Intense, Intense, Intense
Out of the hail of fire and metal they arose, an angry horde planning to sweep them aside.
The Kaiser's Sturmtruppen.
The Steel Storm.
He had been having nightmares about them since he talked to the Russian all those months ago.
And now, with Russia gone, this metallic hurricane had moved onto them, with the intention of having them follow.
He could not see their faces, obscured in the gas and smoke, covered by gas masks that appeared alien and demonic, their torsos covered by steel skin.
They knew what happened to the Portuguese.
They had listened to their screams and death rattles as the juggernaut cut them to pieces like a blade hacks soft bread, and then slaughtered their reinforcements while they stood and watched helplessly.
And now they were climbing over what had been the Portuguese trenches and broke into full change against them.
They began to fire like the monsters of hell itself were streaming into the field agianst them.
And they might as well have been.
A chill ran up his spine as the bullets and shells brought down a few of the limitless wave, but seemed to have not the least bit of difference on the tsunami washing down on them.
They were outnumbered.
They were outgunned.
And they had no possibility of help from the rear- blissfully unaware.
In complete ignorance of the unstoppable force that would wash away two centuries of Freedom like a typhoon washes away the foam of a beach.
"Über den Hügel und zerstören die Briten! Kein Viertel!"
Only one option.
He gazed through his mask and leveled the Lee Enfield and looked through the sights.
Through a mirror darkly.
At this inhuman colossus.
"ÜBER DEN HÜGEL UND DIE VERBÜNDETEN WIRD ZERBRÖCKELN! SIE SOLLEN FLANDERN SEIT EINEM JAHRHU=" The officer's boast was cut short as the bullet sliced through his mask and into his throat, but that only seemed to ENCOURAGE them.
The others joined in and a steady stream of lead and explosives rained down on the aggressors.
But to no avail, as it seemed like they only grew in number. For ever one they shot, they blasted, or they tossed from the parapet, three more of these steel monsters arose.
And they were running out of ammo.
He threw his last grenade into them and watched as it tore a sizable hole in their ranks, and he desperately turned the bolt on his rifle and stared uneasily at his bayonet.
Now they were on the cusp of the hill itself, and still growing strong. His blade stabbed into one's neck, another's head, and yet another's arms.
But they kept coming, crossing over the metallic grey blanket of their own dead.
All around him, it raged on. All around him, they came in droves.
He did not know if they would survive,if they could hold the line, if they could prevent the steel hand of Berlin from gripping and strangling Paris-strangling all they had died and killed for- to death.
But, as he saw their commander rise over their dead and cock his rifle, he knew only one thing as the butt of his rifle flew towards the German's head.
They would either win, or they would take as many of them with them as possible.