Konflict

Watching Ilaina turn away, leaving only the sight of her receding figure, I could do nothing but sit there helplessly, clutching my arm as blood gushed painfully from the wound. The soldiers in the trench were busy moving back and forth, taking turns carrying ammunition crates to the 12.7mm machine gun nests along the battlefield.

Moments later, Ilaina returned with an armful of medical supplies. She hurried over to me, quickly wrapping my burns with gauze and pressing cold ice against them. After finishing, she took out a painkiller and injected me with a temporary dose. A moment later, the pain in my arm subsided slightly. Ilaina sat down beside me.

"Klaus, you're all set. I've finished treating your wound. You'll need some rest for it to heal properly," she said. Then, she pulled a steamed bun from her pocket. "Oh! I brought some food. Want to try it?"

She held the bun out to me. It still looked fresh, but seeing that she only had one, I refused. How could I take food from a petite girl like her when we were both starving just the same? That wouldn't be manly at all.

"No, you should eat. I'm not that hungry. You need it more than I do."

"Come on, let's split it. Half for you, half for me."

Despite my refusal, Ilaina simply smiled and broke the bun in half, handing me one piece. I took it in silence, looking at her delicate, fair fingers. The soft white bun had a filling of minced meat and vermicelli—something I hadn't eaten in a long time. Without hesitation, I devoured it in under half a minute.

It had been so long since I had eaten something this good. Most of us fought in a near-starving state, surviving on expired rations, moldy bread, and river water. Some units were even forced to drink sewage and eat the carcasses of dead animals. I exhaled a satisfied breath. Seeing this, Ilaina playfully pinched my ear, her sapphire-like eyes narrowing as she grinned.

"And who said they weren't hungry? Want me to steal more?"

"What? You stole this? Damn, I gotta say, you're good. Stealing around here isn't easy—if you get caught, you're done for." I was both surprised and a little impressed, though also a bit worried.

Ilaina smirked.

"Oh, you're too kind. I used to do this all the time back home."

Suddenly, a deafening explosion shook the ground. The bunkers we had built were obliterated in an instant, engulfed in flames. Then, a barrage of 30mm bullets rained down like a flood.

Tat! Tat! Boom!

The sound of rifles and cannons roared in response. Bullets whizzed above us, either crackling like firecrackers in short bursts or booming in single, thunderous shots. The storm of fire and smoke never ceased. People were buried beneath the ruins of an endless battlefield. Yet, just like how we used to ignore the ticking of a wall clock back in our homes—homes that now existed only in legends—here, gunfire was only noticed when we chose to hear it.

Still reeling from the shock, I turned toward the vast grasslands. Two Eurasian T-72 battle tanks suddenly appeared, rolling onto the battlefield. One of them fired an armor-piercing shell straight into our bunker. Everything happened in a blink of an eye. As smoke poured from the tank's barrel, the battlefield erupted into chaos, our trenches drowning in a storm of dust and debris.

Ilaina and I quickly returned to our defensive positions. I gripped my bloodstained Mark-18 automatic rifle with trembling hands, aiming it toward the approaching Eurasian soldiers. When I saw them clearly, I couldn't help but curse.

"Shit! That's the infamous 82nd Shock Division... You ready, Ilaina?"

She responded with a calm but mischievous smirk, her tone rising slightly at the end.

"All set. Finally, it's showtime~"

Hundreds, thousands of Eurasian soldiers, clad in armor and wielding AK-74 rifles with fixed bayonets, charged forward like an unstoppable force. They roared, raising their weapons high, resembling vengeful gods about to purge humanity. Their thunderous footsteps shook the very earth.

Watching them charge, my nerves were on edge. Instinctively, I pulled the trigger, alongside my comrades. One shot, two shots, three—then hundreds. The Eurasian shock troops fell in droves, their bodies collapsing like toppled dominos. The machine guns behind us erupted in a relentless storm of bullets. Enemy soldiers dropped like wheat before a scythe. But it wasn't enough. Even under our merciless fire, the Eurasian troops pushed forward, their determination unshaken.

Amid their deafening war cries, they finally breached our defensive line.

A Eurasian soldier leaped onto a sandbag barricade, wielding a Cossack sword. With a single powerful swing, he slashed through a dozen of our men in an instant. The sickening sound of steel cutting flesh filled the air, followed by agonized screams. He then pulled out his rifle and gunned down even more Oceania soldiers.

Struggling to stay calm, I reloaded, racked the bolt, and shot him before his gun or gaze could turn to me. He crumpled to the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead. Just as he fell, I heard the sharp whistle of a blade slicing through the air behind me. I spun around to see a Eurasian soldier with a blood-grooved knife, ready to plunge it into my skull.

Shit. This is it.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. In an instant, his head exploded, spraying blood everywhere. The crimson mist covered my face, and the nauseating scent of iron filled my nostrils. It took a second for me to process what had just happened.

I wiped at the blood on my face, but it only made me look even filthier. Just then, a cloth appeared in front of me. Looking up, I met Ilaina's soft, almond-shaped eyes. A light smile played on her lips as she spoke.

"So? How was my shooting?"

I took the handkerchief from her, still shaken by the near-death experience.

"Damn good."

Her smile deepened. Playfully, she said,

"You owe me one."

We quickly returned to battle. The situation was worsening. The sounds of screaming and gunfire filled the air, coming from all directions. The Eurasian forces seemed endless, pouring in relentlessly. In contrast, Oceania was caught off guard, overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. With no reinforcements in sight, the balance of battle tipped sharply against us.

Despite the odds, none of us surrendered.

Learning from experience, I used my last bullet to take down an approaching Eurasian soldier, then grabbed his rifle and kicked his body backward, tripping two more behind him. Seizing the moment, I pulled the trigger, finishing them off before they could react.

Nearby, Ilaina and I flanked another enemy. Startled, he fired blindly, spraying bullets wildly. I pulled Ilaina back, dodging the shots. When his magazine ran empty, I fired three rounds into his chest. He collapsed, his rifle and bayonet still clenched in his hands.

I glanced down at the fallen soldier. He was young—probably my age. He might have had a future, a family waiting for him, friends who would never see him again. Maybe someone was expecting him to return home. Instead, they would receive only a notice of his death. But bullets know no mercy. In war, only the strong survive, and no matter who fires the shot, no bullet is ever truly righteous.

Under the relentless hail of enemy fire, more than half of my comrades had been buried, dying in agony. Yet no one retreated. No one faltered. We could not allow the enemy to advance any further. We would rather die than let our nation's fate fall into enemy hands. The defensive line had to hold—no matter the cost.

The enemy gunfire was so intense that I didn't dare lift my head. Still, I steadied my breathing, bracing for the bullet that might take my life. If I died, so be it. At least I would have defended my country. At least I would have fulfilled the last wish of the countless heroes before me.

"Die, you bastards!"

stuck my head out of the trench, gripping my rifle tightly. I fired wildly ahead like a frenzied beast desperate to tear apart its prey, heedless of the danger before me. The barrel grew hotter with every shot. The moment I ran out of bullets, I bolted from my position, moving toward another bunker.

Suddenly, a high-explosive tank round whizzed past me, slamming into the frontline behind. The blast instantly killed several rookie soldiers stationed there. I couldn't help but curse aloud:

"Damn it! Can someone take care of those T-72s?!"

Just as I finished speaking, a T-72 unexpectedly exploded, its turret blown sky-high, engulfed in a sea of flames. It turned out that reinforcements had arrived, bringing hope to those on the verge of collapse. They had brought with them towering metal monsters—none other than Oceania's steel arrows, the M1 Abrams tanks. Seeing this, the remaining T-72s had no choice but to retreat.

"Klaus, do you have any sniper rounds?" Ilaina panted as she asked me.

"I'm afraid not. We'll have to scavenge from the others," I replied.

The two of us rushed back to the trench of an allied unit, only to find that everyone had been slaughtered—throats slit, bodies torn apart. I forced myself to suppress any emotions that had no place on the battlefield, while Ilaina, looking even more shaken than I was, quickly searched for ammunition.

Out of nowhere, a bastard suddenly lunged at her, pinning her down, a dagger poised to end her life. My heart lurched. In a surge of raw power, I kicked him several meters away. Clenching my teeth, I drove the bayonet on my rifle straight into his gut. Blood gushed out, rapidly pooling around him.

As my eyes followed the spreading blood, they landed on the insignia on his chest—the emblem of the Oceania Coalition Force. My pupils instantly shrank. I stood frozen. The blood on the ground had reached my boots, soaking the pair I had tried to keep somewhat clean. But at that moment, I no longer cared. My mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts.

I pulled my bayonet out and stared at the soldier convulsing on the ground, his face twisted in horror. His wide, bloodshot eyes bore into mine, filled with fear and madness. His lips trembled, uttering words I couldn't make out.

Perhaps he had managed to escape the Eurasian forces but had witnessed the gruesome massacre of his comrades. Maybe his fragile psyche, combined with the sheer brutality of war, had driven him over the edge. The horrors he had seen must have shattered the last thread of his sanity, leaving him lost in delirium—seeing demons everywhere, unable to tell friend from foe, striking at anything that moved.

In the end, he bled out and died. A flicker of guilt stirred within me, but it was quickly smothered. On the battlefield, there could only be survivors and the dead. Those who harmed our own were the enemy. If I didn't kill, I would be the one to die.

"Klaus? What's wrong? Are you okay? Klaus?"

Ilaina's voice pulled me back. Seeing her furrowed brows and the deep worry in her eyes, I forced myself to mask my emotions. Picking up the remaining bullets, I reassured her. It seemed she hadn't noticed what had just happened.

"I'm fine, Ilaina. I just spaced out for a moment."

The nearby Eurasian soldiers had seemingly detected our presence. Their voices rang out, calling for reinforcements. The tension in my chest tightened.

"This isn't good. Run! Now!"

Ilaina and I mustered every ounce of strength and bolted. The enemy was relentless, chasing after us as if they were out for blood. We ran, weaving through the ruins, desperately trying to shake them off. My heart pounded. The fear was overwhelming.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Dozens of gunshots echoed, mowing down the Eurasian troops behind us. A man stepped forward, gripping a heavy machine gun. Like a savior descending upon the battlefield, he spoke:

"You're safe now. Get moving! I'll take care of these bastards."

The two of us had no choice but to retreat to the rear lines, drained of strength and gravely wounded, while the others remained behind, holding their ground until the very last man.

The enemy surged forward in relentless waves, like a black tide seeking to engulf the world within its depths. Our machine guns roared, spewing fire and lead like a raging storm, desperately holding back the tidal wave from the land of Moswatov. A dozen, a hundred, a thousand silhouettes advanced—slow yet unstoppable, terrifying in their sheer numbers. They carried with them an air of impending doom, as if they were about to devour an entire nation.

Gunfire and explosions shrieked from both sides, filling the battlefield with deafening chaos. Though the moment felt stretched in thought, in action, it was but an instant—human lives reduced to mere numbers on a casualty report. One by one, soldiers fell, then half a battalion was no more, their bodies turning cold before the soulless bullets. No one knew when their turn would come—only the mad frenzy of battle, the blind fury in countless eyes, the blazing muzzles of rifles, the scattered shell casings beneath their feet, and a battlefield littered with corpses.