The Last War
For the first time in five years, the guns fell silent. No more dull roaring artillery fire churning the dirt in the distance. No staccato of machine guns forcing men to hunker down in their trenches and cutting down all those poor sods caught outside of them. You had not been here for all of the war. Not even a fraction of it to be honest, but it was still enough that the absence of its sounds had become stranger than their presence. Now there was only silence. Not even the birds were singing, even though it was spring. Or was it summer already? Were there even birds left after all the shrapnel and poison pounded into the land?
You only vaguely remembered the days when you were…
[] [Background] … a farmhand.
It was never glorious work, but you were proud of it none the less. When the first Edison Farms came, you were not worried. Some American devilry would never replace proper wheat, or so you thought. Once there were enough of them, your only choice was to volunteer for army. Nobody else needed a man with a strong back and little other skill to his name.
[] [Background] … a factory worker.
Putting together tractors before the war, then tanks and walkers as things were turning sour on the front. Until they had drafted you too. It was now the work of women to make the weapons for the men who fought on the front lines. At least your skill in mechanics came in handy quite often when maintaining your kit.
[] [Background] … a doctor.
Once you had sworn an oath to always heal and to never hurt, but oaths meant little when the Kaiser called upon you. First you treated those who had the luck to make it back towards friendly lands, but as the war dragged on, the army needed field medics more urgently than hospitals and the Empire had no need for pacifists.
[] [Background] … a thief.
Living from what you could pilfer from other people's pockets was never easy. As the war dragged on and purses got ever tighter, it became even harder. One day, your luck ran out and you got caught red-handed, leaving you with the choice between prison and the trenches. You were still not sure you had made the right choice.
[] [Background] … a hunter.
Even though you were neither rich, nor noble, you had always made a point of keeping some good relations to those who were. The hunting club got you one draft deferral after another, but as its numbers thinned, so did its influence. The army got you in the end, and even though they kept commending your shooting skills, you never wanted these laurels.
[] [Background] … training for the war.
Endless hours of drills were supposed to prepare you for what was to come. A short and victorious war had been promised by the officers. The first months were hell and so was any month that followed. For a while, you had been transferred back home to serve as an instructor for the draftees, but in the last months, there was no one left to draft and so you were sent back to the trenches.
The dull ache of your ribs helped to lift the haze from your mind. You had been wounded. Right. You couldn't even quite remember how it happened. Something exploded and the next you saw were your comrades trying to dress your wounds while debating where to put you. The field hospital had been burned out weeks earlier after a raid, so they just gave you some morphine and put you in an empty dugout. You were still there, together with many others. The stench was overwhelming, like an abattoir that had not been cleaned in years. There was no telling how long you had lain here, leaned against the earthen wall.
One other person was there with you, hunched over another wounded. You tried to speak, but the first sound came out more as a dry croak that startled the man from his work. "Is it over?"
The other man hesitated before answering. "Soldiers are leaving if that's what you mean."
"It's over," you quietly said, a weight lifting from your tired bones. "We won," you said carefully. You couldn't quite make out the mans uniform and it would be silliest thing to be punished for a lack of patriotism right as the nightmare was finally over.
"Nobody won. We are just leaving."
Dumbstruck you watched as the man turned back to whatever he had been doing before. Nobody except the officers still cared who won, as long as it was over, but someone had to have won for the war to be over. "But the Kaiser…" you stammered out, trying to remember the last missive from Berlin. Every centimetre of German soil would be defended to the last. That's what he had ordered.
"Been dead for months on orders of the High Command." He didn't even look up anymore and as you watched, you noticed he wasn't helping the other man. He was going through the pockets of a dead body. "Now they are all dead too and good riddance I say. Just grab what you can and go home. Or to what's left of it."
Just as he said that, he had finally managed to pry a silver cigarette etui from the dead mans uniform and pocketed it. You glanced around the other bodies just as he did, noticing for the first time that they were all dead. Some had dressed wounds, while others were clearly already dead when they had been tossed here. "Guess you were luckier than your comrades thought," he said. "Better leave before you are as dead as the rest."
As he left, you slowly pulled yourself upwards. Your legs were wobbling as if you hadn't used them for weeks and maybe that was the case, but after a while they kept your upright at least. The ribs still ached though. Out of reflex, your grabbed your helmet and dusted off your uniform. It did absolutely nothing to clean the fabric, which was more pressed dirt than wool at this point. But the officers liked to pretend it helped and would yell at anyone who didn't agree with them. Though it didn't seem to matter anymore what the officers wanted. And yet the habit was hard to break, making your shoulders itch until you cleaned your rank insignia and unit patch too.
Said patch denoted you as a member of the…
[] [Unit] … 48th Infantry Company. (Infantry)
Like most other soldiers, you served rifle in hand in the trenches, though you also learned how to operate machine guns and mortars with some degree of skill.
[] [Unit] … 60th Field Artillery Regiment. (Artillery)
You were trained on various mortars and cannons and taught how to maintain them and other equipment. You also know your way around most chemical weapons.
[] [Unit] … 3rd Armoured Cavalry. (Mechanized)
Placed in one of the units operating the newest weapons of the Empire, you learned how to operate and maintain both tanks and walkers.
[] [Unit] … 28th Pioneer Company. (Combat Pioneer)
Besides the fight in close quarters, you also learned how to lay and defuse explosives. Mostly though you learned when to keep your head down.
[] [Unit] … 33rd Penal Battalion. (Penal Soldier)
The army did not take no for an answer. You were barely trained at all and only your quick thinking and some nice words to the officers saved you from dying in a suicidal attack.
[] [Unit] … 16th Assault Company. (Stormtrooper)
You were trained for the heaviest of fighting and to strike deep into and even through the enemy lines. It's a small wonder you survived where most of your comrades did not.
As you stepped out of the dugout, you ducked on instinct, but there was no need anymore. Around you, the trench was empty and as you carefully peered over its rim, you saw no sign of fighting either. Instead, two soldiers casually stood in no-mans-land, arguing with each other as they gathered up some useful kit from a few dead tangled in the wires. There was no sign of the enemy and only a scant few German soldiers either.
It was truly over. When you had imagined this moment, you had expected to cheer. To laugh. You expected it to be joyful occasion. But when the first relief had passed, fear crept back into place. Not the fear of imminent death that had become a steady companion for so long, but fear of the future. Fear for a home that you had left behind and which fate you could not even guess at. 'Go home' the other soldier had said and it was as good a suggestion as any other what to do now.
Carefully, with no small amount of apprehension, did you lift yourself out of the trench and went on your way towards…
[] [Destination] … the train station.
They were bringing in supplies by train right until the end, so there might be a way to take on towards a city.
[] [Destination] … the army headquarters.
Command seems to have broken down, but whatever is left is probably organizing how to move the soldiers home.
[] [Destination] … the rear artillery batteries.
Most artillery emplacements still had plenty of horses to move their heavy equipment and the better supplied one even had trucks. Ample ways for you to find some transportation.