Plains of Trezkana, Winter 1724: 21:37 hours
Jem,
The fighting has stopped for the moment. The eerie silence that has overtaken the battlefield is somehow deafening to me. Around me, my brothers in arms huddle together for warmth and speak of home. A love waiting for them, their mother’s cooking, their favorite spot to fish on a long summer evening. They all talk to distract themselves, even for but a moment. We’ve been in this blasted place for the past four months. It’s been so long I’ve forgotten the name of the nearby town we’re supposed to retake. Or was it a hill? Maybe an outpost of some kind?
It doesn’t matter.
Every day, we fire our bombardments, they fire theirs in return. The Valkans marched south from their border and pierced deep into our country before we were able to push them back to the mouth of the Romesvain River, and here is where we have been since the advanced stalled months ago.
Some days, we push forward and take the Valkan’s trenches, some days we’re pushed back by a counter offensive. I don’t know what day it is anymore. I barely recognize the faces of the men around me. More and more die each night, and more and more are replaced each day.
Those of us who remain keep to ourselves. We know that death is around every corner, waiting. For some death comes swiftly with a slug, explosive round, or mecha’s fist. For others, it's the slow hand of time that kills. Lack of food, freezing temperatures, disease, all are as deadly as any man made weapon.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to write you again, but just know I am ever thinking of you. I can’t say when I’ll be home, but in my heart I know there will still be a home to come back to when this is over. I love you, my precious Jem, pray for me.
-Maxim
As Maxim folded up the small letter and shoved into the small pocket inside his jacket, the sound of footsteps on the wooden boards along the ground echoed through the small trench. A tall, lean officer with a scruffy outline of a beard approached where Maxim and other soldiers were sitting.
“Evening, men,” he greeted as he removed his cap and produced a pack of cigarettes for those gathered.
“Evening, LT,” the men returned as they accepted the cigarettes and hunkered down to light them. Any light source this late at night could give away their positions to snipers.
“We’ve got orders from HQ, tomorrow morning we’re making another push to retake Sibkin,” the Lieutenant. explained as he turned to the man seated next to Maxim, “will your mechas be ready, Sergeant Yakov?”
The man next to Maxim, Sergeant Vasin Yakov, took a long drag of his cigarette before flicking the remains across the trench. “They’ll be ready, Lieutenant Rankov”
Rankov smiled slightly as he returned his cap back atop his well groomed hair and spun on his heel, “Good to hear, men. Tomorrow, we retake Sibkin!”
When Rankov rounded the corner, Yakov grunted slightly as he stood. “We passed Sibkin two weeks ago. Refreshing to see our command is so up to date on intelligence.”
The men all chuckled to themselves as they returned to their duties around their area of the trench. “So, Sarge,” Maxim asked as he began field stripping his weapons to clean, “what exactly is our objective tomorrow?”
Yakov was silent as he peered over the edge of the trench into the inky darkness beyond, “Honestly? I have no idea.”
He slowly slunk back down behind the wooden barricade as he made himself comfortable against a few boxes of ammunition and old blankets. “We’ll launch the attack tomorrow, we’ll fight our way to some town, hill, crest, riverbed, or who knows what, some of us will die, and then we do it all again the next day.”
Maxim looked behind the trenchline where he could just make out the dark shapes of the mechas waiting to be put into action. Even in this darkness, Maxim could easily identify his own mecha, Red Hawk, by the outline of the metallic behemoth. The mecha had protected Maxim through many battles, the metallic armor dented and scarred in more places than not.
As the silence of the night continued and the nerves of the coming battle began to flutter into Maxim’s stomach, he took out another piece of paper and began to write.
My dearest Jem,
If you are reading this, I am dead. I am so sorry. I did what I could to protect my country I love, to protect you. Remember me...