Walls

The hails of fire never stopped.

Bullets tore through the thick smoke, each shot adding to the growing cacophony of war. The air was thick with the stench of burning metal, sweat, and blood. We were holding—barely. Every time we pushed them back, the Wilmenians came again, relentless and unyielding.

I ducked behind a crumbling barricade, gripping my MP40 so tightly my fingers ached. The battle had turned into a desperate struggle, with bodies piling up faster than we could reload. The sounds of gunfire were a constant, like a never-ending thunderstorm, and the ground beneath us shook with the force of explosions.

"Keep firing!" someone screamed, their voice barely audible over the chaos.

Peter was next to me, struggling to shove a fresh magazine into his rifle. "This is bad," he muttered, barely audible over the chaos. "They're pressing too hard."

He was right. They weren't just testing our defenses anymore. They were breaking through. I could see the Wilmenian forces pushing forward, their movements organized and deadly, like a machine. We were on the edge, just barely holding our position as the smoke and dust from the battlefield clogged our lungs.

Then the loudspeakers crackled to life. The words sent a chill through me, more chilling than any artillery barrage.

"All units, fall back to Defensive Line Delta! Repeat: fall back immediately! A large Wilmenian force is approaching from the south!"

I felt my stomach drop. South? That meant tanks. That meant a full offensive. Tanks would crush everything in their path. Our defenses wouldn't hold. Not against that.

Von Hilten came sprinting toward us, his usually smug face twisted in something close to fear. He was shouting something, but it was lost in the din of battle. "Bergmann! Haber! Move! We're falling back!"

I didn't need to be told twice.

The retreat was chaos. Soldiers scrambled over broken barricades, dodging gunfire as they ran for the fallback position. Trucks roared down the road, kicking up dust as they carried away the wounded. Artillery shells rained down, throwing dirt and bodies into the air, adding to the already thick carpet of destruction that covered the battlefield.

Peter and I stuck close, weaving through the wreckage of our collapsing front. The Wilmenians were pushing harder, their rifles flashing in the dark, their tanks grinding over the bodies of the fallen. It felt as if we were being hunted, the sound of their engines rumbling behind us like some monstrous predator closing in for the kill.

"Hans!" Peter yanked me back as a shell exploded a few feet ahead, throwing debris in every direction. My ears rang, my vision blurred, but I forced my legs to keep moving. I couldn't afford to stop—not now, not when everything we'd fought for seemed to be crumbling around us.

We barely made it to Defensive Line Delta before the first Wilmenian tanks appeared on the horizon. Their dark silhouettes stood against the burning sky, moving forward with terrifying inevitability. The sight of them was enough to freeze the blood in my veins. I had seen them in training, on the maps, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer scale of their power as they rolled toward us. Massive, unstoppable—like gods of war.

"They'll be on us by dawn," someone muttered, the words barely audible over the rumble of artillery. It didn't take much imagination to know what that meant. If Delta fell, there was nowhere left to run.

Von Hilten gathered us into a tight formation, his voice sharp and commanding. "We hold this line. No matter what."

The words felt like a death sentence, but we had no choice. There was no other option. The Wilmenians were here, and there was nowhere to retreat to. We were the last bastion.

Peter and I exchanged a look, and for the briefest moment, the weight of the situation seemed to settle between us. Neither of us said what we were thinking.

This war was only beginning.

As the tanks crept closer, I could hear the hum of their engines vibrating through the earth beneath my feet. It was a sound that had once seemed distant, almost mythical, but now it felt like the drumbeat of our doom. We were just men—nothing more than men—standing against an unstoppable force. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn't sure we could win.

But we weren't giving up. Not yet.

We dug in, reinforcing our positions, setting up the few remaining anti-tank guns we had. There wasn't much time left. A cold wind had begun to pick up, carrying with it the sharp sting of rain. The clouds hung heavy, the sky bruised and dark, mirroring the sense of dread that had settled in our bones.

Some of the men around us were silent, their faces pale as they loaded their weapons. Others whispered to themselves, muttering prayers or curses, seeking any comfort they could find. The weight of it all pressed down on us, suffocating. We were not soldiers anymore—we were just survivors, clinging to the last shred of hope.

I caught sight of Peter again, his face grim but determined. "We hold," he said, his voice steady even though I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "We hold or die trying."

I nodded, but my heart was heavy with the realization that it might not be enough. We could hold for a time, but the Wilmenians were relentless. And we were running out of time.

The first wave of tanks hit the line just before dawn, and the world erupted in fire. The ground shook beneath us, the sound of explosions deafening as the enemy began their assault in earnest. The tanks moved like leviathans, their guns firing with thunderous force. Every shot felt like the earth itself was being torn apart.

"Hold!" Von Hilten's voice rang out, but it was drowned by the cacophony. The line shuddered with each explosion, and I could feel the pressure mounting on all sides.

Peter and I fired, aiming for the underbelly of the tanks, but the rounds bounced off, harmless. We weren't enough. The enemy was everywhere, and it was clear we couldn't stop them—not like this. Not without more firepower, more men.

I pulled the trigger again, but my mind was already calculating the worst-case scenario. I could see it: the tanks pushing forward, the infantry swarming over our defenses, our last line of defense falling apart piece by piece. I wasn't sure how much longer we could keep it up.

The battle raged on. The sun had risen, but it did little to dispel the darkness that had settled on our souls. This war was far from over, and with each passing second, I could feel the walls closing in around us.

And deep down, I knew that even if we held this line, it wouldn't matter. The Wilmenians would keep coming. They always did.

For now, we fought. We fought because we had to. But the question loomed in my mind, unanswered, like a shadow waiting to consume us all:

How long could we keep this up?

How long until the walls broke?