Chapter 7: First Skirmish (2)

The unstable light still fought hard to sweep away the darkness, but it was incredibly unreliable. It was nothing more than the product of a collection of weapons roaring savagely, filling the surrounding environment.

​In a situation like this, you wouldn't even notice the local wildlife deciding to flee the area immediately. Anyone who felt that hail of bullets landing all around them would go into instant shock.

​"Oh shit! They’re shooting back!"

​"No shit!"

​My comrades showed no signs of exhaustion at all, as if bloodlust had completely taken over their sanity. A few projectiles were fired back from the Dretonian positions, but their aim was entirely sporadic. Still, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up every time a flash of lead whistled past my head.

​"Reload! Cover me!"

​"I got you!"

​Several paratroopers occasionally halted their fire to feed their weapons, which were now hot from the relentless shooting. They did this only to immediately return to their firing positions.

Crouching low, I gripped my helmet tightly to steady myself against the shockwaves produced by my own firing line. I tried to shield myself from the falling twigs and the rain of leaves that could no longer withstand the enemy bullets piercing through the foliage above. Each round tore through the canopy, creating a sharp and rustling crackle that pricked at my ears.

They really didn't give the enemy a single moment to breathe. The situation hadn't shifted an inch since our side opened fire for the first time.

​Amidst this pool of chaos, my eyes darted constantly between the left and right flanks. I was bracing for one of the paratroopers to collapse from the firing line, yet miraculously, no one had been hit yet.

​"Left flank! Left flank!"

​Lieutenant Bulgers’ voice boomed from the left as he directed his men’s fire. His commanding tone pierced through the crackle of gunfire, instantly shifting the line's trajectory to the left.

​"Where're you going, fuckers!?"

​At this stage, the return fire from the enemy had diminished significantly. This allowed me to lift my head slightly. I saw the Dretonian soldiers turning tail, desperate to get away from us. Our side continued to pour lead into the retreating forms, trying to take down as many as possible while the chance remained.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Lieutenant Bulgers screamed. His voice raced against the ongoing shots as he struggled to break the chain of gunfire.

In the end, white smoke from the gun barrels hung lazily among the trees as the final shots were fired. The forest suddenly fell deathly silent, leaving behind a ringing in my ears like a church bell calling its congregation to gather.

​"Check your sectors! Watch for any remaining movement!" Lieutenant Bulgers roared his orders. His voice sounded muffled beneath the persistent ringing still dwelling in my ears.

​The remnants of the skirmish hung thick in the air, the scent of gunpowder explosions still easy to catch. Once the atmosphere had calmed slightly, I walked forward a bit to follow my comrades. Occasionally, I stepped on spent shell casings scattered across the ground where my friends had just been standing.

​I stopped near a tree and used it as a brace to support my weight. Instinctively, I kept my distance until the area was confirmed to be completely secure. But from where I stood, the view was more than enough. Without the brush and leaves narrowing my vision, I saw dozens of lifeless bodies with blood pooling nearby.

​It was a horrific sight. I had never seen human corpses strewn across the ground like this. I could say I had seen it in war movies, but those were just stuntmen who didn't actually die. The ones in front of me were truly breathless, lifeless human beings.

From beneath this tree, I could see my comrades walking through that asphalt of death. Even though the fighting was over, they had yet to lower their rifle barrels, which were still faintly smoking. The only time they pointed them down was to poke the dead bodies, ensuring they were truly gone.

"Loot their supplies as quickly as possible, before—"

​Lieutenant Bulgers’ attempt to give orders was suddenly cut off by the frantic movement of a Dretonian soldier. It was as if he had risen from the dead, desperately trying to scramble away.

​"Қш қш!"

​Scarface, who was standing nearby, reacted instantly. He fired a short, precise burst that caught the man’s right thigh, instantly crippling the Dretonian soldier where he lay.

​"Fucking degenerate bastard."

​“Җх... ғх... ҩ...”

​The soldier groaned in agony, occasionally making gestures to beg for mercy. I still remembered this man. He was the one who had been smiling among his comrades while they tortured the snagged paratrooper.
​The situation now saw Scarface walking toward the soldier, much like a hunter approaching his prey to inspect the kill.

​"Show me that ugly smile again, you bastard!"

​Naturally, he ignored the Dretonian’s pleas for mercy. Instead, he immediately began shooting. However, he deliberately avoided any vital organs. He had intentionally switched his Sekhen Gun to semi-auto, aiming to torture the Dretonian soldier, who shrieked in pain as Scarface put a round into his other leg.

The semi-auto fire ground to a halt as a strong, dirt-stained hand gripped the barrel of Scarface’s Sekhen. It jerked the weapon upward violently, forcing the muzzle to point toward the dark sky.

​"Alright, that’s enough, Sergeant!!" Lieutenant Bulgers roared right into the man’s face.

​"What?! You saw what they did to our boy, Lieutenant?!" Scarface shouted back, his eyes bloodshot with overflowing rage. His breath came in heavy gasps, hot steam huffing from his mouth in the cold morning air. "This bastard deserves every single bullet I put into his legs!"

​“Җх... ғх... ҩ...”

​Beneath their boots, the Dretonian soldier whimpered. His hands clawed at the dirt, trying to crawl away from the death that had only just been delayed.

​"Fuck 'em! But you're wasting our ammunition, for Zildria's sake!" Bulgers refused to let go of his grip.

​The argument between the officers was intense. I understood Scarface’s feelings, and I was certain Lieutenant Bulgers felt the same. But the Lieutenant was also right. With limited supplies, we couldn't afford to waste a single round. Not to mention, unnecessary gunfire was essentially giving away our position for
free.

​"Җх—"

​The single crack from Pat’s pistol ripped through the air, sounding much sharper and more deafening than the previous rattling of the Sekhen. That sound seemed to decapitate the argument between Scarface and the Lieutenant mid-sentence.

​In that exact second, the forest froze. The disgusting whimpering of the Dretonian soldier vanished, replaced by the sound of a limp body collapsing onto the damp earth. A smoking black hole now adorned the man’s forehead.

​Pat didn't say a single word. His face was as flat as the surface of a stone as he holstered his sidearm. He was completely cold, without a trace of emotion, as if he had just flipped a switch to turn off the feelings in his heart.

My feelings are really mixed right now, seeing how my usually cheerful colleagues suddenly become like different people.

Bulgers slowly released the barrel of Scarface's gun. He took a deep breath, letting cold steam escape his nostrils as he stared blankly at the corpse beneath his boots.

​"Sergeant Olszewski, I haven't forgotten your impulsive behavior earlier. We will speak about this later."

​Scarface clicked his tongue at the warning, but he didn't try to argue any further. "Yes, sir."

​Once the argument subsided and the situation grew relatively calm, Rayland informed me that the perimeter was secured. Lieutenant Bulgers then ordered me to check on the condition of the paratrooper who had suffered that terrible fate.

​To reach him, I had to cross through the cluster of lifeless bodies. I tried my best not to step on them, or worse, trip over them.

"He's dead..." Ashton said, back at my side with a tragic undertone to his voice.

​I bit my lip, already knowing that was the case. Half of the group now stood in a semi-circle, observing the paratrooper whose soul had already departed his body.

​To be honest, seeing how mangled he was now, I doubted that even if he were still fighting to stay alive, it wouldn't have lasted long. My magic might have been able to repair some parts, but overall, he would have passed away before I could fix the rest. In the end, I am not God; I cannot change destiny.

"Lieutenant, take a look at this," Raylan said after finishing his search of the dead paratrooper’s body.

​"What the hell?"

​Raylan’s hand extended something toward Lieutenant Bulgers for him to see. It was a green ribbon, cut to a specific length. The mere sight of that ribbon caused the surrounding paratroopers to freeze in their tracks, as if they were looking at something that didn't belong there.

​"This man was from the first wave. My god..." one of the men from the other unit said, his face masked in pure disbelief.

​"They overshot by this much? Unbelievable..."
the man beside him added, echoing the sentiment.

​It wasn't just them. Lieutenant Bulgers, Ashton, Raylan, Pat, Caspian, and even Scarface stood in a circle around the dead paratrooper, showing their shared shock at the situation. I felt like they all desperately wanted to be in denial, but no matter how you looked at it, the reality remained unchanged.

​What made this ribbon so special was that it was only issued to the first wave of jumpers. Its purpose was to be tied along various routes as a marker for the paratroopers following behind. The problem was that if many others had overshot like he did, the entire situation was a chaotic mess.

​The first wave had been chosen because, at that time, enemy AA guns tended to be less accurate. They would still be adjusting their fire by measuring the speed and altitude of our planes. Because of that, the high-ranking officers assumed the first drop would be smoother, allowing those who landed to assist with navigation for the subsequent jumpers.

​However, as we could see now, the situation was completely inverted. Even the first wave had overshot the objective by more than ten kilometers. This meant the enemy had calculated our planes' altitude and speed from the very beginning.

​This made me even more worried about the enemy we were facing. Measurements in this world were still quite primitive compared to the high-tech modern era of my previous life. Yet, the Veraxilians could determine them with such accuracy from the start?

Regardless, they had been at war far longer than us, having seized almost this entire continent. Their combat hours far outweighed ours. Simply put, they possessed experience that had been sharpened far beyond our own, the on-tops must know better than that.

​"Alright, alright, this ain't do good. Prepare to move," Lieutenant Bulgers said, gesturing with his hands to calm his soldiers. It worked well enough.

We picked up our pace while looting the enemy supplies, praying that reinforcements wouldn't arrive to retaliate. We could have just bolted, but the problem was that our journey was still very long. We had no choice but to scavenge whatever we could for the road ahead.

​"Ashton, help me out here."

​"Alright, chief."

​I even asked for help from Ashton, who was taller than me, to grab the D-3. That was the first-aid kit carried by the dead paratrooper. He clearly didn't need it anymore, but we certainly did.

"Wait a second," Pat said from beside me, recalling something as he looked at the blood-stained face of the dead paratrooper. "I remember him. Back at the airfield, I traded one of my cigarette packs for a toothbrush kit."

​"A toothbrush? What kind of idiot trades their smokes for a toothbrush?" Caspian asked with a sneer, approaching with his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder.

​"Bad breath can kill me, and it can give away your position to the Vrets from the smell," Pat shot back without missing a beat.

​"Yeah? Don't you think the shine on your teeth can be seen by the Vrets from hundreds of kilos away?"

​"Keep laughing, Caspian."

I could feel the two of them getting closer, casually tossing insults back and forth as if we were standing in a pub instead of a field of corpses. It was a jarring, almost sickening display of normalcy.

"Step aside, Ginger."

Caspian stepped past me, stopping right in front of the swaying body. He didn't hesitate. Instead of a prayer or a moment of silence, he simply reached up, grabbing the dead man’s webbing to steady the corpse from swinging.

With a practiced, clinical motion, he began rifling through the chest pockets. The dead paratrooper’s boots brushed against Caspian’s shoulders as he worked. After a few seconds of tactical fumbling, he let out a small, triumphant cheer.

​"Bingo."

​He pulled his hand back, triumphantly waving a familiar white pack of cigarettes in the air.

​"Those are my goddamn cigarettes," Pat barked, his tone shifting from clinical to genuine disappointment.

​Caspian tucked the pack into his own pocket with a crooked grin. "They were his. Now they're mine. Learn how the market works, Pat."