Rain once more poured upon the Balkan landscape, flooding the trenches built outside the Serbian capital of Belgrade, which was now a ghost city. Fog ruled throughout the city and its surroundings, as echoes of artillery and gunfire in the distance crept throughout the haunted ruins of what had once been a thriving metropolis.
It was clear that whatever reinforcements were closest to Bruno’s position had encountered the Serbian Army, or what composed the provisional government’s armed forces after Bruno had massacred the overwhelming majority of the Serbian Royal Army, both in the initial engagement of the war and when he gassed the capital of the once-proud Slavic kingdom.
The blood-curdling screams in the distance, as well as the strange sounds that occurred when raindrops clanged against steel helmets and artillery pieces, did not help the eerie atmosphere. Many believed they were hearing haunted echoes of the ghosts who had once lived peacefully in the city behind the trenches.
Bruno, however, was not a superstitious man, nor did he care much about the squabbling of the men beneath his command. Instead, he peered into the fog, standing in the rain, gazing over the edges of the trench with his naked eyes.
A plume of smoke exuded from his mouth as Heinrich approached him, concerned about the sounds of battle in the distance and whether or not they should reinforce their allies, who were clearly fighting a pitched battle in the field not far away.
“Sir… Are we seriously just going to sit here and wait out the battle? Would this not be a great chance to envelop the enemy from behind and eliminate them?”
Bruno, however, remained silent as he listened to the combat ambience, as if there were something in particular he was trying to detect among the many distinctive and chaotic sounds emerging from the armed battle between the two armies.
Heinrich was one of the few men who had been granted permission to be informal with Bruno, his superior officer, so long as the two were in private. But there were enlisted soldiers standing near them; they were, after all, gazing into the fog at the front lines for a better chance of piercing its vast miasma of concealment.
Because of this, the man had to use somewhat formal language, even if it was still relatively lax by military standards. Bruno did not respond to anything the man had said and continued to sternly gaze into the distance.
That was until he finally recognized the sound he was hearing. It admittedly took him longer than it should have to identify the source, as the thought of using such means of combat, even after most of the world’s major and minor powers considered it woefully obsolete, was almost unthinkable to Bruno.
Perhaps if he had properly understood the haste with which the Provisional Army was mustered, as well as those who composed its ranks, he would have guessed sooner. Either way, he didn’t have much time to prepare.
Luckily for him, his soldiers were equipped with highly mobile and rapid-firing weapons, which he instantly conveyed orders to by shouting toward the most needed men in that very moment.
“I need a machine gun team on my location ASAP! Cavalry charge inbound, ETA two minutes!”
Cavalry charge? Was Bruno being serious? Either way, nobody dared to disobey the orders of a man who had gained three terrifying nicknames over the course of his military career. Because of this, a machine gun team rushed over to where Bruno was standing and rapidly laid down an MG-34, mounting its bipod on top of the sandbag in front of them while they ensured a round was chambered.
In addition, every rifleman within the vicinity, as well as the NCOs with their submachine guns, rushed over to the edge of the trench line, preparing for contact with the enemy. Bruno himself prepared for the approaching moment as he unslung his submachine gun off his shoulder and turned off the safety.
The man continued to smoke with the cigarette in his mouth while his weapon was shouldered, and his line of sight was gazing down the aperture toward the fog in front of him. Heinrich stood by Bruno’s side, as did Erich, who rushed over with his own MG-34, which he likewise mounted in a position that gave him optimal performance.
Bruno looked over at the man with an almost envious gaze, dropping the cigarette from his mouth and into the mud beneath his feet as he questioned his friend about the weapon he had mysteriously acquired.
“Where in the holy hell did you get that? Last time I checked, you weren’t issued a machine gun…”
Erich smirked at Bruno with a sinister gaze, almost as if he were all too eager to gun down the charging enemy with rapid fire.
“Never mind you where I got my hands on such a beautiful engine of destruction! If you think for one moment I’m going to give up the opportunity to shoot an MG-05, you have gone insane, sir!”
Heinrich looked at his two friends and how excited they were for the prospect of combat and realized he might very well be the only sane member among their infamous trio, going so far as to issue his complaints in the most respectful manner possible.
“With all due respect, sir, I think that you and your adjutant here are a little too eager to engage with the enemy…”
Erich looked over at Heinrich and rolled his eyes, as if his old friend was a buzzkill, while Bruno patted the man on the back and assured him that the reason he was so excited for this upcoming skirmish was not because he was particularly sadistic, but because this might very well be a historical moment they were about to take part in.
“Oh, my dear old friend… Sometimes I wonder if you are a bit too simple-minded… Why would I not be excited about this moment? After all, this might very well be the last cavalry charge ever recorded in human history… And we are about to play a critical role in it!”
When Heinrich realized he could neither refute Bruno’s words nor truly condemn the man for being a bit too excited to make history, he simply shook his head and sighed as he spoke the only words that were appropriate for him to say in this situation.
“God fucking dammit…”
The Provisional Government of Serbia had rushed conscription, training, and deployment of its male population-or at least those capable of bearing arms. Because of this, they rounded up all the old veterans from previous service and sent them off to retake Belgrade. This was a desperate move, one that was ill-conceived. Its intent was simple: deal as many casualties to the German armies entrenched there before the enemy reinforcements could arrive to aid them.
Hence the existence of cavalry-old horsemen who had been called upon once more to serve their nation in a time of war. They dragged their weary old bones onto the steeds they were given and were sent to charge the enemy defenses.
In addition to this, there were infantry and artillery men supporting them, albeit much of their equipment was woefully obsolete by this point. The Serbian arsenal had not exactly produced record numbers of modern equipment in preparation for a global war in which they would sustain heavy losses.
Because of this, Serbian logistics were currently a rather jumbled mess of various different weapons and munitions, few of which shared commonality in caliber. It was not exactly an exaggeration to say that a soldier in the Serbian Provisional Army could expect his supply line to end when he ran out of whatever he was carrying on him in that very moment.
It was far from an ideal situation for Serbia and the men who were conscripted to fight for its last gasp of breath. But then again, none of them had expected their leadership to drive them
all into the depths of hell.
Unfortunately, it would appear that God was not on Serbia’s side, as before they could reach the fortifications established around Belgrade over the course of the last month since Bruno first gassed the city’s population into extinction, the 1st and 2nd Provisional Armies encountered the Austro-Hungarians on their route to the capital-or what remained of it. The fighting was intense, but the Austro-Hungarians were ultimately forced to withdraw, as they were heavily outnumbered by the Serbian conscripts, and their military was not exactly on par with the level of training, equipment, and, frankly, communication as those operating under Bruno’s command.
Losses were more than the Serbians were expecting during the battle, but Belgrade was within their sight, and these old men had a job to do: sacrifice their lives to inflict as many casualties on the German army as they possibly could. And that was ultimately the objective of this suicidal mission they had been given.
At the very least, this would buy the Serbian Provisional Government time to prepare the younger generations to fight a proper war. These old men were all too aware of the sacrifice they were making. Even so, they were undeterred as the officer in charge of the cavalry forces blew his whistle and raised his sword as the charge began.
“For Faith, King, and Fatherland!”