Bowman had been fighting for nearly an hour already. Beasts swayed and jumped and howled above him as they bolted past the defenses.
They never do that. He thought as he lunged forward and put the side of his shove into a hairless head, just below the eye. It made a wet crunch and sent a painful shock through Bowman's wrist.
He booted the man in the chest, dislodging his weapon and fell back. His rifle landed awkwardly below him. The weapon was basically useless in a trench fight.
Scraping himself to his feet he moved down the trench. He was two lines back from the front and the trench ran long, maybe a hundred yards with a bunker at either end. Men before him were fighting.
Two of the attackers were bearing down on a man from his battle group. He sprang forward, catching the serrated edge on his shovel on another of the barbarians necks. The skin split and blood showered on him.
Ignoring his disgust he and the other man finished off the other.
Bowman grabbed the man and yelled. "Any news from the rear?" Twenty yards away in the bunker a heavy rifle was being fired. Even this far away the thudding boom rang the drums of his ears.
The other man yelled back. "Non. I think that rush caught them off guard." They shared a rhy grin. He looked like he felt he recognised the accent but there was no time to think about that. He ran and Bowman followed.
Maybe a minute till shelling then. He thought, though he didn't share this thought. The man had probably guessed too.
Let's see if I can last that long.
As he made it to the bunker he saw William. The older man saw him and gave me a small nod from where he stood cranking the receiver on the material rifle. Bowman joined him and began firing at the abominations, the Chimeara. He'd never seen one of any kind during the day and wished not to ever again. He fired at one that looked faintly like a dog in frame. Though hairless, peculiar tendrils falling from its split lower jaw.
Dawn was coming. The bright streaks of bullets flying north were now becoming difficult to see.
From southward could be heard the crashing roar of oblivion.
It was too late to run from the shells. Their best bet was to wait it out and pray. All the men pulled from their posts. Huddled in the back like rats.
He saw William, they took one another's hands. Said nothing. The man was slowly becoming family to him, as close to family as he could have at least.
The screams of the shells came fast. Bowman closed his eyes and prayed to his quiet god.
—-
Torrin watched from the same bunker he'd observed the last battle from. Watched the horizon erupt in smoke.
How many of our own died in that? He thought as the second wave of shells erupted the front two lines in flames.
They hadn't even sent a warning. 'No time.' Joyce had said.
He had seen senseless death. Cities aflame, lives destroyed. Never had he seen this.
The cold blue sun rose over a bleeding world.
He didn't speak to the two captains after only returning to his quarters below.
Usually he would have liked a room like this.
It was relatively cramped but neatly furnished. The bed made from oak was tucked in one corner. A writing table made from metal and ceramic in the opposing corner.
An expensive looking bottle of brandy sat on a small table by the bed with a single glass. He paced over falling onto the bed.
For some reason he felt drinking that bottle now would sicken him.
Why do I have to gain a conscience now. He got back up and left the bunker.
He was going to go meet those men.
—-
They survived. Bowman and William had finished cleaning up with the other survivors and had begun limping back to the bunkers to rest.
Neither man slept, they talked instead. Played games and tried to enjoy even a slither of humanity.
Others joined them from time to time, betting and smoking around stacks of crates. Humanity was a short commodity in steppe.
A month ago Bowman would never have even dreamed of feeling this way. Now, despite it all, he could smile.
He was still angry that his mother abandoned them. Distraught at the thought of his sisters.
But they are gone now. His father was probably still alive though and despite not knowing where he was. He could still be glad for it.
"Those things rushed past us too." A man said to Bowman, Torrin was his name.
He was a tall man with dark hair, and had a city look to him. They stood near the open end of the bunker, morning in full now.
Piles of corpses man and monster alike darkened the sky and flooded noses with the stench of burning flesh.
He can't have been here long. There's still some life in him. and the smell still disgusts him. Bowman thought as lit another cigarette, on serving the man.
The trenches had taught him not to trust new men. The longer term members knew such things as theft and murder were pointless. Anything worse than that would just get you a knife in your sleep.
"Never seen them do that before." Bowman said, passing the lighter to Torrin.
"Begs a question to me." Torrin said. "How smart do you think those things are?"
The question surprised Bowman, along with everyone else.
"Seem 'em do stuff like this before." A gruff looking man said from another stack of crates. William was also there, listening. He looked unusually attentive.
That caught Torrin's attention for some reason but he pretended he hadn't.
"Simple plans?" He asked.
"Some more than others, still 'thinkin though." The man shrugged.
The stranger nodded as if confirming some theory. They thanked the man for his answer before abandoning the thought.
What a strange man. Bowman thought as they said their goodbyes. Rejoining William he shared that sentiment.
William looked hard at Torrin as he left. "Don't trust capital men. And if you see him again, pretend you didn't."
He looked at his friend with confusion but his face said that Bowman would get no other answers.