Lost Hope

[Exitium]

Introduction

In the year of 2078, the Earth is overly populated with people, critters, and machines. Due to the disorder of thousands of nations, the world is at war for the fourth time. Screams, gun-fires, explosions, footsteps; all could be heard. Hundreds of nations are in peril, with millions of lives lost. Some say that there is no hope for humanity, but this particular man disagrees. In a small nation called Esperado, Berhl is hoping to make all the changes necessary in order to restore peace. Esperado is a puny nation that populates over a million people, if not, a billion. At least three fourths of the nation lies in ruins, with at least 80% of the population taking refuge at the capital city of Esir. Streets are filled with people, whether they're dead or not. Local stores have been emptied out for governmental purposes. Thousands of ships are seen across the sky, creating a dark-thick shade that covers the entire city. It was not a pleasant sight.

(Feel free to join in, for this is an open RP.)
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(Visit for OOC discussions, as well as rules concerning this particular RP)

[Exitium]

Black Skies

It was early morning of June 5th, 2078. Berhl had just woken up from a good night's rest. With his rifle by his side, he felt safe as ever; except for the fact that he was a lone soldier of Esperado. With his glasses, he had slowly risen up from the ground, looking around to see if there was anyone in need of his services. Unlike his fellow comrades, he would show mercy to those who were physically crippled. His rifle was made out of genuine steel, along with a golden plate right underneath the barrel. It was plain white, with no designs whatsoever. Berhl took great pride in his work, though he would refuse to fight in the war. He wore a simple white coat that covered his whole body, along with a brown hat that didn't match with the rest of his clothing. Through one's eyes, he was a simple man of virtue. Suddenly, a lady sitting on the sidewalk had caught Berhl's attention. He took large steps, approaching the lady that seemed to be in physical disorder. With his rifle pointing towards to the lady, Berhl leaned forward, briefly scanning her body.

"Loretta." the lady blurted out, while facing towards the sky.

"Hmm?" replied Berhl, as he calmly placed his rifle on the ground.

"My name is Loretta."

"Loretta? Well, I'm here to check up on you... is there anything wrong?" Berhl was confused at this point, seeing that Loretta was blind.

"Look." Loretta points to the sky, smiling as if something good was about to take place.

Moments later, showers of bombardment rained upon the city, forcing everyone, including Loretta and Berhl into safety. Without thinking, Berhl ran for cover, as explosions continued to roar throughout the city. Just as he was about to go back to save Loretta, a building collapsed, and its rubbles rained down upon Loretta as she hopelessly stared into the sky, pointing and laughing as if she wanted this to happen. Berhl fell to his knees at the sight of her death, tears dropping from his eyes. He took full responsibility of Loretta's death.

[von_lipwig]

Rethel cried out wordlessly as he jumped and ran and scrabbled through the explosions of the bombardement. His world was fire and sound, pain and confusion. The noise of the bombs crashing too close for his comfort made his ears ring and he screamed, screamed without hearing himself.

He dived beneath a staircase that still stoof amid the rubble and clutched to him the battered rifle he had gotten no more than 2 months ago. He was 17, and fighting for his fatherland. Or so he had been told. What he hadn't been told, however, was that they would be led into meatgrinder, a battlefield that had seen so many trenches, foxholes, bombardements as well by artillery as by aircraft, that it was actually just one big crater with ruins pocking the surface. The improvised militia had been sent there with almost no training at all, old and neglected weapons, a severe lack of ammunition and coordination and with a desperation that told more about the state of the war than any newspaper still in production ever did.

And the bombardement went on. Rethel had his eyes shut and was still crying, crying about his friends with whom he had so enthusiastically signed up and crying about the people he had lost and crying because he was sure he was going to die.

It took a moment for him to realize through the buzz in his ears that the bombardement had stopped. He opened his eyes slightly and took in his surroundings. He lay among the ruins of what had been a flat but was no more than a heap of rubble now. The only part of the collapsed building still standing was the staircase he'd found cover under. further away, burned out houses and heaps of rubble stretched away into the smoke and drifting dust, treestumps lone guardians in the barren landscape. Although his legs shook and he felt weak as if he hadn't eaten for days which, indeed, he hadn't, he tried to stand. Leaning on the staircase, he eventually managed to do so. His clothing was covered with dust and soot. Once it had been a uniform, but not much of one. A tattered jacket, trousers with frayed cuffs and a battered rifle that had obviously known better days in its past, probably more than fifty years ago.

Rethel saw no one of his outfit. No friends or companions. He had lost them when the bombardement started and not seen since. He wondered if they'd lived. Surely one or two of them would have found cover? Maybe Martin yet lived, he'd lived through as much as four bombardements. He'd told so just the other day. Rethel ruffled his own hair and it stood up in peaks, dust still streaking the brown locks.

He clutched his rifle firmly to him again and unsteadily, Rethel started to walk. Any direction would do. It wasn't as if there was any difference to where he might end up anyway.

[Exitium]

Berhl stood up, with his tears still dripping from beneath his cracked glasses. He was mindlessly staring at the collapsed building until a battle tank approached him. It was painted in green and black, with 3 main laser batteries at the top. It was a flat machine, rather than a tank. Only 5 people could fit in all at once, but as the machine approached him, Berhl fell to his knees. He was losing consciousness. The dust that freely roamed the skies after the bombardment had entered into his body. Nonetheless, he was in danger. Danger of dying.

"Hey, you!"

"Hey! You alright?"

"Hey!"

Just before his eyes fully closed, he saw a pair of green boots that was right in front of him as he was laying hopelessly, waiting to fall into unconsciousness. It was a sight that he would never forget.

"So... who is this fellow? He looks familiar to me..."

"Sir, I've picked him up from the city of Esir. Apparently, he consumed some bad air."

Berhl's eyes opened. He looked around for a bit, trying as hard as possible not to move a muscle. He had noticed 2 men standing besides him. At first he couldn't understand what they were saying to each other, but as his consciousness slowly came back, he could understand every word that they were saying. He slowly got up, focusing attention on a man with a thick-black uniform, along with a golden medal attached to the right part of his chest. It seemed as if this particular man was of higher rank in the military.

"Excuse me, sirs... but where am I?"

"Hmm? So you're awake now?"

Berhl nods in a hurry. He was intimidated at the fact that he was in a room with red lights. He didn't feel comfortable at all.

"So he's awake. Take care of him for a bit, Pilot Verunol. As for your tank, we'll be using it for tactical purposes."

"Yes, sir!"

Verunol stood firmly and saluted as the Lieutenant-Commander left the room in disgust. He then focused his attention on Berhl, who was left confused at the current situation that he was in.

"Berhl. You're currently in an airship called The Fortress. We had to evacuate any military personnel, because well... we needed more man-power up here. Though at first, I didn't think that you were a soldier, but your ID proved otherwise. Anyways, welcome aboard, Private Krussen."

"No... not this again... I don't want to fight. I want to live!"

"In order to live, you must fight. Now get into your uniform and report to me at the cafeteria. I've heard that you had some experience in piloting one of the tanks, mm? Well, we'll just see how good you are, Private Krussen."

Without saying another word, Verunol left the room. Berhl was shocked. Shocked at the fact that he has been forced to fight, once more. He had no choice... fight and live, or die wastefully. Within 5 minutes, Berhl became a new man. With new clothing, he quickly marched out of the room and headed straight for the cafeteria. Since it was his first time on aboard The Fortress, he had to ask for directions.

"Excuse me, do you know where the cafeteria is?"

"A newcomer? Well, well. The cafeteria is where the food is at. So find out for yourself, private!"

Berhl ran back and forth, struggling to find this particular section of the ship. About an hour later, he had finally stumbled upon an unknown area filled with steel equipments that produced steam. It was the cafeteria. About 50 steel tables lined up in rows of 5, somewhat beautifully designed with artificial flowers and decors. Though the smell of the food was horrid, he could see some people forcefully shoving the food down into their throats. It was not a very pleasant sight. At the other end of the cafeteria, he could see Pilot Verunol, leaning against the wall, almost drooling. It seemed as if he got tired of waiting for Berhl, so he accidentally fell into sleep. Berhl slowly approached him, calling out:

"Sir, sir!"

Even a small scream wouldn't wake Verunol up. Berhl had no choice but to physically pat him on the shoulder.

"Wha- what is it, private?"

Verunol blurted out, with his body struggling to balance at his awakening.

"Reporting for duty, sir!"

Berhl stood firm, saluting as Verunol made his way down to the kitchen.

"Si- sir?"

Berhl called out, as confusion began to overtake his mind.

[von_lipwig]

Rethel had lost all concept of time. He might have been walking for an hour, or five hours. There were no landmarks to remind him where he was exactly; only the ruins of a once great city surrounded him. More often than not he had to make his way through a building that was near collapse, or he had to climb over steep piles of rubble. He had no sense of direction left and turned randomly at corners, not caring where he would end up.

It was a while before he realized that he was walking through the ranks of his outfit. He had been looking at it without seeing it. he stood still, and forced himself to accept it. All around him, the bodies of his comrades littered the ground. Some were covered by rubble, but still hands groped upwards, the gaze of an empty eye would look, unseeing, at the sky. Some of the bodies were horribly mutilated by the bombardement. Rethel looked at the scene blankly, his weariness too great to feel any actual sorrow, yet tears streaked his dust-covered face. In one torn-apart body he recognized Martin. Martin, who had survived four bombardements, had died in his fifth. No more than three months after his signing up.

"Rethel?"

Rethel turned slowly, his rifle forgotten at his side. Another shadow tore itself from shadows of a dented and scorched lorry. Rethel couldn't make out the voice nor the man's features.

"It is you, isn't it? Damn, we thought you were dead. We couldn't find your body."

The figure stepped into the light and now Rethel recognized him as Gramps, the oldest of the recruits. He was 23 years old and had already been in military service for 5 years. A smile lit Gramps' face and he proceeded down at Rethel and clasped his hand on his shoulder.

"Congratulations on surviving your first bombardement, boy!" he said, laughing. "Unfortunately, there's not many as could say the same. This one didn't brush us, it was spot on. I'm surprised you got back to us, you know that the enemy's land forces have advanced through the city right after the bombardement? We just were too scattered to stop them. We've got them pinned down now, though. We're waiting for artillery supprt and then we'll strike back." He turned and started towards the lorry. "You'll get your shot at revenge, boy! Tomorrow, we're gonna throw a little party at their place."

Rethel could do nothing but follow Gramps mutely. Then he asked, "Gramps? Why are we fighting?"

Gramps halted for a moment, then walked on. "Because they're fighting US, boy. I'm sure there was a bigger reason years ago, but eventually it boils down to that. And they fight us because we fight them."

"Then... will it ever stop?" Rethel's voice trembled. So many dead, so many faces he knew he wouldn't ever see again, no voices he would hear raised in laughter or in argument.

"Not in our livetimes it won't," Gramps said lightly and entered the outfit's current hiding place. Rethel followed him, anticipating with dread the days, months, years to come. IF he would live to see them.

[Exitium]

Berhl slowly made his way down to the kitchen, where Verunol had grabbed an old-dusty fuel tank from one of the large sinks. At first, Berhl thought that this was some kind of a joke and smiled, but it wasn't. Verunol gave him a cold stare, while approaching him in disgust.

"This here will be used on your machine," Verunol paused for a bit, taking a moment to place the fuel tank on the ground. "Before you ask any questions, your machine is your tank. You will cherish it, clean it, and fight with it. Think of it as your own heart and soul. If you lose it, then you lose your life." Verunol paused once more, inhaling and exhaling as he was ready to go on. "Now, pick up this fuel tank and carry it down to the factory. Only you will be able to find your machine. Any questions?"

"Umm... I had some experiences piloting a tank, but how am I suppose to know which one is rightfully mine? I believe my tank was destroyed years ago..." Berhl asked, while leaning down to pick up the fuel tank.

"Your heart, Private Krussen. Trust in your heart, only then... you will be ready to fight." Verunol replied. He then made his way out the door, seeming as if he had already dismissed Private Krussen.

"Damn it," Berhl whispered to himself, wondering why he was caught in this situation. With the fuel tank, he also made his way out the door, trying to find out where this 'factory' was. After hours of searching, he was left with no clue.

"Umm... excuse me? Are you Private Krussen?" someone had called out. Berhl looked around, with the fuel tank mounted on his right shoulder, in order to find this particular person that had called out to him. "Private Krussen?"

"Where are you?" Berhl replied in a confused state. Soon, there was a shadowy figure approaching him from a dark hallway which was right in front of him. "Who are you?" Berhl asked, while slowly approaching the figure with caution.

"Greetings, I am Pilot Torren. I'll be your trainer."

"Pilot Torren? Trainer? What for?" Berhl had asked, placing the fuel tank on the ground. He then saw Pilot Torren clearly, with clean, green uniform along with a bronze medal that had symbolized his experiences in piloting a machine. His eyes were blue, along with blonde hair. He did not look like a native, but he sure looked flawless. There was one thing that separated him from all the others; the hat and the goggles. The green hat with black stripes going vertically represented that he was an engineer, while the goggles hanging down from his neck represented that he was a trained pilot.

"I was ordered to do this, for you are an untrained pilot... despite all the experiences that you've had." Pilot Torren replied, with a smile on his face. Unlike all the other soldiers on aboard The Fortress, he was one of the nicest. "Come, I'll show you where the factory is."

With that, Berhl quickly picked up the fuel tank, and followed Pilot Torren to the factory that was on the bottom section of The Fortress. He was still amazed at how big this ship was. Despite all the hours of exploring the ship, there were still many places that were left undiscovered.

"How big is this ship?" Berhl asked, while following Pilot Torren in a calmly manner.

"I'm afraid even I don't know the answer to that question." Pilot Torren replied with a giant laughter.

Not knowing what to do, Berhl laughed along with him, only to be stopped by a giant blockade that was placed right in front of them. There was a small glass opening in the middle of this blockade, showing the factory section of the ship. It was large... it was as if there was a hidden city beyond this blockade. In hesitation, Pilot Torren had inserted an unknown card through a small crack in the wall.

"ID number: 506201924. Pilot Nikolo Torren."

With that, the obstacle moved aside, seemingly as if it was disappearing through the walls. Berhl was left in pure amazement. As Pilot Torren continued into the factory, Berhl hesitantly followed, bewildered by the sights that he was seeing through his eyes. Thousands of tanks placed in rows, about 15 giant buildings that produced black smoke, engineers, technicians, soldiers, and pilots moving all about. This was the factory.

"Here we are, Private Krussen. Welcome to the factory. Tell me when you're ready to find your machine." Pilot Torren had said, with himself overwhelmed with astonishment.

Berhl was confused, yet again, because all the tanks looked alike. There were some odd-looking ones, but other than that, he thought that it would be impossible to find the right tank.

[von_lipwig]

Rethel did not know how he had managed, but he had slept, dreamlessly. He had expected to dream of his fallen comrades, to dream of the noises and lights and explosions and rubble ricochetting through the streets. Last night, Gramps had led him to their encampment. Rethel recognized it for what it was: a hideout, for the last of the remaining boys that had answered the enlistment call two months ago. Hiding from the bombardements and the soldiers and the terrors of the war that was now getting much too close for their comfort.

And tomorrow, they'd have to fight again. Tomorrow, yet more of them would die. And they all knew it, and were wondering if it would be them littering the streets by nightfall. If their bodies would be horribly mutilated by the bombardements, or torn apart by bullets or lasers, crushed by tanks.

Rethel opened his eyes to see daylight creeping through the ruins. All around him, boys his age were stirring, and some were already sleepily donning their ragged uniforms. Rethel himself tossed aside his blanket and put on his green-grey jacket. He hastily washed his face and was trying to get yesterday's dust out of his hair when Gramps entered their encampment and called them all together.

"Boys, Leftenant got orders from the big boys up there," here he gestured vaguely upwards, "this morning. Says we're to make a big push to kick that scum out of our capital again. This is not an ordinary expeditional scrim, boys, it's the genuine article. It's going to be an all-out assault. All of us are joining in. They say Air Command are sending one or two ships to give us some support against their bombers, and two units of tanks will cover our flanks. Boys, we're spearheading the attack. Dress smartly, get yourself some breakfast and say your prayers, we're going to beat those bastards back to where they came from!" And here Gramps grinned grimly. Rethel suspected that Gramps wasn't as sure of victory as he seemed. Rethel himself wasn't sure of a victory at all. "We move out in three hours and fifteen minutes." And here Gramps turned and left. It was only now that Rethel saw the new sergeant stripes he wore. So sergeant Mankle had perished as well in yesterday's bombing.

From that moment, a new tension permeated the encampment. Many were irritable, quick to be annoyed, while other sat listlessly staring at the wall or at their feet. Some were playing a card game, forcing themselves to be cheerful. Rethel himself just busied himself with small tasks, such as shaving the few hairs he had, cleaning his rifle, sewing some tears in his jacket, washing his face and hair again... all the small tasks that made the waiting halfway bearable. It seemed years later when Gramps entered the encampment again. "That's it boys, we're moving out. Make sure of your gear, say your prayers... and say goodbye to one another while you still can."

And so they moved out, leaving the encampment behind as an empty shell. It had witnessed a night of their lives, and perhaps the last night of some. Rethel found himself wishing that buildings, and ruins, had memories. That way, the ruin that had sheltered them for the night might have remembered them as they were that night. The ruin might then have been the sole being that remembered the boys from 714th regiment, the boy's regiment.

[Exitium]

A loud, screeching alarm began to go off as soldiers from different parts of the ship began crowding the halls. Pushing, shoving, fighting, it was all out of control. The alarm continued on for 20 more minutes. The factory was now being crowded by thousands of soldiers, who have dedicated their lives to freedom. Some were crying as they moved about, some were smiling and laughing, and some were angry at the fact that they had to suffer the heat of battle, once more. Then just a few seconds later, Berhl was asked to be evacuated from the site. Tanks were rushing through, hopping aboard various transport ships that were being piloted by robots. Berhl was staring blindly into space, wondering what would happen after he had picked his tank. Would he immediately be sent into battle? Many questions and thoughts surrounded Berhl's mind, but at that time, he had a feeling that he could not explain. For once, he wanted to fight. Not for himself, but for peace. He had finally realized that in order to restore peace, there must be wars. Berhl was now ready to die.

"I must find it," Berhl slowly whispered to himself, looking about to spot a tank that was unoccupied. He ran back to the factory, risking the chances of being run over, to find his tank. He ran as fast as ever, trying desperately to find an unmanned tank. He stopped for a bit, looking around to spot any tank that seemed to be immobile. Then there it was, sitting quietly in a dark corner, waiting for an owner to come by. It was an unmanned tank, painted with black and green, it was unlike all the others. It looked much larger, as well as much different. Instead of having 3 main laser batteries, it had 5. It almost seemed to be too large for just one man to operate it.

"I'll help you," Verunol had said, appearing out of nowhere. He approached Berhl in a calmly manner, but at the same time, he was giving off a strange smile. "I'll help you man that tank. Obviously, you're untrained... I'll stand by you and support you, Private- I mean, Pilot Krussen."

"But... it's been so long since I've operated a tank. Wouldn't I need to be refreshed before I begin operating that tank?" Berhl asked, while giving out a fake smile that almost symbolized that he was not ready.

"Like I've said before, I will stand by you and teach you... in the midst of battle. Her name is Kruss. Be gentle with her, for she has been inactive for over a decade. The only reason why they haven't destroyed this one is... well, it's unknown." Verunol had replied, while taking out a genuine, hand-wrapped cigar to smoke. It was his last one until tomorrow morning. "Well, I guess this'll have to do."

Without hesitation, Berhl hopped aboard the tank, ready for anything. He was fascinated at the fact that the tank looked unlike all the others, but at the same time, it felt as if this particular tank could change the world. Verunol followed along, with his cigar in his mouth. He walked towards the tank, staring it up and down. He threw his cigar on the ground, though it was half-smoked. He gave it a few small stomps before continuing. After boarding the tank, he gave a few sighs of satisfaction, while taking over the secondary controls.

"Let us find the nearest transport plane that'll take us to ground." Verunol had said, after nodding to signify that he was ready to take off.

"Alright, here we go!" Berhl replied in haste, starting up the main engine. They had taken off, to find a nearest transport plane that they could depend on. After all, their lives were at stake- even in midair. Minutes later, they approached a transport plane that seemed to be empty. It was ready to take off at any time, so the crew had no choice but to hop on aboard and brace for impact. It was the greatest feeling ever, flying in midair while inside a tank. It was all heaven until they had reached the ground. It was... hell.

[von_lipwig]

Screaming.


Rethel crept silently with the rest of his outfit. They were spread out and keeping low, ducking behind and between piles of rubble as much as possible. Far above them, a great airship filled the sky, casting a giant shadow on the ruined city below. Transport vessels, small as flies against the mighty bulk of the airship, descended out of the sky to drop off their cargo; the tanks and mobile artillery that would be taking the flanks. By now, the enemy would be organizing their defence.

They advanced quickly through the deserted streets, keeping to the sides of the road and as much in the ruins as possible to avoid being zeroed by enemy artillery and for rudimentary cover against bombing raids to slow the assault. All had gone quiet now, save for the sound of the transport vessels, and the soft ringing of alarm bells high up from the airship. Silently, the regiment positioned itself in a rough line on the edge of the old factory district. The enemy had taken this part of the city yesterday, and now, if they were to believe High Command, they'd take it back and turn the tide of the war.


Screeching.


Gramps sat on one knee, grimly looking at his watch and then cocking his own rifle, gesturing for all the other boys to do the same. The order swiftly spread through the ragged line and soon all faces were set in a grim expression, some cheeks streaked with tears, others flushed red with anger. Rethel himself stared mindlessly at the end of the plaza. There, at the other side, were the enemy. From the presence of the airship, they'd know a counterattack was coming. They'd be prepared. Rethel startled as above them a low grumbling noise filled the sky, and all looked upwards at the bombing vessels launched from the airship that would bombard the factory district before the assault.

The noise was all there was first, and then there was the fire, the explosions, the cascading buildings and screams of dying people. But also the rhytmic pounding of anti-air guns, and bombing vessels suddenly sprouting a tail of smoke and diving noselong into the ground. The explosions were still raging as Gramps shouted the order to advance. Rethel just couldn't move. He stared wide-eyed at the scene displayed before him, only seeing the explosions he had survived yesterday, only hearing the noise and feeling the fear rushing through him again. He didn't want to be here. "Rethel, advance, NOW!" Gramps shoved him forcefully ou=t of his hiding and then pulled him up as Rethel's legs collapsed beneath him. "You WILL advance, soldier!" And so Rethel did.


Fire.


At first, there was only silence. They had advanced halfway down the street when the enemy opened fire. All around him, boys not even reached their twentieth birthday, fell to the stream of death that was unleashed on them. Gramps kept shouting encouragement and orders, but Rethel was not sure anyone else heard them. Rethel himself ran forwards, screaming defiance at the enemies that so effortlessly poured bullets and lasers into the advancing regiment, that killed so many without as much as a second thought. Around him, artillery and mortar shells started hitting the ground. Still they were advancing, running to the cover of ruins on the other side of the plaza, to eventually engage the enemy in combat. Screeching rockets pierced the sky and struck on no more than ten meters from Rethel, and the force of the blast made him fall down. They boy walking behind him fel down as well, pierced by shrapnel.

Gramps, as should be said, was a good sergeant, shouting encouragement at the top of his lungs until a stray bullet buried itself in his shoulder, and even then he advanced, leading 'his boys' into the fray. Rethel ran blindly after him as did many others at that point. Of the boys' regiment, nearly half had perished and all they had done was cross the plaza. In front of them, explosions had set the city alight, fire reaching up at the sky. They had reached the other side now, the plaza behind them littered with the bodies of their fallen comrades. Rethel wept inside but could not muster the tears anymore to do so.

"Gramps?" one of the boys asked, "Where are the tanks? They'd come and save us, wouldn't they?"

Gramps could not answer.

[Exitium]

"Damn it, we're running out of time!" Verunol had shouted out, looking at the timer that was placed right on the control panel. "5 more minutes..."

"Activating main laser batteries 1, 2, and 3. Ready for standby." Berhl had said, while calmly steering the controls. "We'll be there shortly."

Soon after, armies of tanks approached the ruined city. It was as if it wasn't a city anymore, but rather a graveyard. Grey dust filled the air as the tanks made their way into the city, breaking up into squads of 4.

"Alright, we're flanking from the side. Coordinates: 7444168.51'N, 5334692.22'W." Verunol seemed calm at first, but as explosions went off at a nearby site, he was literally shaking. Was he a real soldier? "Ac- activating side cannons, over..."

"Roger. Target in range, ready to fire?" Berhl replied in haste, shocked at the fact that his comrade was shaking in the midst of a battle. "Pilot Verunol? Verunol?"

"Ye- yeah, firing on your command. The target is in our range of 1,108 meters, and our chances of missing are 5%." Verunol was still shaking... shaking more than ever. This was the worst time to let the fears get best of someone.

"Damn it, I'm not used to this... fire with full power!" Berhl screamed, giving the command to fire at will. "Show no mercy...!"

At this time, Berhl felt like crying. After all these years of being a pacifist, he was now fighting... he wanted blood to spill, he wanted retribution, he wanted everything that was unjust in one's morals. He felt like spinning out of control.

"F- firing at full power!" Verunol shouted, finally overcoming his fears at last. He had drawn a red card from his pocket, inserting it into some kind of an opening in the control panel. He then pushed a red button to confirm the action. By now, the tank was shaking, ready to explode with aggression at any time. "Shit, main laser batteries 2 and 3 are not working! Activating laser batteries 4 and 5!"

The tank unleashed a loud, thunderous sound as the cannon shells bursted into the black skies. A few seconds later, they would explode directly on their target, creating a huge smoke pillar that seemed to rise all the way to the heavens and beyond.

"We got a direct hit!" Verunol shouted, his face overwhelmed with joy.

"Woo-hoo!" Berhl replied, jumping up and down as if the battle was won already. "Nice job, Pilot Verunol! Let's keep it up!"

About a few miles away, another brigade of tanks unleashed their fury upon their enemy targets. They literally ripped the streets apart with their constant bombardment. Then there it was. Just over the horizon, a fleet of aircraft fighters could be seen screeching their way over unto the soldiers that were hopelessly watching inside their tanks.

"Berhl! Fighters at 11 o' clock!" Verunol shouted, with his hands scrambling over to the control panel.

"What the hell?! Damn it, how could they respond so fast?!" Berhl replied, his hands also scrambling over unto the control panel.

The fighters unleashed their missiles upon their targets, causing hundreds, if not, thousands of explosions all at once. They showed no mercy. After the missiles have landed, all bombardments coming from the tanks have stopped. It was dead silent.

[von_lipwig]

Rethel coughed. Dust had found its way everywhere. He heard shouts in the distance. Or close up. His ears rang with the noise still, and he couldn't make out shapes in the dust. Disorientated, he tried to stand up but his legs gave and he fell down again, scrabbling for some purchase on the rough stones, cutting his hands on the sharp edges of a steel plate. He winced.

"Gramps?" His voice came out as a croak, and he tried again. "Gramps?" he called out in a somewhat clearer voice. There was no answer. Around him, the shouts had turned to wails, screams. Rethel tried to stand up again. To no avail. Again, he couldn't make his legs work for him and he fell down, badly hurting his lower back while he did so. As the dust settled, Rethel could make out more of his surroundings. The factory district seemed as badly hit as they had been. Had not they cared about the lives of their own soldiers in the attempt to block their assault? All around Rethel, bodies lay, some still moving, or trying to. Close by, Gramps lay with a dazed look in his eyes. His bulletwound was still bleeding. Nevertheless, Gramps seemed to be regaining consciousness.

"Rethel?" Rethel opened his eyes again. He couldn't even remember closing them. Gramps was crouched beside him. "Easy now boy, we're getting you out of here."

Why?

"..."

"What was that boy?"

"...why?"

Gramps looked at someone else, just out of Rethel's field of vision. "I don't thihnk he knows yet."

Rethel felt quasy and weak, and couldn't muster the strength to ask what, then, he did not yet know. He closed his eyes again, as it felt like the easiest thing to do right now. In the background, he still heard the sound of fighting, occasional explosions but nowhere near as intense as it had just been.

[Exitium]

"Jump out! Jump out!" Verunol screamed, while scrambling over unto the exit. "Dammit, the door is jammed!"

"Just blast it!" Berhl replied, with his rifle pointed towards the steel door.

"Our rifles are too weak!" Verunol yelled, struggling to unjam the door.

"We have to do something! We can't just stay here!" Berhl yelled back, pounding on the door with his rifle.

Minutes later, another explosion shook the tank, causing a small fire within the main controls. The tank was about to burst in flames at any minute. Soon, another explosion occurred just outside the tank, blasting open the steel door.

"This is our chance! Go, go, go!" Verunol shouted, hopping out of the tank with his rifle strapped onto his back.

"We have to get to the city!" Berhl replied, crawling outside just before the tank was about to explode.

Now, they were running for their lives. Running to save others, running to save themselves, and running to save humanity. Just before they could reach the city, they were confronted by a barrage of gunfire from above, almost killing both of them in an instant. But, they were lucky enough to suffer minor injuries from the bullets.

"It has changed," Berhl had said, while taking the first steps into the city. In his eyes, almost half of the city have been plunged into the Earth, while the rest were in ruins. "We must find our comrades, I'm sure they're nearby."

They walked. As they looked around, it seemed as if they were all alone in the middle of a graveyard. It was cold, dark, and silent as they made their way to a nearby site where they could stop for a rest. Right now, Berhl felt as if all hope for humanity were lost.

"Berhl, look!" Verunol yelled out loud, while pointing to a ruined building that once seemed like a factory. "That's where the recent battle took place... there must be survivors!"

Berhl shook his head in disgust, while looking back to see if any of his comrades survived from the recent bombardment that took place just outside the city.

"Berhl, I see a survivor! We need to get there, ASAP!" Verunol shouted, running towards the abandoned factory just a few dozen yards away from their resting site.

With that, Berhl followed in haste, with his rifle all loaded for action. He expected enemy troops.

[von_lipwig]

Rethel was vaguely aware of people milling about around him. He thought he heard gramps' voice a few times, but he couldn't be sure. A lot of anxious voices, and still the sound of fighting. Always, the sound of fighting. Apparantly, it never ceased. Apparantly, is was ever close. Rethel wondered where he was, if he was still lying on the ground between the rubble near the factory district or if he were somewhere else. He couldn't be bothered to open his eyes to find out. It seemed that as long as he had his eyes closed, his losses and pain wouldn't be real. Opening his eyes would invite all these problems into his life again. Right now, he was suspended in a senseless state of being, aware and not aware of what went on around him.

He noticed new voices, shouting, a gun barrage far off, he noticed being picked up from the ground. Ah. He had still been at the factory, even though ages seemed to have passed. Rethel wondered how the war went for them now. Had it turned? Or had they been hit so hard that they had been crippled? How was mother doing? And father? He wondered if his house still stood. He remembered his house. It had been nice. He'd had a lot of fr- "Wake up!"

Rethel was slapped in the face. Startled, he opened his eyes. "This one was almost a goner. Don't allow them to drift off like that!" Gramps walked away angrily, his shoulder bandaged by now. Rethel's eyes hurt from the light. Apparantly, he'd been retrieved from the rubble, but the wounded hadn't been evacuated yet. He was still at the edge of the factory district, lying with about half a dozen wounded, a young boy rattled by Gramps' rebuke tending to them. There were more people, but Rethel couldn't turn his head, he was so tired. He closed his eyes again, only to be slapped in the face by the young soldier. "Don't go asleep on me now Reth! You'll stay alive! They think you'll only have to miss a few fingers!" And he was gone again.

Rethel closed his eyes, the opened them wide as he remembered what had been said. Fingers?

[Exitium]

"Get down!" Verunol shouted, dropping down with his gun pointed towards the factory. He was lying still, along with Berhl right next to him. "Shit. Enemy troopers... the battle is still going on... did our bombardment do nothing?"

"Doesn't matter, we need to help out our comrades!" Berhl replied, crawling his way over unto the abandoned factory. The gunfires seemed to get closer every second. "Verunol, give me fire support! I'm going in!"

"Berhl, we're not trained soldiers! We're mere pilots! How are we going to change the tide of the battle?" Verunol replied in anger, crawling his way over to Berhl. He then loaded his gun and fired aimlessly, hoping that he had hit someone. "Dammit, I can't aim! My arm..."

"Don't worry, just give me fire support!" Berhl shouted. As Verunol kept firing aimlessly, Berhl crawled his way over to the abandoned factory, looking for cover. By then, he had noticed some of his comrades in battle, but now was not the time to greet and meet. "Keep firing, Verunol!"

"Shit, I'm out of ammunition!" Verunol shouted back, struggling to find cover underneath all the rubbles from collapsed buildings. By now, Berhl was firing aggressively, killing 1, if not, a dozen enemy troopers. He was obviously skilled in marksmanship, trying not to waste a single ammunition.

"We're outnumbered!" Berhl shouted, hoping to get somebody's attention. "We have to fall back! We cannot fight like this!" Berhl waved to other soldiers, hoping to get their attention. "Verunol, we need to get out of here, ASAP! We need to hide!"

Verunol failed to reply. He was either hit or deeply hidden within the rubbles. Berhl managed to shout out to him a few times more, but he had failed to reply. Gunfires kept going on and on, while a defending soldier died hopelessly from time to time. This was a lost battle. He knew it from the start. Without the support from the tanks, there was no hope on winning this battle. It was a giant step back for Esperado.

"Fall back! Retreat!" Berhl shouted once more, but nobody would pay attention to his words. To one's eyes, he was just a mere soldier in the battlefield, shouting, 'we've lost the war!'. Without thinking, Berhl ran away from the battlefield, hoping that his tank wasn't destroyed. With nobody listening to him, his tank was the only hope for victory. He knew that his tank was destroyed... but by now, he was already out of his mind.

[von_lipwig]

Pain, immense pain. Rethel was restrained by two of his fellow soldiers, while a doctor, or more likely, one of the boys who had conveniently been carrying some bandages for all the training he'd had, put a fine-toothed saw on his flesh and began to saw.

Rethel wished that he could faint, that he could escape the pain that was renewed by each stroke, but he couldn't. The bone was the worst part, as the sound was almost as bad as the pain. After a while, though, Rethel found himself to feel distracted from the pain, or more like independant of it. He felt it, he was aware of it, aware of his body, but his mind was giving in to shock. He began trembling uncontrollably, shivering as if it was freezing.

"Give that boy some plasma, we don't want him to die from shock. Treat him with morfine as well, and mark his dose! Overdosage can be lethel, especially in this condition!"

Apparantly, an able medic had reached the scene, still amongst the rubble of the factory. All around them, the fighting continued, and the steelmill they were in acted as a temporary field hospital.

"We need to get them out of here as soon as possible. Contact High Command."
"Where do we send them... sir? We have the city, and that's IT! Some of them can't be moved anyway, and I don't want to risk any lives just to hear that we can only get them fifty yards east from here."
"Very well then. Carry on."

Rethel trembled still, but his left hand was now bandaged, and he had been given a dose of morfine against the pain. All around them, the battle still raged, clearly in disfavour of the people defending their last city. People were running back and forth, not noticing the man running the other way, shouting that the war had been lost. Rethel, though, did , through a haze of pain, shock and morfine, and wondered if there finally was a sane man amongst the hundreds that ran toward their own deaths.

[Exitium]

Berhl ran. Just over the horizon, he could see tanks approaching slowly, followed by a couple of aircraft fighters.

"Reinforcements?" Berhl quickly thought to himself, but it was his worst nightmare. The enemy was now flanking from behind, ready to completely annihilate the remaining forces. This was an already lost battle from the start, but obviously, the enemy wanted their opposition destroyed as quickly as possible. With that, Berhl ran back, in order to alert the others. He wanted to contact the high command, but his communication device was left behind in his tank. His only hope was to alert his fellow comrades, but escaping in the midst of battle was practically impossible, due to the current situation. "So this is where I'll end my life, mm? Pathetic." Berhl quietly whispered to himself, while running as fast as ever. He was still carrying around his rifle, hoping that he didn't run out of ammunition. "Just a few more minutes..."

Just before he could reach the abandoned factory, a bullet had pierced through his right shoulder, causing immense pain. His tissues, bones, as well as his nerves were torn apart by the sharp bullet. He fired back, but he didn't know where the bullet had come from. With fear of being shot again, he continued running towards the factory, just reaching the site before he could be shot once more, in his right leg. He fell to the ground, desperate for cover. He then crawled his way to a group of men that seemed to be treating wounded soldiers. Berhl's eyes was now filled with tears. He didn't want to die here, at least not now. He wanted to live on to fulfill his goals.

"The enemy... is flanking from behind!" Berhl shouted, gasping for air afterwards. His stunning words echoed throughout the atmosphere, alerting all, if not, almost every soldier that was fighting in the battlefield. "Do any of you carry around a communications device? I need to contact The Fortress..."

[von_lipwig]

"They've come up behind us? Thierry, check it out! "

The doctor's assistant legged it away and then came running back, confirming the man's statement.

Rethel stared wide-eyed at the armoured cars and tanks slowly advancing via the highway right to the plaza. The wall of armour, all moving in unison, then firing. A section of factory exploded, crumbled and fell apart.

The doctor was sweating now. "Contact High Command for me right now! We need extraction, we can NOT win this." Another assistant ran away and then sprawled on the floor as a second explosion shook the foundations of the old steelmill. "Sir, they're getting closer!"

"I KNOW they are, now bring me the goddamn radio!"

Rethel could feel the fear eminating from the people around him, but he was oddly detached from all that. His fingers amputated, his left hand a useless lump of flesh and bone covered in bandages, his body still drugged by the morfine they'd treated him with, he simply couldn't care about the slowly advancing wall of metal and fire. He found himself watching the man who'd come staggering in, shouting the warning, alerted them to something they'd otherwise only have discovered when the machine had come crashing into the field hospital.

Rethel wanted to say something, but couldn't remember what. He racked his brain as the assistant came back with an old battered radio. "Here sir, I found the radio."
"Good, I need to contact High Command about this. We need to contact the Fortress, it's the only thing nearby which could yet get us out of here in time." He turned to the man who had warned them. "Why are not you in uniform? What rank are you?" His words had a sharp edge to them. Then his words grewconcerned as he asked, "do you need medical attention?"

Ah, Rethel thought, that's what I wanted to ask. He rose to lean on his elbows and asked the man, "Say... do those wounds hurt? And that's one cool rifle you've got there sir..." He slumped back again.

[Exitium]

"My name is Berhl and I'm the Pilot of the Kruss. My sub-pilot and I came here looking for shelter... it looks as if we're surrounded..." Berhl groaned slightly as he continued. "I'll be fine... as long as The Fortress gets the message that we need some help down here. All we can do is just hope and pray that they'll answer us." He crawled closely to Rethel, who seemed to be the leader of his squad. "I'm assuming that you're the leader of these boys?" Berhl asked in a calmly manner, but he couldn't hold it for much longer. His pain was spreading throughout his body, causing his eye-vision to go blur. He needed medical attention, fast.

"These are our surrender terms, General. You must reply within 2 days, or we'll obliterate your precious little country. Along with the people!"

"Damn it... damn it all!" General shouted, his face looking cold and grim. He felt hopeless as he played the record over and over again. This was General Harheim, the one who's in charge of all military affairs of Esperado. Ever since the Emperor went missing, he took the royal throne for the time being. He sat at the royal throne located in the main deck of The Fortress. He didn't look pleased. "We need to surrender..." General Harheim quickly whispered to himself, while taking a puff out of his tobacco pipe. He was nicely dressed in a blue uniform, with a mustache that proved that he was no other than General Harheim. He also had green eyes, along with brown hair to show that he was a nobleman.

"General, apparently... the whole tank division that we sent down there... got obliterated." an unknown soldier barged in, who seemed to be of lower rank. "And... our troops are quickly depleting."

"Damn it! Why must evil prevail over good? Send The Fortress in high altitude. We'll give them fire-support." General replied, while leaning back to show that he was calm.

"But... sir! That'll put The Fortress in danger... we cannot take the risk!" the soldier replied, while bowing down.

"I am in charge! Send The Fortress in high altitude, NOW!" General shouted, and with that, the soldier scrambled his way out the door, hoping to alert everyone in a timely manner. "It's either victory or death..." the General laughed, seeming as psychotic as ever.

[von_lipwig]

"Leader?" Despite his weakened condition, Rethel almost chuckled. "You're looking at a common soldier, sir, sorry to disappoint. If you want a leader, I guess Gramps is as good as any, or the doctor, he seems to know what he's talking about." Rethel's eyes were unfocussed, but even he now noticed the grave condition Berhl was in.
"Berhl, sir? Doctor!" Rethel sat up again and turned to the white-clad man. "Doctor, this man is bleeding and I don't think he's going to last long if you don't take a look!"

The doctor came, a grim but concerned look on his face. "What seems to be the matter?"

Rethel drifted away again. Fighting against the workings of morfine was useless, so hed better surrender to it. He was vaguely aware of the doctor speaking and directing others around him, and of some activity with the man who called himself Berhl.

Rethel opened his eyes again. If he was to determine by the activity around him and the light the sun still gave off, either a day or a moment might have passed. He had lost all sense of time. Maybe he'd just awoken from a deep sleep, or maybe he'd just closed his eyes for a few seconds. He didn't know. He did see, however, a few boys trying to operate a radio.

Next to him was Berhl, the doctor was still shouting orders, and loudly demanding fresh medical supplies be brought to him. "It's a mighty big bustle, isn't it," Rethel said lightly. Full realization of their position was fighting for attention, and slowly he became aware of their situation, and how useless the doctor's efforts might be.

"Berhl, sir," he said, hating himself for sounding so damn young, "are we going to die here?"