The Radio crackled, and the barely distinguishable voice of the King broke through the static. Families listened intently, fathers anxiously tapping their feet and mothers biting their nails dearly. Every household in the nation was silent, every voice hushed and every street deserted. Highways normally congested with traffic were no longer active, and the factories had closed for the day. The country had slumbered on this Friday, just to hear this broadcast that would play a pivotal role in their future. A father turned up the frequency, trying to make the voice of the King heard. It eventually rang solidly, and he fell backwards in his armchair, shakily filling his pipe with tobacco. The voice of the King was equally as vibrative, holding back strong emotions as he spoke in a soft and slow manner.
'We all know what this means for the future of our bright, colourful nation. We all know of what is currently happening out there in the wider world. We had hoped to stay a neutral observer, but circumstances have changed.'
There was a visible pause. The King's voice broke.
'And I regret to inform that we are now at war with the Empire.'
{---}
'You sure it was a good idea to enlist, Cal?'
'Oh shut up, Oliver, you know everyone in the village is signing up, what are we gonna do back home?'
'I mean, I-I heard that some of the older guys are up in the factory-'
'Where's the fun in that?'
Oliver lowered his head, dipping his feet tenderly into the stream. He looked away at the gentle hills.
'I don't know, Cal. My Ma won't let me.'
Callum, a sizable chap made hard by the years in the field tugged off his hard-sole shoes and looked into the water.
'Ah shucks, Oliver, ya think anyone's Ma would wanna let go of their son?'
'Yours did.'
'Yeah, but I have 12 siblings, I don't think I really qualify as a son in her eyes.'
'You can't say that!'
'I know that, Cal.'
The farmhand jumped feet first into the stream, soaking Oliver entirely. The boy wasn't much anyway, years of hard living and little comforts had made Oliver into more bone than muscle. He laughed his delicate laugh, and screamed playfully as Cal drug him in. They had been friends for years, and although Cal was a year older and technically ready for work in either the mines or the factories, he had decided to stay in the countryside where he flourished on the fat of the land. If anything, they were polar opposites of each other, Oliver a fragile boy interested in the wonders of the outside world and Cal, a thickset young man who was already growing mutton chops and comfortable wherever he found himself.
They sat down heavily upon the forested hill overlooking the Valley, a spot they had decided was one of the best for picking apples and chestnuts from, and although Fall had not come, the two gorged themselves with bitter unripe apples and berries. Cal even managed to chase down a wild pheasant, and content, struck up a fire over which he prepared a stew of sorts. Oliver winced as Cal wrung the bird's neck, but soon enough the guilt fled him as the very thing sated his hunger.
By the time the stew was gone, it was Dawn, and the sunset began to fall over the valley. Oliver, soothed by the wind and comforted by the broth's warmth, began to drift off, and Cal, energetic as usual, sighed at his companion's lethargy. He waited until his friend was completely asleep, and gently picked him up. Assured that even the slightest touch could break him, he tenderly made his way back down the hillside, to the city where their Oliver's Ma awaited.
{---}
Captain Lager ducked as another shell soared overhead, and tore into the foxhole next to his, killing the unfortunate fireteam dug in there. Swearing furiously, he screamed at his men to dig faster and deeper, emptying his clip into the unseen enemy ahead.
'Minimal resistance my ass' he whispered under his breath, and checked himself again for another clip. Bullets continued to fly overhead, thwacking against the dirt mound built up against the ridge, or soaring clear, occasionally finding it's mark in some unlucky bastard with the ill fortune of looking over the top. The enemy never stopped bombarding Vuren Ridge, but further down the line, the Centre had been reduced to a sweltering crater piled with bodies, or in some cases, parts of bodies. Shuddering, he looked forward again and continued his fire.
{---}
Private First Class Liro pulled her cloth cap closer down to her eyes, blocking out the torrential rain that poured in gallons upon the field. She lay motionless, prone, debris all around her. She knew her position was well hidden, and aside from the rifle barrel that lay just beyond the boundary, she was invisible to the human eye. Breathing in and out repeatedly, Liro had never failed to miss a shot, and looked through the scope again. After sighting around for a few minutes, she had finally found his target, another sniper laying in the reeds of a pond. Silently admiring her opponent's resolve in staying in ice cold knee-deep water for possibly hours on end, her thoughts ended immediately as she realised that this poor bastard was about to die. This was the man she had hunted for weeks, another sniper renowned for killing from miles away, known as the Red Ace, from his helmet that was adorned with a Bloody Ace of Cards. She could not see the entire body of the man, but saw the recognisable helmet and the telltale barrel, and aimed closely, slowly easing on the trigger. Before she even realised, she had already pulled it, the recoil kicking back into her shoulder. A brief mist of pinkish blood and gristle erupted in the scope, and she breathed out in controlled huffs. It was a technique unique to her - to take the shot quickly and without hesitation. She liked to think that hesitation cost lives, and living by this creed, she had survived this war so far. Slowly edging out of her hiding place to relocate, the arm patch of the 88th briefly flashed in the dawn light, and Liro set off to hunt another poor soul.
{---}
The King swore violently, tearing at the crown on his head. He set it down more calmly against the pillow it was issued, and sat heftily on his bed.
'Reginald, any news?'
'No major Imperial attacks have persisted, Sire.'
'And the Militia?'
'Mobilised, as are the levies. It'll be a while till the Regulars are prepared.'
'I hope they're dug in well. I'll be having a word with the Coalition first thing in the morning, the Romanovs too whilst we're at it.'
'Excellent, Sir.'
'You are dismissed Reginald, make sure that the petunias do not go unwatered.'
'No, of course not Sir, and good night to you.'
The King relaxed on the silken sheets, and looked up at the beauty of his Banner. Underneath, in equally silky writing were the words :
To you, My Son, I am with you always
'Then, what am I to do, Father?' he sat up and looked at the marble floor. 'What am I to do in the hour when I need you the most?'
He almost closed his eyes when the door knocked again. The King hurriedly arose and straightened out his uniform.
'Yes, do enter please.'
A man in military dress entered, laden with medals and orders of all kinds. The most noticeable were the crossed swords and the silver star in the centre of it all. The Grand Marshal was a man of great talent, and doubtless the King trusted in his abilities. He stood, his face twitching to withold emotions.
'Well, what is it?'
What the Grand Marshal was about to say would shake him to his very core.
'Sir, the enemy have advanced. They've broken through the line.'