Chapter 243 – Quisling
"Keep your heads down! Take cover!"
A howl of pain tore through the trench, followed by the expletives and groans of pain from those who had been too slow or unlucky to take cover in time.
"My leg! My leg!"
"Merde! Medic!"
"Here, quick! We have wounded!"
The pounding shelling continued to rain red-hot lead down on the trenches Duchov and his comrades had dug, the men in uniform desperately trying to protect themselves from the metal shrapnel and the shock caused by the explosions while, trying to move as fast as they could by crawling on their bellies, the few available medics tried to reach the soldiers in need of their action. Only De Martin, the commanding officer, seemed to still maintain his stoicism and waited, unmoving, gun in hand, for the bombardment to end.
"Lieutenant!" A soldier stained with blood and mud, his face white with shock, the emblem of the order bearers partially visible on a patch strapped to his right arm, stepped forward. "Lieutenant Cahret's unit was badly hit due to insufficient natural protection, an explosive shell fell right in the middle of the trench. The survivors are retreating, you must abandon the position and regroup on the second line of defense."
"Retreat? No way!" De Martin scornfully protested. "If we leave the trench now we will unnecessarily expose ourselves to enemy fire. And even once the shelling ends-"
The rest of the sentence died in his throat when, almost prophetically, the sound of enemy shell explosions became gradually fainter until it ceased altogether. Immediately, medics tried to carry away the wounded as the remaining soldiers emerged from the trench, rifles clutched in their hands. They knew, what was to come.
"Here they come!" Cagraz, who was assigned to the only remaining machine gun, shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Everybody out! Remove the bags, open fire!"
The Free Republic soldiers emerged from the trench, just in time to see the Oligarchy troops coming toward them. Unlike Duchov and his comrades, few were of Caucasian complexion, almost all of them officers. Instead, the bulk of the troops had liquor-brown complexions, typical of the region's inhabitants, but like their counterparts who had come from Europe, they too now wore uniforms and masks and wielded rifles and firearms. The art of warfare had been easily learned and now the former indigenous people of the Republic knew how to fight and use the weapons of their former patrons with equal mastery and skill, or in some cases, even outclassing them.
"Fire, fire!" The men in the trench began firing, two or three black soldiers falling to the ground as their comrades returned fire. Cagraz, the machine gunner, barely emitted a groan as a bullet penetrated his forehead, the elastic ties that tied him to the machine gun preventing his body from fall as none of his former friends spared him a glance as they focused on the battle around them.
The Republican soldiers had the advantage of occupying defensive positions and a gatling to use against their adversaries. Even so the Oligarchy troops were much more numerous, and raised in a different environment than most European soldiers were used to, quickly scattered around, using whatever feature as a cover to protect themselves from the bullets and advance, a couple of them grabbing the grenades they had tied around their waist and throwing them in direction of the enemy. One of the grenades fell just in front of the trench, releasing an orange-looking gas with a strange, smelly taste.
Duchov's eyes widened in horror, as he recognized it. "Mustard gas! Quick, grab your masks!"
Other men heard Duchov's alarm and quickly dived for cover, hoping to have enough time to wear their masks, but many either didn't hear or couldn't, for they were struggling to keep the enemy at bay, even as more and more of their friends fell around them. Then, another gas grenade, tossed by a young former fisherman who had joined the Oligarchy's own troops in search for a better pay, fell right into the trench and it was too late.
Duchov could only hear the voice of De Martin try to maintain order among the troops, before another explosion from his direction signaled his death, the soldiers scattering without any more leadership to manage them while the enemies, realizing the Republicans were now in disarray, pushed through, a couple of soldiers jumping on the trench with their bayonet readied as the battle began bloodier.
That was more than Duchov could withstand. Screw the defense, screw the war, screw the Republic! he wasn't going to die here, kilometers and kilometers away from home, in a no-name island that no one even knew until it suddenly became the headquarter and command region of the Free Republic (what was left of it, anyway). He dropped his rifle and ran, no one noticing his attempt at deserting amid the chaos, as he rushed toward the border of the trench and out in the open, running as fast as his legs allowed him to.
Come on, come on, he yelled in his mind. you can do it, you can run forever-
Then, he felt a sharp pain on his shoulder, and all the strength left his body. It was shock, and then, oblivion.
The Oligarchy troops required ten more minutes to secure the position. Once it was done, one of their officers sent a message to the ship requesting new orders while the few Republicans who had been spared walked way in shame, hands raised as they were kept under crosshair by the men who were once the Republic's slaves, and who now took a great pleasure into seeing the soldiers of their former masters subjected to defeat and humiliation...
(... )
"The guns of the Kenshara Hill unit and around Petricot Bay were destroyed by the enemy's naval firepower. All the pillbox units on the beach have been destroyed as well, however the 33rd Infantry company near Malana is still at 75% overall fighting operativity, and we estimate over 800 enemy casualties."
"Good news all considered." Captain Pierrez, currently commander of the Republican Coastal defense Force, nodded, looking to the other officers and representatives who were sitting with him in the room. "Don't you agree?"
"No, we don't agree, at all!" Cheivienne Lemagne, the governor of Ourabora (that was the name of the island) hissed, wanting yet unable to stop listening to the thunder caused by the Oligrachy's ship shelling their own defensive position around the beach. "You said in our last meeting that your troops, while unsupported, could successfully repel any attempt from the Oligarchy to land ground troops on the island! It doesn't matter how many enemy soldiers you may have killed, losing the beach isn't worth it, especially since now the enemy can land more and more troops and move in the hinterland!"
"I agree, the situation is not in our favor as you claimed." Admiral Darnass, the last remaining officer of the Republican Navy (currently counting at least an old cruiser, heavily damaged and unable to leave its dockyard on the southern region of the island, and a couple former civilian ship refitted as scouts) lamented. "From what we have been able to gather, the Oligarchal Fleet we are facing holds at least one battleship, one cruiser and several support vessels. As long as those ships are able to continue operating without any risk of retaliation from our side, not only they can secure their beachheads and weaken our troop's defensive position around it, but should we lose our remaining naval artilleries on the eastern coast, they'll be free to move up and hit the rest of the island, including this one building we are currently standing in!"
"Oh, and how do you expect for us to 'take care of them', remind me?!" Pierrez's voice turned full of anger and jerkiness. As much as you're badmouthing us, the Republican Army while defeated is still standing and willing to fought in name of the Republic's cause, something we can't say about the Navy! It is your fault that we lost De Lugo and all our best leaders after the Empire sacked Pariseè!"
"You ugly stinking moron-!"
"ENOUGH!" Lemagne shouted, feeling once again like a teacher of a kindergarten, only he was now stopping fights among soldiers and members of the military rather than simply unruly kids. The key difference, while subtle, was simple: kids could learn, and grow. Adults... didn't get such luxury, especially in dire this like this. "I thought we already agreed that such squabbles produce nothing and only serve to keep ourselves divided while the Oligarchy, supported by the Empire, keeps pushing us further and further away. This time, however, we don't have another colony more remote where to relocate the Republic's government, should this island fall: if we lose this time again, it will be over. Complete defeat, nothing less. If we lose this battle... that's the end of everything the Republic used to represent, and the world it was once proud part of! We will have proved ourselves inferior. Weak! And all the groveling cowards left alive when the battle is over, will be the weakest of all! This will be the end of Republican democracy, the end of hope, freedom and liberty! The world will belong to the tyranny of the Empire, and everyone will suffer under its clutches!"
The impromptu speech originated from raw, unfiltered emotions and was devoid any previous edit or proofreading. While a bit crude for an old politician who had spent his whole life managing a small, idyllic island colony where 99% of the time, the direst issues he had to face were quarrels among fishermen, served its purpose and the two military men, while still giving themselves a sink eye, returned to their seats.
"Thank you. Now, officer Pregrine," the colony governor addressed the lower-rank NCO who had silently been waiting near the entrance of the building, unnerved by the whole situation and how easily quarrel could break out among his superiors. "is there anything else you'd like to report?"
"Well, there are some... rumors, scattering around the troops, who validity we had been unable to confirm, yet they keep spreading and causing panics among them. They say that the Oligarchy is soon going to deploy mage troops against us, just as they did in the final stages of the Africa campaign; that the natives the Oligarchy keeps recruiting among their troops have strong ties with our local population, and they're planning an overthrow or that the Oligarchy has agreed to cede their former Pacific colonies to the Akitsushima Dominion in exchange for the Dominion coming here and purging the whole archipelago of our presence."
"That's ridiculous!" Pierrez scoffed, refusing even to acknowledge such notion. "The natives are too fearful of our power to even dare to oppose our control, and the Dominion is nothing but a bunch of squabbled up savages! They could never pose a threat to us!"
"We used to believe the same of the Tuareg living in the desert, until Aisha rose them up against us!" Lemagne pointed out, earning an irked look from Pierrez, who was one of the few lucky ones to be evacuated before the last Republican colonies in Africa were lost. "And the Dominion is always looking for new chances and opportunities to expand their own holding into the Southern Pacific Area. Remember how the Empire managed to sway them to their side by selling them what little islandic colonies they had? The Empire would have never made off much of such small islands who were on the opposite part of the world, and what the Dominion gave them in exchange helped them tipple the fate of the European war on their side."
"That said, we... also have some new reports coming from our other coastal defenses," Pregrine continued. "While so far, the Oligarchy troops on the beachheads had made no serious attempt to break their encirclement, from what our officers relates it would be very hard to vanquish them before they manage to strengthen too much their forces on the island. Seems like the Empire did supply them with brand new machine guns, and they have new rifles as well."
"And that's without mentioning our dire industrial situation." the admiral nodded. "After the loss of the mainland Republican soil, above 80% of our industry fell into the Oligarchy hands, and with the loss of our African colonies and what we had to sell to Ildoa in attempt to keep fighting, we lost almost all the remaining 20. So far what we have on the island is barely enough food producer to keep our troops feed enough to keep fighting, and some small plant to repair our rifles and our guns as well as produce new ammunitions from whatever scraps we can gather. Still, that's barely enough to keep us working: we can only repair what we have, not build new ones nor recruit more troops."
"And this is why all the other nations have now turned their backs on us." Lemagne said with a deep sigh, looking outside of the window. It seemed so far in the past now, when ships coming from the Allied Kingdom and other nations of the Commonwealth arrived every day to trade, visit the small paradisiac little island or just to refuel and have some day on solid ground before resuming their travel through the deep blue ocean, carrying materials from the exotic orient to the faraway industrial powerhouses of Europe. "Do you know what the Allied Kingdom's representative said, when I tried to convince him that we were still standing strong? 'You're the relics of a dead nation'. This is how the world see us now: relics. De Lugo... he was widely known, he had charisma, and so did all the brave men who joined him on the travel. We had still our powerful fleet back then, we had our whole colonial empire intact, we had an army that thought beaten, was still standing strong, and we had so many young men we could recruit or draft to fill the emptiness in our ranks? Now? Now what is left of the Republic is a collection of what were once their smallest, least important colonies, so far from our former nation it feels like we are on a different planet altogether. We must harvest the scraps to get the tools we need just to keep fighting another day; we have to be meticulous in our plans, for any soldier we lose is another hole in our rank we can't replenish; and all we can do is just... just..."
"Is that defeatism you're saying, governor?" Pierrez sniped, with a grimace of disgust. "This is pure treason! We aren't defeated yet! We are soldiers of the Republic, the greatest stronghold of democracy, freedom and personal liberty of the world! Eventually, both the Allied Kingdom and the Unified States will come to their senses, and they will have to recognize that the Empire is a threat that cannot stand, not just for the security of Europe, but for the whole world's wellbeing! Already savvy politicians in both nation are trying to fight the political opposition of the traitors, those who would rather bent their back to the Empire rather than stand up and fight for what is right! We only have to last until that moment comes, and just as the death of the czarina saved the blasted Empire in the past, so the return to their senses of the Western nations will sentence it to its final downfall!"
"And how long do you expect we should be able to resist?" the Admiral challenged him, taking advantage of Lemagne's sudden weakness to resume his never-ending personal battle with the officer of the Republican Army. "The Oligarchy is already here! And unless you're going to reveal to us that you've managed to find some miraculous way to reverse the events, then we don't have much of a choice! How long do you think our men will be able to resist being bombarded day and night by the enemy's aryillery shells? Because I can confirm-"
Lemagne took another deep breath and walked away, whatever resolve he had left now feeling bleak and grey, as his determination took another hit seeing whatever was left of the Republic waste precious time and energy in useless quarrels with itself instead of managing to stop fighting just for a brief moment and concentrate their attention upon the enemy.
If De Lugo had been here to provide his leadership, he would have surely squashed all division among the Free Republic government and armed forces a long time ago... but he wasn't, and they had been forced to do without him, to the point that they ended up going from one disaster through another. Losing the fleet, losing Africa, getting their collective asses kicked from one 'last ultimate line of defense' from another, every time the promises of the Free Republic officers they would be able to permanently stop the enemy turning out to be empty, every time being forced to relocate, or rather, to run away. But running away had its limit, and soon, they had run out of places to escape.
For so long Lemagne had hoped, prayed, that they could put apart their own differences and work together, but now, he had to face reality. And the reality was that there was no way out of this whole situation.
The Republic would be dead soon, but he did not have to follow the same destiny.
As he thought that, he saw the building where the radio antenna of the colony was located. He knew the men who worked there, and he knew at which times he could get inside without being found. Plus, he was taught a little bit about how the machine worked-
A smile grew on his lips, as an idea formed in his mind. An evil idea.
He had been a loyal servant of the Republic for too long, and if he could play his card rights, he could get something much better than twelve measly silver coins...
