The scout’s adjutant jotted the verbiage and took off southward.
Kasha gathered the five platoon leaders and addressed them.
“Retreat back to the main trench now, and put the reserve platoon into action on the line. We should have one tripod for each of five groups.”
Kristiyan’s adjutant counted some 80 warriors that could man the line. The Kompanie picked up its pace westward through the Northern Forest. Distance between the monsters and the Kompanie seemed to be growing as the canines moved swiftly and deliberately back.
After an hour of silent trekking they finally came within view of the trenches and foxholes from where the battle began. A few faces peeked over the precipice and from the tripods. A look of surprise spread throughout those who were left behind to defend, their surprise turned to disappointment once they realized what had happened.
Kasha wasted no time. He jumped over the trench and hauled out the box of ‘boomstick’ explosives. There were a few mashers, too. It looked as if the box was delivered recently.
“Pass these out! For each ward I want one man with boomsticks. This will add another layer of defense. Let the tripods fire their arrows, then at ten steps, pull the boomsticks and throw them. We’ll go through these fast, but it will make an explosive shield. We don’t have much time to lose, the enemy is not far behind us.”
Leading was new to Kasha, but it was something he had to get used to quickly.
The warriors got to work setting up the tripods at new locations and handing out explosives to make a ‘shield’ around the trenches. Everyone worked frantically, with the understanding that the enemy would be there within minutes.
This time the Greenskins emerged without the fanfare of explosive rocks. Perhaps they had moved too fast for their machines to keep up. The green mass came charging from the woods, and the ballistas could only pick off some. Like a well-worked machine, the wolves went to work loading the ballistas again, and most got off a second volley before the enemy got within the range of boomsticks.
“Come on now, come on…”
Kasha blew the whistle and stick grenades flew up, out and exploded in the Greenskin’s charging ranks. And despite the punishment, they came. The enemy was too close now.
“Warriors, up! Protect the tripods!”
Kasha watched some thirty wolves charge over the line and engage about half as many Greenskins. The wolves succeeded in packs, but Greenskins were still jumping into the trenches. Kasha thrust his spear into a Greenskin as it fell into the trench. While the warriors above had difficulty, he noticed the wolves did well in the trench. The Greenskins didn’t remain there for long. The ones still alive actually began running away. Kasha picked up his binoculars and watched the enemy disappear back into their cover.
“They’ll be back with more… How many have we lost?”
“Twelve, sir. Seven out of the trench, five in the trench.”
“And the tripods?”
“All operational.”
“That’s fine. Next time we draw them into the trench. Fighting seems better that way,” Kasha instructed. Kasha risked losing the tripods fighting in the trench, but there was no way his Kompanie could take twelve more losses. It would mean the end.
In just a few moments Kasha could see them in his binoculars once again. It looked like the waves were fifty at a time. Behind them was nothing but wind, not even another line of defense. It was this or nothing.
“Tripods up, mashers ready! The second’s coming!”
Another line of Greenskins could be seen emerging from the trees, and as they got close enough, the tripods went back to work. So did the explosive ‘shield.’ Yet, those remaining charged in undeterred by the carnage, with a single desire. This enemy was made of something that the wolves just weren’t.
This time they all poured into the trenches to face the wolves, and once again Kasha grabbed his spear and guarded a tripod. Greenskins were on both of his sides now and one of them smashed into the tripod with an ax. Another wolf jumped the monster from behind and attacked its throat.
He watched as, one-by-one, the wolves killed and drove away each Greenskin, but it was at a huge cost. Twisted metal and broken cartridges were strewn around the trench. Kasha stepped out and surveyed what was left. Ten more were gone, and the Greenskins destroyed two of their tripods.
“Sir,” Kasha’s adjutant spoke up. “We are nearly out of explosives. Shall I tell everyone to retreat south to Master Sepp’s line?”
Kasha knew that Sepp would be surrounded and several northern villages would be exposed if they did that.
“No. Reduce the line to four sections and tell them to bunch together. We hold here or we die.”
Rivalry
“This is it…” Sepp muttered out.
The dragoons had performed well, but there weren’t enough rope throwers left to stop the fresh line of wolftaurs coming for them. Screams bounced between the hardened walls of that trench. He dropped the whistle from his lips and hoisted up the crossbow. They were coming again, and there would be no stopping this wave from getting into the trench. A bold Greenskin charged ahead at the front, and Sepp dropped him in one quick shot, then ducked back into the trench where he was greeted by the sound of iron smashing on metal tripods.
“Master help me!”
Rokura was crawling on the floor with his arm amputated and a Greenskin aiming his blood-stained ax elsewhere. Sepp turned and unsheathed his officer’s pistol and pierced the monster’s skull before it could do more.
He ran over to Rokura and knelt down. The tripod had been smashed open.
“Help me Master Sepp I want to go home,” he cried out, still crawling helplessly toward him.
“Don’t even talk, Rokura. You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I wish I could have been a better leader for you.”
Rokura’s blood still spurt out into the stony dirt. Sepp’s adjutant wouldn’t make it through this. The cut was too high. Sepp put the gun to Rokura’s head, looked away and pulled the trigger.
“Another one…” He put his hand down on the wolf’s still warm body, then stood up and pointed his handgun, looking for the next close-quarter target.
“Herr Generaloberst, this section is free of enemies!”
Siptrott’s clear voice rang out as Sepp hilted his pistol and picked up the crossbow.
“The line has held. Heavy losses everywhere. Kapitan says more Wolftaurs on the way.”
“Thank you Siptrott. Tell them to gather the dragoons.”
Sepp took his whistle and blew three times into it; the signal for the ‘anti-wolftaur’ formation. He waded through thick smoke and the stench of death to survey the platoon’s defenses. Instead, he saw young Werner Kindler strapping on dynamite.
“Herr Generaloberst,” Kindler turned to address Dietrich.
“What’s going on here,” Sepp demanded.
“Mein Generaloberst. There are no dragoons remaining so I — I am going to be the Sapper,” Kindler said in a shaky voice.
Sepp grabbed Werner by the collar and shoved the young man against the icy trench wall.
“No, no, stop it.” Sepp took the dynamite out from under Kindler’s belt.
“That’s enough! I just had to put down my adjutant and I’m not going to let you do this. You haven’t even reached your sixteenth birthday, have you?”
“No, Herr Generaloberst, I haven’t.”
“That won’t do,” Dietrich tucked the dynamite sticks under his Bavarian Army-issued officer’s belt.
“Sir, what?”
“Listen. My useful life as a soldier is coming to an end. I won’t be useful much longer, not in this world. I’ve lived to fight, and fought to live. Though your life might be different.”