before reaching full volume just as the troops emerged from the smoke.  As the enemy became visible and the NWR line visible to them, random shots sounded from the wall of advancing humans though none found a mark, either spattering against the rise or flying far overhead.  

“Hold your fire!” Yelled Enzo waiting for the right moment to let fly the lead sitting in their rifles chambers.

More  of the grey-trench-coated figures emerged from the haze, enough now so that every man on the line had a mark to himself and more wild shots from the Prol ranks flew by as the details on the troops became clear.

Enzo lined a flag bearer up in his sights.  “Fire at will.” he ordered and pulled the trigger.  The flag bearer dropped but the flag hardly wavered as a second Groundling, eager to earn the praise and extra rations from his superiors snatched the pole from his mortally wounded comrades hands. 

The Storm Troopers around him let loose and a deadly wave tore through the Prol ranks.  Unsurprisingly, the Groundlings didn’t stop; they wouldn’t until a far larger number of them had been killed.   More dropped as a continuous thunder of fire thinned their ranks.  The blaze of rifles weakened after a minute when some soldiers changed magazines but regained its strength as the Prols continued to march forward still yelling their slogans despite the fire.  They yelled until the moment they were hit and fell though their loss was not of concern, their presence being quickly replaced by another who filled their space from the rear.  

The Prol were apparently apt to not repeat the disorganized advance of yesterday as Enzo saw the high hats of Commissars mingling in and behind the troops, ensuring they obeyed the Commissars will and remained in formation.   The advance continued at a slow march until they had crossed more than half the distance between the NWR line and the cover of the smoke when the Commissars blew their whistles and the groundlings began a light jog. 

This was the moment General Enzo had been waiting for. At a second whistle blow the groundlings would break into a wild run and be almost impossible to stop.  This meant that the time to attack the Prols was now while their anxiety was the greatest and their momentum manageable.

                “For the Republic!” Enzo yelled as he fired off one last shot.  The command squad echoed the cry as did the rest of the Storm Troopers.  He yelled again and was again echoed by the rest of the troops, louder and fiercer this time.  “Prepare for hand to hand!”  he ordered and removed his pilut from his belt. 

                The rifle fire fell as the Storm Troopers readied their weapons.

 “Attack!” Enzo gave the order as he pushed himself up.  A great yell rose from the NWR line as the Generals three hundred men rose to their feet at once and charged forward, Enzo in the lead with is command squad and the rest of the men close behind him. 

 The first Groundlings, the ones who could see the full measure of the force bearing down on them stopped jogging only to be pushed forward by the ones behind them.  They hindered the Prol advance for only a moment though as the Commissars pistols removed those startled too much by the NWR attack. 

Enzo’s three hundred men advanced as a jagged line toward the mass of under prepared Groundings who were clearly not expecting this.  Heavier though still scattered shots flew by as they closed the short distance between the two armies.  An  Storm Trooper fell, hit by a bullet but immediately got up one of his amour plates having absorbed the shot. 

Had they not out numbered the Storm Troopers so much the Prols would have been a pitiful sight.  Some few moments to fix their bayonets but most didn’t and against the shouts of their Commissars the Groundlings shrunk back. 

A few had strayed much too far forward of the pack and were the first to fall to Enzo’s weapon.  One man weakly thrust the stock of his rifle toward Enzo while another merely flinched to absorb the blow of the Generals pilut without putting up even a token resistance.  With a few more strides he would be upon the rest of them.  Tasting the dust between his teeth General Enzo raised his weapon and screamed the battle cry again, hearing it echoed by his troops as he and the legion of Storm Troopers behind him piled into the Groundling ranks.