Lily of the Lamplight

Chapter 4

"East flank, stragglers. Shoot!"

"They're retreating, save your bullets..."

"Grenade incoming!"

"Get down!"

Roderich thought he'd be terrified by battle. After all, he'd been terrified by everything else out here, as much as he tried to hide it. But hunched against this deep trench wall amidst this onslaught of commotion, he felt nothing but overwhelming, head-spinning confusion. This place was too mad for him to fathom; too unreal for him to think. This was all too strange for him to feel fear.

"Reload, fast, they won't take long to regroup."

"I need more ammo, here!"

"We all need more ammo, pal."

The shouts were muffled in Roderich's ears. Nearby explosions rattled the lines of wire overhead; ear-splitting whistles pierced the smoky sky. Groups of men stretched along the dirty ditch, on steps cut into the wall, aiming weapons over a blockade of broken doors and tables. But it was the captain whom Roderich could not take his eyes from.

"Run, assholes! Cut 'em down, soldiers!" Captain Zwingli stood on an upturned cart above the trench, a cigarette between his teeth, grinning madly as he emptied another magazine of ammunition into the foggy air. Four bullet cases lay empty at his feet. Even as enemy fire shattered the wooden barricade around him, he looked like he was having the time of his life. When his rifle finally emptied he simply tossed it to the ground, took another from his back, and kept shooting.

"Holy Mother of God." Roderich startled at the exclamation, then choked back an embarrassing gasp of relief to see Gilbert make his way back through a pile of packs and weapons. He sat heavily onto the step beside Roderich, flicked a cigarette butt to the ground, and glanced up at Zwingli spraying bullets into the air. "This bastard is fucking insane."

"Yep." Oxenstierna drew back his rifle and crouched beside them. His blue eyes were like steel behind his glasses. "He's finishin' off the wounded."

Roderich's already queasy stomach churned at the words. Gilbert just reloaded his rifle, shaking his head suspiciously. "How the hell has he not been shot? Crazy fuck should be dead by now." He slammed the steel bolt into place, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and fixed Oxenstierna with a concentrated stare. "I managed to get a look at our left flank. They've come close, but they're just looking for weak spots. I'd say this advance is only a distraction before the main assault."

"They're massing in the trees. I can make out a dozen or so from here." Feliks dropped to the ground from the crate he was using to scout over the trench. He tucked his binoculars into his belt and reached for his rifle instead. "You all right there, Fred?"

Roderich was not all right. Roderich was lost and disoriented and simply more confused than he had ever been in his entire life. He was also determined not to show it. "I'm perfectly fine." He tried to straighten up. Gilbert immediately pushed him back down.

"Keep your goddamn head down, how many times do I have to tell you! Oxenstierna, you keeping an eye on those SS bastards?"

He answered before Roderich could even think to feel insulted. "Hesse's got a pistol. It's in his belt."

"A pistol?" Gilbert's eyes gleamed red. "Now, where did our old friend get his filthy hands on one of those?"

Feliks shot a narrow glare at the team a few feet further down the trench. "Same place he got that machine gun, probably."

Roderich followed the blatantly hostile stares. The team beside them consisted of Hesse, the sergeant Gilbert had provoked in the transport truck, and Saxon, the former SS officer whose cigarettes Gilbert was currently chain-smoking. Unlike the other men in the unit, they were using one gun between them. It rested on a tripod and was much bigger than the rifles the unit had been armed with that morning. Roderich's own rifle was slung over his shoulder, unused. He still did not know what to do with it, and Gilbert seemed intent on refusing him the chance to find out.