C45 Steel Fire And Surrender

I didn't even stop to watch. My HUD pinged more AA positions. Another paratrooper shouldered his launcher and fired.

WHOOSH!

The RPG collided directly with an AA gun.

BOOM.

Metal twisted. Bodies flew. The gun crew was erased from existence. By now, the enemy knew they had lost control.

It didnt take long before one by one, enemy soldiers started surrendering by dropping their weapons, getting on their knees and putting their hands behind their lowered heads.

And seeing that my warriors completely Ignored those that surrendered, more and more enemy soldiers followed.

In the end the bases commander himself announced his surrender through the airbases loudspeakers.

...

A few minutes earlier.

The base shook with explosions. The distant rumble of machine-gun fire, the sporadic bursts of rifles, the cries of the wounded all of it had been growing closer.

The control tower's lights flickered. Radio transmissions had gone silent. Reports from the front lines had stopped.

Then, the door to his office burst open. A disheveled lieutenant, his uniform drenched in sweat, stumbled inside, panting.

"Sir! We... we have to surrender!"

The base commander, an aging officer who had spent more years behind a desk than in the field, stood frozen.

"You spineless dog! We fight until the last man!"

He barked, his hands trembling.

The lieutenant stared at him in horror.

"Last man? Sir, there IS no last man! They... those monsters are unstoppable! Our defenses are gone! AA guns destroyed! The hangars are burning! If we don't surrender now, we'll all die!"

The commander's breath hitched. His hands clenched into fists. The thought of surrender it was unthinkable.

But then... he heard it. The roar of engines falling silent. The sporadic gunfire ceasing, replaced by the eerie stillness of surrender.

He hesitated. He knew. They were finished. His trembling fingers reached for the microphone connected to the base's loudspeakers.

He took a deep breath, forcing the words out.

"This is the base commander..."

His voice cracked. Silence filled the airfield. The remaining defenders, huddled in trenches, hiding behind sandbags, or kneeling on the tarmac, listened.

"We surrender. I repeat, we surrender. All personnel, lay down your arms."

The words felt like poison on his tongue. His head slumped forward, eyes shut. It was over.

...

Private Klaus POV

The moment he heard the surrender, his body slumped against the sandbags. He was alive. But barely.

Pain flared in his left leg, the dull, throbbing agony mixing with the sharp sting of freezing wind against exposed flesh.

His fingers, slick with his own blood, trembled as he desperately tried to apply pressure. The wound wasn't deep, but the bleeding wouldn't stop.

"F-f*ck..."

He hissed through clenched teeth. He was going to die. Not from a bullet to the head. Not in the glory of combat. But bleeding out like a dog in the dirt.

"WOUNDED! MEDIC!"

Klaus's head snapped up.

A group of enemy soldiers no, paratroopers were moving through the battlefield. They were mopping up, collecting weapons, dragging prisoners into formation.

One of them a younger one, barely older than Klaus himself spotted him and shouted again.

"MEDIC! WE GOT ONE STILL BREATHING!"

Klaus's breathing sharpened. Two paratrooper paramedics ran over, dropping to his side, their medical satchels already unzipped.

They were young, barely in their twenties. Their uniforms with cross armbands were stained with blood, but their eyes held nothing but focus.

One of them, a dark haired soldier with a still slightly bleeding gauge across his bridges nose, yanked Klaus's hands away from his wound.

"Sh*t, that's a mess."

The second one, a redhead with an angular face, pulled out gauze and a tourniquet.

"Doesn't look like the artery's hit. Youre a lucky bastard."

Klaus groaned, his teeth gritted as they began working. The dark haired medic grabbed a leather strap from his kit and shoved it into Klaus's hand.

"Here. Bite on this. We're out of morphine, so... it's gonna hurt."

Klaus barely had time to process the words before the first medic stuffed combat gauze into his wound. White hot pain exploded through his body. His back arched, teeth sinking into the leather so hard his gums bled.

"Nnnnggh!"

Klaus saw black spots dance across his vision. He couldn't tell if he was sweating from pain or blood loss. Probably both.

"Almost done, man. Hang in there."

The red haired medic wrapped a thick bandage around his thigh, tightening it to stop further bleeding.

Klaus felt his body go limp, his breath ragged, his mouth filled with the taste of blood and leather. The pain dulled slightly, but it still radiated through his bones.

He weakly spat out the strap, coughing up saliva and blood.

"W... Why...?"

He rasped. The two paramedics looked at each other. Then, the dark haired one grinned.

"Why what?"

Klaus's vision swam. His mind struggled to piece together his thoughts.

"Why... are you saving me?"

The red haired medic blinked. Then, he smiled.

"Because you're our battle brother. The same blood that flows in us... flows in you, thats what our Imperator said and his word Is the law"

Klaus's eyes widened. His brain, still fogged from pain, struggled to comprehend what he just heard.

"Wha... What?"

His voice was weak. Disbelieving. Who? Who had told them this? Werent they just killing each other minutes ago? And now their calling him their battlebrother? What the f*ck, thins werent adding up at all.

He forced his head to turn, his gaze following where the medics were pointing. And then... he saw them.

A formation of colossal figures, towering over the battlefield, walking toward the airfield's command center.

Slightly over two meters tall. Armored from head to toe. Their battle worn exoskeleton armor, covered in gore and bullet scars, moved with inhuman precision.

Their helmets bore white skull shaped faceplates, with crimson horizontal plumes dancing in the cold morning air.

Their legionnaire strips, soaked in mud and blood, hung from their belts like ceremonial war trophies.

They walked without hesitation. Without doubt. Without fear. They were war incarnate. Klaus's lips trembled.

"Who... who are they...?"

The medics exchanged glances. Then, one of them grinned and simply said.

"Our Imperator and his death angels"

Klaus's heart pounded. As he stared at the towering figures marching toward the base command center, he couldn't help but compare.

On one side.

His Grand Duke. A bloated, hedonistic pig, more interested in wine and women than ruling. A man who had let his people starve while feasting in his palaces, who had spent more time drunk in his court than leading his armies.

And on the other. The Imperator. A man who fought with his warriors, leading from the front like the rulers of old. Bloodstained. Battle scarred. A true warlord.

Klaus's hands trembled.

What hope did they have?

His leaders were cowards. Their soldiers were abandoned to die. Their nation was already lost. His chest tightened, not from pain, but from pure, crushing despair.

"Oi!"

The sharp voice snapped him out of it. One of the medics, the red haired one, turned and shouted over his shoulder.

"We got a stretcher case here!"

A group of four paratroopers, their faces still smeared with dirt and sweat, jogged over. They carried a foldable canvas stretcher, their expressions unreadable as they knelt beside Klaus.

"Alright, buddy, you're coming with us,"

One of them grunted.

Klaus blinked.

"W.... where...?"

The dark-haired medic patted his shoulder.

"You're going back to the Imperium for treatment unless of course you dont want to keep that leg of yourse."

Klaus couldn't believe what he was hearing. His own country wouldn't even do this for their wounded.

The paratroopers moved fast. Too fast. Before Klaus could even process what was happening, strong hands lifted him from the ground. His bloodied leg throbbed, and he let out a strangled grunt.

"Easy, easy,"

One of them muttered. They carried him across the wreckage strewn tarmac, past burning fighter planes, craters still smoldering from RPG blasts, and bodies so many bodies.

Dead comrades. Dead enemies. He had never seen a battlefield this brutal. Then, he saw it. The transport plane.

Its side door was opened, revealing the interior a cramped metal chamber packed with wounded. Not just enemy soldiers... but Teutonica ones as well.

The paratroopers didn't hesitate. They carried him Inside, moving past moaning men, groaning in pain, some unconscious, some gripping their wounds, some whispering prayers.

A paramedic, his combat uniform already drenched in blood from treating previous casualties, glanced at them.

"Another one? Sh*t, just put him over there, next to the guy missing half his hand."

The paratroopers placed Klaus down carefully.

"You're in good hands now,"

One of them said before jogging back out as they did the paramedic shouted to the pilots.

"Alright start the engines were full, If we want to save these men we need to move now!"

Hearing this the pilots started flipping switches one after another as they did the transport planes propeler engines spewed out black smoke and started spining.