Hell in the Trenches: The Landship

War, unending decades old war rages across the frontier of the Confederacy of the Herzigovan and the Laudik Empire. Once fertile fields are scarred with parallel systems of trenches, bunkers, dug in artillery, miles of barbed wire and shell holes. The soil is contaminated with eighty years worth of massive infantry charges against fixed machinegun positions and poisoned with countless gas attacks. Where cattle and horses once grazed, hoards of black and brown rats, some of the size of cats, scurry, feeding on the dead and chewing on the living. Lean, dirty men and women in uniform wait in slimy trenches, for the scream of shells or an officer whistle, ordering them to cross the no-man’s land.

Seven miles behind the Confederate artillery positions, Colonel Mathers stood on an empty field, near a set of railroad tracks. Behind him rose a massive structure, covered in great sheets of canvases and resting on a truly impressive railroad car. Behind the structure, were nearly a score of locomotives, which had been used to move giant thing from the navy yard at King’s Brook.

A slight, crisp autumn breeze tugged at the helm of the khaki greatcoat, as the officer paced slightly, adjusting his spectacles and spent a great deal of time wringing his hands or obsessively curling the ends of his mustache. Soon, trucks loaded with engineers, gun crews, infantry and the others need to operate the project he had been placed in command of would arrive. He would finally get a command of his own and he wasn’t sure he could execute that duty. He was damn good at sorting information and preparing the important parts for his superior but he hadn’t been in charge of a fighting unit in nearly twenty years. Now he was to command the greatest, most important and top secret weapon in the Confederacy’s arsenal.

Mathers paused and stood still, as the growl of trucks reached his ears and the beams from headlights cut through the predawn gloom. Clasping his hands behind his head, the officer glanced over towards the railroad men, who stood ready to pull a number of ropes, which would unveil the Ironmongery behind him. Soon. Once his new command was assembled and he gave a speech, they would get their first look at the Landship.

He tried to keep his heart from hammering his ribs and his lungs from wheezing, as the fleet of trucks jerked to a halt on the edge of the field. Men and women poured out from the backs of the transports, some of them wishing that their first ride in an automobile would have lasted longer and others wishing it had been far shorter. Slowly they gathered in ranks, broken up by division. It took a great deal of time, as many of them stopped dead and stared at the massive black shape rising before them.

“Good Morning” declared the Colonel in an awkward, unsteady voice, as he tried to get everyone to hear him but keep from straining his weak lungs, “I am Colonel Alexander Mathers. You have all been selected or volunteered for a special project. I know most of you haven’t been told anything about it but I promise, it’s war winning.”

He paused, giving the hundreds gather before him to digest that they might end a war their grandparents fought. He also desperately needed to catch his breath or he was going to double over, gasping like a landed fish. After waiting long enough for the troops to get a little restless but not long enough for him to feel like his lungs were working again.

“I Give You The Landship!”

There was a loud creak and groaning, as the railroad men hauled on the ropes. Snaps, like a slow firing machinegun echoed in the crisp air, as straining knots and weak buckles came apart. Flaps of canvas fluttered into the breeze, revealing the gleam of fresh, unmarred, gray painted steel armor platting, powerful guns in turrets and massive tracks, ready to churn through the decay of no man’s land. Towering above the main body stood the super structure, mirrored with a smokestack behind it. It was like a mountain of steel, still and unliving for the moment.

The hatchways stood open, ready to allow the crew into the passage ways through the fuel bunkers, up into the ammunition stores and then to the engine deck. Stairs and lifts would carry those needed high, to the gun decks, bridge and manner of places within the massive tanked crawler.







(Wants to know more or join up? Please see the RP Tab, Hell in the Trenches

Get into formation. Get into formation. The words pounded through his head, automatically moving his legs as they were drilled to in boot camp. Standing in his place, he stared up at the hulking monstrosity. He had heard about it. All the crackpot tales about a as large as a building. He never imagined the authorities would go through with building it. It was still covered with blankets, for some reason. Couldn't the cloth be used for something useful? He didn't understand all the junk regarding metallurgy and automatons and mechanics, but Roderick thought that if the machine was so fragile hit had to be shielded with blankets, the damn thing must be easier to break than china.The sheer size impressed him, but what worried Roddy more was the fact that if might not function. Hiding out in the trenches, ordered to go out and be slaughtered or wait until artillery blew you away was not how he was going to survive. He wanted to see her again.

Too nervous to talk to anyone, he focused his eyes forward, and waited until the Colonel spoke. He was to-the-point, which was nice. Roddy wasn't too keen on listening to long-winded speeches to build himself up over nothing. Before long, the ropes were hauled and the Landship had been revealed to him. "Bollocks." Roddy whispered in awe, captured by it's design and sheer amount of firepower, Roddy felt a grin spread across his face as he admired it. With this, he felt protected. However, there were rumors that this mountain of steel wouldn't even work, which worried him. People pushed past him to get inside, curious to the interior of the massive crawler, but Roddy paused, drinking in the sight of what might win the war and allow him to go home.

Shaking himself, he pushed forward himself into the hatchways, taking it slow. He was working his way from the bottom up, trying to familiarize himself with the interior of the ship. To be lost during a state of emergency would get him flogged, as his drill instructor told him. This was a little bit different from what he probably meant, as this was a landship and not the trenches, but the instruction still remained sound. He picked his way around, apologizing as he bumped into people. Some sneered at his manners, some mumbled the same thing back. Some didn't reply, too busy looking at the sheer amount of metal that was used in the construction of this monstrosity.

By the time he reached the sleeping quarters, most of the guys had already claimed most of the upper bunks. Rushing a little, Roddy slammed his own pack onto a top bunk before somebody else could, claiming it as his own. Nobody liked being on the bottom bunk. After leaving his pack there to mark his bunk, he moved out to continue and explore the ship.

Lenka Berisha stood with her ankle boots sagging in the mud and her head held high to stop oncoming tears from falling. She never expected to feel such a surge of emotion when the canvas fell off the Landship; she had worked previously on its various parts and co-operated with John Kosh, the designer, on its construction, but the unveiling itself made her realize that she witnessed the birth a technologic wonder. She was part of history now. She pulled a handkerchief out of her breast pocket and dabbed her eyes indiscreetly; she didn’t want her subordinates seeing her like this. She needed to exude a more masculine composure than her male colleagues – one crack in her façade and she’d have a hard time regaining the hard earned respect.

She was already dressed for work: her pressed khaki blouse and breeches looked too clean and meticulous to belong to a Head Engineer. She’d get them dirtied up as soon as she got to her post, even if she’d explicitly try not to. A few strands of hair pulled out of the confines of her tight bun in the soft breeze and they moved about her pale face. She didn’t look like her natural self. Her usually indifferent expression had a charged, excited glow about it. This is it, she thought. I’m alive.

Almost smiling, Lenka started walking towards the Colonel, a distant figure at the foot of the Landship, to report in for work.

The mass of personnel moved towards the beautiful vehicle in a slow file. As the hatches and elevators filled with people there was a murmur, a sort of electric current flowing through the ranks. They knew they were special to be here, to be a part of this great occasion. The Landship promised safety and protection. It was like a mother’s warm embrace – behind her steel walls there would be no dying in the trenches. There would be no starvation, no typhoid, rats or the smell of dead comrades. Just a few miles northward their brothers in arms died and suffocated in the mud and the red running blood – they knew this and they thanked God for blessing them in such degrading times. Lenka saw a boy waddle in front of her and cross himself four times, muttering Hailmary’s under his breath like a madman. They were all very lucky creatures today.

Lenka finally managed to get to the Colonel as she pushed through the moving line. The first impression she got of him was that he looked like a grade school teacher she had in the past. She never would have guessed that he was positioned so high in the military. The sun lightly glinted in the ovals of his glasses as he turned towards her. He gave her an incredulous look when she saluted with a brusque motion; her eyes were trained somewhere above his head, on a dot just above the peak of his dress cap. She then said in the most commanding voice she could muster:

“Lenka Berisha, head engineer of The Landship, reporting for duty sir!”

The day had started like any other should have, rising early, uniform, a quick breakfast and reporting for duty, and now here he stood, with several hundred other recruits, most of whom looked as if they'd just fallen from basic training, and none of whom seemed to have any idea of why they were here. In all honesty, neither did he, but for Lieutenant Alexander Hanskki, It had felt good simply to be back in the routine after so long away recuperating, so long in hospital learning to walk again after a rifle's bullet had found his thigh. The morning struggle with stiffness wasnt getting any better, and the truck ride over had been difficult, every bump, every pothole sending a jarring ache through his right leg, but Alex endured each with the same impassive stoicism. After all, it was too late to change anything about it now. The men around him had stopped trying to make conversation after the first few miles, and so for the entire two hour journey he'd sat in stony silence, staring out of the back of the truck at the stars of the night sky.

And here he was, standing in front of the hundred men who would be under his command, the artillery crew of whatever this so called 'Landship Project' happened to be. Whatever it was, it had to be kept in the building ahead of them. The building they'd seen fit to throw a tarpaulin over, hiding it completely. Alex had briefly wondered, between organising his men and glancing over at the thin, nebbish man standing in front of the shadowed lump the fabric made in the darkness, why you would bother to hide a building this far back from the main lines, but had quickly dismissed it as irrelevant. Any information he needed, his commanding officer would give him.

But first he had to find him. One Colonel Mathers, the man who, he'd been told, had seen this entire project through, start to finish. The sinking feeling in his stomach was growing every time he looked back over at the single man standing at the head of all this, and he almost groaned out loud when everyone was finally in formation and the man welcomed them all, his reedy voice barely carrying through the still air.

This was the man to lead them all? This tiny, pathetically skinny specimen? Good god, the man looked like an accountant, not a leader. A soldier sniggered behind Alex, and, in shock as he was, the Lieutenant did nothing in response. Mentally focusing, he tuned back in just in time to hear Mathers's voice rising to what he probably believed was a triumphant finish and signalling the railmen surrounding the tarp.

For a long moment, Alex was speechless. Whatever he'd been expecting, this certainly wasnt it. True, the name landship conjured up certain images, but any man knew that nothing on wheels could move across the mud of no mans land. There had been experiments aplenty, and every one ended the same, grinding itself into the dirt, gears spinning impotently. He'd personally suspected a more mobile artillery unit. Something smaller, perhaps mounted on rails, but not this. Never in a thousand years this.

The shape rising out of the darkness ahead was more massive than anything he'd every seen that could move. The size of his old town hall, with numberless cannons and machine guns protruding from it, dominated by a gigantic smokestack, the damn thing was a literal battleship built into the earth. The whole thing sat on four tracked wheel arrays, devices he'd never seen, and for one brief second Alex tried to imagine the monstrosity moving under its own power. One of the NCO's stepped up to his shoulder as he started laughing, first under his breath, then outright, insubordination be damned. After all, to hell with what anyone else thought. If any of the people assembled here thought this ridiculous contraption would end the war, let alone move out of this field, then they were all crazy. Every single one.

Wresting himself back under control, he turned to the sergeant, calm as anything, as if challenging the man to say something about the laughing spell. "Well?" He said, expectant. "What are you waiting for, Sergeant. Order the men to report to their stations."

As his soldiers started to march for the ship, Alexander turned, seeking one particular figure. Finding him, he marched up, beside the woman who had just snapped off a salute and was announcing herself. Ignoring how odd this was, and towering above them both, he saluted, stamping one heel into the dirt in time.

"Lieutenant Alexander Hanskki, Sir. Landship Artillery Officer."

“Good morning” said Mathers, rasping slightly as his throat burned from the recent strain of his speech, as two of his new officers present themselves. He brought his right hand up in the crisp, profession salute of a soldier who has spent years in headquarters, constantly running general officers and high ranking field officers. Dropping the salute, he clasped his hands behind his back once again and first studied the engineer and then the artilleryman.

The Colonel had seen Lenka several times in the past, while he had been over seeing the construction of the warmachine but he had never talked with her. Then again, he hadn’t talked with many of the people involved with the building of the Landship. Her files heaped praise on her natural talents with any kind of machine she laid hands one. Hopefully she would be up to the task of keeping them rolling forwards, with barely tested equipment.

The weak blue eyes behind the round spectacles shifted over to the massive brute of a man, who was to command the guns. He had heard of Alexander Hanskki before and the propaganda posters that the Moral Ministry had been pumping out recently featured him, a rare honor for artilleryman. The painter who had been commissioned for the work had done a great job but had failed to capture the power of the Lieutenant’s disturbing eyes. His laughing when the Landship was unveiled had been hurtful.

“It will be an honor to command people of your skill” continued Mathers, nodding slightly to the officers before him, as he checked on the progressing of loading the Landship with personal with a sidelong glance, “And reputation. We stand at a turning point in war. No, in the history of the world. If we succeed in the up coming offensive, then we can bring the Laudik Empire to it’s knees.”

“Engineer Lenka” he continued, as a rumbling from within the ironmongery announced the ten petrol engines coming to life, “Please get the pressure in the steam engines up operating levels. We don’t have much time before the artillery barrage, that’s covering our advance, will start. Lieutenant Hanskki, you may want to get to know the naval systems for the main battery, before we get within range.”

Lenka centered her gaze at the left lapel of Colonel Mathers as he issued his orders. A tiny piece of down fluttered softy on the ridge of the material and she thought of the gears of a carburetor moving furiously against its joints. She pressed her nails into her palms, eager to get to work. The Colonel had hardly finished his sentence when Lenka locked her elbow for another sharp salute.

She curtly nodded and with a loud SIR-YES-SIR turned on her heel and started off towards the Landship.

Lenka had completely disregarded the Lieutenant standing to her right as if he never existed; the action seemed very rude, but it was completely unintentional. She seemed to overlook other human beings as if they were sheets of glass and nothing more, unless she had to directly communicate with them. She had heard of the Lieutenant, but it struck a vague chord in her brain – her attention span towards military events often went unheeded. From her peripheral vision she saw that he was a man of power, very commanding and stoic. A small mental note manifested automatically somewhere in her neurons - crossing the Lieutenant would not be wise in the near future.

In an awkward trot she bounded almost a quarter of the field and, panting, came to one of the entrances. Her blouse had popped open at the top and a fine sheet of sweat was working up on her body; she was almost frantic as she maneuvered through the men and women and into the mouth of the steel beast. Most of the soldiers gave her curious looks as she pushed them to get by, but Lenka blindly paid no attention to her surroundings. The entrance corridor was wide and well light by electrical tubes lined on the gray walls, another wonder of technology that made man’s life easier. Steel graters clanged as the soldiers walked and ran upon them and a crisp metallic smell floated in the air, filling every nook and cranny. The personnel dispersed into two branches – most of them headed right, towards the sleeping quarters. Lenka went the other way, following the copper guide plaques bolted to the wall.

Walking towards the engine room she miraculously recognized one of her subordinates, a sleek blond man wearing army overalls. She could not remember his name, but the very sight of him dawdling upset her stomach. The other two, a young butchy woman and a tall bespectacled boy, also seemed to be from her department. What a waste, she thought - she had handpicked fifty able engineers in assurance that they would work.

“You!” She pointed with a pale hand at the man standing between the others and marched up to them, fuming with indignation. Her voice was soft, but it bubbled with a menacing poisonous edge as she spoke.
“What are you doing wasting about? Go to your goddamn station like every other soldier in here! I need the engines working by eleven hundred hours or I’ll personally make sure that you, all of you, never attain a job position ever again. No excuses!”

The whole group quickly sprinted down the hall in a blink of an eye, murmuring half-witted apologies and excuses. Lenka stood for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose, hot air gushing from her nostrils. While she was in charge nothing would go wrong.

She would personally vouch for that.

The crunch of gravel under the tires brought Gregor out of his doze. He straightened his officer's cap and lapel. There was an organized chaos to the crowded mass of bodies, but it would take time to sort it. With an almost imperceptible sigh he pulled out a small tin and a pipe. He began to pack the bowl lightly with better than ration quality tobacco. "Do you have a light, Driver?"

"Of course, Lieutenant Kanzig." The man passed a piece of lit tender from the the front of the vehicle with one hand and shielding the ember with his other. "You must be excited, Sir. It is not every day one sees a technological marvel."

"My excitement," Gregor paused and let a cloud of smoke exit his lungs, "can hardly be contained. I must bid you farewell."

Gregor opened the door and stepped smartly out of the vehicle. He carried in one hand a folder with his transfer orders, in the other a briefcase holding his few belongings; a change of uniform and some personal items. He found Mathers easily enough, he sent a ripple of salutes around himself. With a deep breath Gregor steeled himself and headed for his new commanding officer.

"Lt. Kanzig, Communications." Gregor put all the formality he could muster behind his salute.

Engineer Lenka? Well, that was a curiosity. Seems the good Colonel Mathers truly was full of surprises, if he trusted a woman to look after the engines of this beast. Alexander wouldnt have trusted most women even with one of these new fangled electric flat-irons the boutiques were hawking, the device supposedly putting an end to a tiresome chore forever, and that was a tool designed expressly for a woman's use. The urge to laugh rose in his chest again, but faced with the earnestness of his commanding officer and the slightly strange woman to his left, Alex fought it back down.

Mathers instructions were clear, concise, exactly what Alex wanted. Nothing worse than working under a man who managed every last detail. Better to be given an objective and left to achieve it with your own ends. That way, the officers who had genuine talent found their success naturally, and the others, well, didnt.

Throwing out another salute, he slipped in line with the tailing end of the Landship's crew, happy to stroll along without haste, examining every aspect of the iron beast as he got closer. Steel grey eyes worked over the hull, paying closest attention to the turrets lining the superstructure. The main gun were absolutely massive, at least forty foot long and dominating the skyline, four in twin turrets, with a host of smaller cannonry at what seemed like every free point of hull space. It was obvious now why this thing was a landship. Only a battleship could mount weapons of such calibre, and it had to have been from such yards that built the same that these weapons were constructed. Idly, Alexander wondered what effect the firing of a full broadside would have on any men unlucky enough to be out of cover near the behemoth when it fired, let alone the effect it would have on the enemy. Pushing that thought to a corner of his mind for later, plenty of time to consider that when the guns were active, Alex ducked through a doorway and into the ship proper.

He'd never been on a real ship. Never even seen the ocean, but stepping through that low portal and into the metal corrider full of people scurrying in every direction, Alexander had a sudden urge to turn around and walk out again. Featureless grey, lit by new fangled electric lamps that cast a fake sheen over everything and made the eye ache to look at for too long, cramped and uncomfortable, with people unable to move easily past each other in corridors built at the minimum possible width, the whole thing made him yearn to be back in the clean and open air.

He swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and took a deep breath. "Too late to turn around now, Alex," he thought. "You signed up for this, and better this machine than a desk somewhere."

Stepping aside so others could pass, his eyes fell on the words paint printed on the walls of the craft itself, over a series of arrows pointing right.

Engineering bays 3, 4. Magazine no. 2. Comms station.

Resolute once again, he set off, pushing through crowds of milling marines sharing cigarettes. It was only a minute later that he was rounding the last few stairs into the comms room, eyes widening at the vista stretched out ahead of him. From the armoured compartment, the trench lines stretchied completely to the horizon, the first rays of dawn illuminating the fog that swirled across the mud lending the whole scene an ethereal, otherworldy feel. Up here, so far away from the bustle of the rest of the ship, you could almost forget there was a war on.

Tearing himself away, he stepped over to the tables bolted to the floor in the centre of the room, giving the maps pinned to them the briefest of glances, looking through one of the several pairs of binoculars that hung from hooks around the tables, then plucking one of the speaking tubes, labelled 12' #1, from its holding station and bringing it to his mouth.

Tentatively, feeling slightly silly, he whispered a hello into it and almost dropped the thing in shock when the trumpet end squawked back at him in a hiss of static. Thankful there was no one else in the room, Alexander summoned up every ounce of authority he could muster when as he replied.

"This is Lieutenant Hanskki. This was an initial test of the speaking tubes. Carry on, soldier."

Replacing the trumpet, he took another deep breath, this one coming easy. God it felt good to be back in control.