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Chapter 1: This War Never Changes
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>the constant sounds of machine gun fire rung out through the trenches
>shouts of all kinds
>frantic, excited, scared
>each were present
>you looked over the edge of the trench just as a bullet whizzes by your head
>*CLANK*
>a splatter of crimson washes over your shoulder and stains deep
>death was something that came with war
>it was inevitable that humanity would end up in this boat
>ironically, the war to end all wars still hadn't ended
>you remember the "They'll be home by Christmas!" propaganda they would hang around your city before the Battle of Washington D.C.
>that was before the Central Powers blasted through the US Navy like a hot knife through butter
>it had been three years ago, in 2014, that they got boots on the soil
>and here you were with everyone the army could muster up at a moments notice
>backs to the Mississippi
>nowhere left to run
>clutch the Enfield M1917 tightly and grimace at the body currently leaning against your back
>Winston
>this was a kid that just got here yesterday
>not a day over 16
>'anyone they could muster'
>sling the rifle over your shoulder and begin pulling the body towards the pile
>if they aren't taken out and burned soon, the whole battalion would get some incurable sickness
>well, that's what the doctor kept saying
>something about the new chemicals those bastard Germans were shelling seeping into the pores of the dead and releasing some gas if they aren't burned
>all drivel as far as you're concerned
>"GAS MASKS ON!"
>the body you were dragging dropped instantly as you instinctively grabbed for your mask
>it's not there
>what
>shout at yourself in your head
>IT'S NOT THERE!
>look down to see a bag on the body
>open it and throw the mask on
>unroll your sleeves and tie them tight at the wrist
>the less skin showing the less damage you'll have to endure
>tie your pant legs and stuff them into your boots
>remember, these filters don't last long
>new, experimental gas mask designs stolen from the Germans that filter more toxins out
>grab the two standard issue filters and stuff them in your pockets
>just in time
>a shell expelling yellow smoke from it's back end cascaded through the sky in an arc
>headed right for you
>leave the body Anon, it's not worth the risk
>the true patriot in your head said otherwise
>grab the wrist of the dead serviceman and pull him at top speed towards the shouting voices further into the network of maze like ditches
>drop to your knees in front of the several foot tall stack of cadavers on the back of a wagon
>holy hell was that close
>toss the body of Winston onto the others and say a quick prayer
>if a bullet can deliver someone to god's kingdom, then maybe your words will sweeten the deal
>a gruff man with a five O'Clock shadow launched his hand out to your shoulder and squeezed tightly
>"Alright, Private Anon, you seem in fine shape. I've got a job for you."
>see the two silver rectangles connected by small lines on his chest
>seems the Captain found you
>nod slowly
>"I've rounded up twenty other soldiers and told them to wait for a signal. Command told me to send a few people through No Man's Land towards those bastards so the rest of us could retreat. You're leading them in the charge. You'll know the signal when you hear it."
>eyes widen and your body starts shaking
>this isn't what they said would happen
>no man left behind, right?
>try to come to terms with this
>desertion meant firing squad and following orders meant dying at the business end of an MG 08
>grit your teeth, tighten your lips, sneer, and nod
>he slaps your shoulder and heads off to ready everything
>back to the front trench
>pull the Enfield off your back and affix the bayonet as per protocol
>"MEN! KNOW THAT YOU'RE DYING FOR AMERICA! FOR YOUR COUNTRY! CHARGE!"
>signal given
>climb up to the soil and begin a mad dash towards the enemy trenches nearly two hundred yards ahead
>*KERCHUNK*
>keep running
>just keep running
>a loud explosion from behind rocked your everything, sending you tumbling into the mud
>stumble up from the muck and continue on your suicide mission
>*KERCHUNK*
>a mortar shell landed a few dozen feet in front of you, nestling a crater between two spools of barbed wire and tank traps
>*KERCHUNK*
>shout at your legs to move faster
>uh oh
>mortar shell headed straight for you
>run as fast as possible
>*BOOOOOOOM*
>everything went black

>ugh
>feelslikefuzzandkitchenwareclattering.phonograph
>look at the hole currently above your head
>that's right
>a mortar landed right behind you
>*KERCHUNK*
>*BOOOOOOOOM*
>the mortars never stop firing
>it just keeps sounding off over and over
>the rifle that had been in your hands laid in two seperate halves, one stuck into the dirt and the other resting against the dark muck several yards in front of it
>damn it
>you're stuck in a hole in the middle of a warzone
>no rifle, just the 1911 at your side
>chuckle lightly
>just your sort of luck
>'American's never die!'
>the propaganda poster from school emblazoned in your skull
>a giant boot with an iron cross on the side stomping down at small Americans who refuse to fall under heel
>well, you didn't die
>best get yourself back up there
>start trying to scale the muddy walls
>no luck
>too high to reach the edge to pull yourself up
>look back at the seperate gun parts
>if you could get just another few feet up, you could get out
>stick the butt of the gun up out of the mud, making sure the broken stock was in the ground sturdy
>breath in
>breath out
>you can do this Anon
>rush at the broken gun and use it like a platform, launching up just high enough to get your arms over the edge
>frantically grab at anything as you feel yourself sliding back slightly
>fall back into the pit
>damn it
>stand back up and try to dust yourself off
>breath in
>rush at the stock and jump off again, this time aiming a little further to the right
>manage to get enough of a grip to begin pulling yourself up
>as you crest the pit's entrance you try to locate where the mortars are coming from
>hear a faint thwomp from somewhere to the east
>begin your rush back across No Man's Land
>gunfire immediately turns your way and you're just barely running fast enough not to become a statistic
>try to locate an entrance into their trench
>can't find one
>welp
>better make your own
>run directly for the barbed wire edge of their trench
>jump as high as you can try to turn 180 degrees
>smack your back against the angled wood lining of their trench
>in a split second you see the situation to your right
>see three soldiers
>immediately recognize the flags on their helmets
>two germans and an austro-hungarian
>manage to pull my 1911 from my holster and gun them all down
>shoot a quick glance to the left
>nothing yet
>rush over towards the dead soldiers and grab one of the german's guns
>unlike anything you've ever held, but at least you know how to use it
>see an iron cross and a model designation on the top
>STG-64
>yup, you remember seeing a diagram on these last time they gave you information about the enemy
>automatic fire capable through a switch
>chambered in some weird round you can't remember
>chamber a round and start running towards the mortar thwomps
>round a corner
>a squad of germans caught from behind
>gun 'em down
>click click click
>they're already down, go for a different one
>rush forward and pick up a seperate STG-64
>look around and see a few others
>eject the magazines and put them anywhere I could fit them
>back on task

>it took a few more germans and an austrian, but eventually you're able to take care of the mortar squad and relieve some of the pressure on your trench
>go prone as you hear a large piece of machinery kick on a hundred or so feet off
>there wasn't any doubt
>they were bringing out the Höllenfeuer
>or what you like to call absolute annihilation
>as the vehicle moved past a chuck of ruined concrete, you could see the cab of it
>a giant group of tubes meshed together on a swiveling turret
>it starts aiming towards our trenches slowly
>look around for anything
>wait
>look at the trio of bodies at the mortar
>did they even teach you how to use this thing?
>welp
>best to try then never to have tried at all
>get a shell and aim the tube as best as you could assume
>fwomp
>~PPPPPHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW~
>*BOOOOOOM*
>just a little off
>aim again
>just barely get it off before getting tagged in the right shoulder by a bullet
>whirl around and drop onto your side, shooting at least half a dozen rounds into the now bullet-cushion
>*BOOOOOOOM*
>and the sound of clattering metal flying around
>pick yourself back up
>what's the plan now?
>there wasn't any other than a last ditch assault
>see another mortar team across the trenches
>that feeling in the back of your head lets you know they absolutely saw you
>they know
>~PHEEEEEE-"
>the whistle of a mortar shell coming from their direction
>disappear back into the trenches
>or at least think you did
>by the time you realize it, they're shelling you with round after round
>~"-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW~"
>they've narrowed down the position
>take cover behind anything you can, a couple wooden crates
>*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*
>black out again