First Reply In the trenches we stand

[Alyvia Toss]

Location: Some planet on the fronteir
Objective: Try not to die awaiting the push
Tags:

Looking for a gritty war story, warriors sharing a few moments before the “big push”

Alyvia had been in this trench system for more than three weeks now, although it was hard to tell as the planet was tidally locked with its parent star so this side of the habitable belt was in perpetual darkness. Or at least twilight. And it always seemed to be raining. The raging battlefront was all that separated the belt from the horrors that lurked in the true darkness of the shadowed side. They never really saw the enemy, fleeting glimpses, staccato gunfire or just the irregular booms of high explosive shells landing amongst their lines. Her own side shot back of course and whenever the enemy guns were quiet you could be sure the friendly ones would not leave you to forget where you were.

The zeltron nearly slipped in the thick cloying mud as she made her way to one of the sentry positions from the crude mess room that was cut into the side of the trench. She was holding two mess tins for the guards who had been on that station nearly sixteen hours since their relief got taken by a sniper while taking a piss. Alyvia was, before anything else, a chef, and while the rations were meagre, she would do her best to give the soldiers here some kind of semblance of a proper meal before it came. The inevitable lull in the guns and then the whistle to advance over the top of the trench and try to push the enemy back just enough to relieve this line for a few rotations.

She trod on something and looked down. She would have shuddered if she was not already desensitised. A leg, still attached to a man who lay still and greying against the edge of the trench. His hands were at his neck and his gas mask was lose at his waist. He had not been fast enough when the gas came last time. Alyvia had, she would always be quick enough thanks to her armour detection systems, but what if they didn't work? The smell that clung to her dirty purple hair reminded her of trips to the pool, but also how close she might come to inhaling her own death.

She ducked her hair instinctively as tracer rounds and invisible leads streamed through the air just above the top line of the trench. She looked up and beyond those flashes she could see glowing trails of fighter aircraft that covered them enemy attack runs. Trenches must look like such an inviting target for bombers from the air. They took precautions, trying to keep the lights dimmed, but they had to be able to see so it was impossible to avoid some glow escaping. She considered the dummy trench, one of which had been hit by a napalm strike after an enemy attack jet had snuck through the cordon. At least the trench had been empty of all but one man tasked with keeping the lamps running to convince their foes that the trench was real.

She arrived at the sentry position and pushed open the rain covering. It wasn't raining right now, that was a small mercy. The sentries were here but they looked in a terrible state, they sat in complete darkness so as not to be detected. Their eyes looked worn and even their skin looked strained.

”Go grab yourselves a couple of hours, I can hold the spot for a bit.” she said without even thinking. One of them gave her a grateful smile before pushing his way out of the position. The other just nodded and followed. They were too tired to be hungry so Alyvia was left with the two mess tins. She sat and began to scoop pieces of meat out of the cooling stew and place it into her own mouth. In front of her was a thin slit from which she could see no mans land, its darkness stretching out and only permeated by weapons fire. She would be glad to go home soon.

​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

IN THE TRENCHES

The battle had been rough, and that was saying something coming from a man who had learned to measure wars by how many things went wrong before dawn ever thought about arriving. Trenches had become reality for the Sole Ruler, for the small knot of Mandalorian mercenaries who had followed him into this contract, and for the locals who had long since stopped pretending this fight would be brief. They had been hired to brace a collapsing line, to lend discipline and brutality where desperation had begun to rot morale from the inside out. Supplies were thin, spirits thinner still, and the air itself felt tired of being asked to carry the sound of guns. None of it surprised Aether. Bleak circumstances had always been familiar company.

His usual charcoal-hued beskar’gam had been left behind on Mandalore, traded for a midnight-black set that drank in the dim light of the trenches instead of reflecting it. In the half-dark it turned him into a moving absence, a shape that only resolved when he wanted it to. A long sniper rifle rested across his shoulder as he moved with unhurried confidence through the mud and timber, boots finding purchase where others slipped, helm angling as his sensors traced heat and motion through layers of rain-soaked earth. This place rewarded patience, and Aether had learned long ago that patience killed just as effectively as speed.

He noticed the sentries first, two exhausted figures moving away from their post when they should have been holding it. One of his brows lifted beneath the helm, curiosity sharpening into alertness. People did not abandon positions in a war like this unless something had forced the issue, or someone had taken responsibility for the gap. Aether shifted course, following the line of trench toward the sentry nook, rifle sliding down into a ready carry as he closed the distance.

There was another warrior there, settled into the position with the calm of someone who understood both the risk and the silence required to survive it. Aether paused just long enough to read the scene, the dark, the slit of no man’s land beyond, the absence of fear in her posture. He inclined his head in a brief nod of acknowledgment, respect given without ceremony, before his voice carried low and steady through the rain-dampened air.

“Room for one more?”

Alyvia Toss