Capítulo 3: Massacre
Fraihn stood amidst the relentless bombardment, his ears ringing from the deafening roar of artillery. The enemy shells were pounding the city walls mercilessly, each explosion shaking the very ground beneath his feet. Dust and debris rained down, shells crashed into nearby buildings, sending stone and brick flying like deadly shrapnel. Fraihn could feel the heat of the fires burning through the city, and the distant screams of the wounded.
He ducked behind a crumbling wall, pulling out a bloodstained map from his coat pocket. His hands, slick with his own blood, trembled slightly as he spread it out over the uneven surface, scanning it frantically. His mind raced, searching for some advantage, some way to turn the tide. The enemy was closing in, and they were running out of time. Fraihn's eyes narrowed as they locked onto a point the riverbanks just beyond the city.
"There." He muttered under his breath, jabbing a bloodied finger onto the map. He turned to Ivan, who was crouched beside him, radio in hand. "Tell me if we've got any allies near!"
Ivan nodded, his face pale beneath the layer of dirt and ash coating his skin. He quickly began radioing out to any nearby forces, his voice barely audible over the constant rumble of shellfire. Fraihn kept his gaze on the map, blocking out the chaos around him. Every second mattered now.
After what felt like an eternity, Ivan glanced up from the radio, his expression grim.
"The 4th Imperial Artillery Division is about 24 kilometers away!" He reported, his voice strained.
Fraihn's mind raced. It was a gamble, but it was their only chance. He turned to Ivan, his voice low but firm. "Radio them. Tell them to shell the city."
Ivan blinked, clearly confused. "Shell the city? But... we're still here—"
"Just do it!" Fraihn snapped, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. His eyes were hard, unwavering. "We're out of options. If they don't, we'll be overrun before the sun sets. Tell them to prepare, now!"
Ivan hesitated for a heartbeat, his face contorted in confusion and fear, but Fraihn's expression left no room for argument. Nodding, Ivan turned back to the radio. The reply crackled through the static,it would take them ten minutes to prepare and begin firing.
"Good. Now, tell them to let us know the moment they're ready to fire."
Ivan stared at Fraihn, eyes wide with uncertainty, but he said nothing. Fraihn's mind was already racing ahead, calculating the risks. They had ten minutes to brace for hell, ten minutes to make their escape or fortify what little they had left. The city would become a death trap, but if the timing was right, they could lure the enemy into the kill zone, sacrificing their position to annihilate the attackers in one devastating blow.
Ten minutes. The clock was ticking, and the enemy wasn't going to wait.
The air was thick with smoke, and the ground trembled beneath Fraihn's boots as another shell screamed overhead, its piercing whistle tearing through the sky. The moment of silence before impact stretched like an eternity, then it hit. A deafening explosion rocked the city, the force of it sending debris and shattered stone flying in all directions. Buildings crumbled like brittle paper under the bombardment, windows shattered with violent force, and jagged fragments of glass rained down on the soldiers below.
Screams of the dying pierced through the chaos. Fraihn could hear them, even over the pounding of artillery, the gut-wrenching cries of men who had lost limbs, who were pinned beneath rubble, or who had been blown apart in the streets. The smell of burning flesh hung in the air. Every breath was thick and heavy, tasting of smoke, blood, and death.
Fraihn wiped sweat from his brow, smearing more blood across his face, and glanced at Ivan, who was hunched over the radio. Ivan's voice, trembling but clear, relayed the message to the commanders, summoning them to the crumbling makeshift command post. The sounds of battle outside screaming shells, rapid bursts of gunfire, and the low rumble of collapsing buildings never ceased.
Fraihn leaned against a half-destroyed wall, gripping the edges of his bloodied map with trembling fingers. Another shell exploded nearby, sending a shockwave of force that rattled his bones and knocked several soldiers off their feet. Fraihn's ears rang, a high-pitched whine drowning out all sound for a moment, leaving him in a surreal haze where time seemed to stop.
When the commanders finally arrived, four of them limped in, blood trickling from wounds hastily bandaged, their eyes hollow from exhaustion. The others stood firm, though dirt and grime coated their faces, their expressions hardened by the hell they had endured. Fraihn wasted no time. The city was collapsing around them, the walls shaking as artillery rounds ripped through stone and flesh alike.
"We're pulling back to the riverbanks!" he shouted. "When the artillery hits the city, we're charging back in."
One of the commanders, his face pale and smeared with soot, looked at Fraihn in disbelief, as if he couldn't comprehend the plan. "Sir... if we pull back now, the enemy will overrun the city! There's no way—"
Fraihn slammed his fist down onto the map, the sharp crack cutting through the din of the battle. "That's the plan! They'll think they've won. They'll charge in with everything they've got, and when they do, the artillery will rip them apart!"
Outside, the screams of soldiers echoed through the ruined streets.More shells screamed overhead, their explosions sending fountains of dirt, blood, and shattered stone skyward. Each blast was like a hammer blow to the earth, shaking the ground violently beneath their feet. The sound of bodies being torn apart was almost drowned out by the explosions, but Fraihn knew all too well what those screams meant.
He continued, voice raw and unrelenting. "The second the artillery strikes, we charge in with bayonets. We'll tear them apart in the chaos."
Fraihn stabbed his bloodstained finger at the map, pointing to the cluster of buildings in the city center. "Those four houses here overlooking the woods will be machine gun nests. I want heavy fire coming from there, cutting down anyone trying to retreat or regroup."
Another explosion shook the ground, this one closer than before. Dust and ash filled the air, so thick that Fraihn could barely see a few feet in front of him.
"The machine gunners will need to get into position as fast as possible." Fraihn barked, eyes wild. "Make a squad that will escort them. When the enemy enters the city, I want it to be a slaughter. We'll trap them between the gunfire and the rubble, and we'll burn every last one of them."
Fraihn imagined the shells crashing down into the streets, tearing through flesh, ripping bodies apart. Men would be screaming, limbs blown clean off, organs spilling from gaping wounds as they crawled through the streets, trying to escape the inferno.
It would be a massacre.
"Get moving!" Fraihn ordered. The commanders saluted and hurried off to relay the orders, leaving Fraihn to stare down at the map, his hand trembling slightly. He led his remaining troops to the riverbanks, waiting.
In the distance, the artillery began to fire. The ground shook violently, each explosion sending a wave of terror through the ranks of soldiers huddled in the ruins. The city was about to become a graveyard, and Fraihn knew he had just sentenced hundreds of men to die.
But there was no other way..
In the midst of the tense exchange, Ivan's radio crackled to life again. The artillery division was ready.
"We're locked on target!" the voice came through. "Awaiting your command!"
Fraihn stood silent for a moment, watching the horizon, where the enemy was regrouping. His sharp eyes caught the movement of their forces; they were indeed massing for a final push, confident in their victory. His lips twisted into a grim smile.
"Fire!" He shouted to Ivan.
Back in the artillery division, Colonel Hartwin nodded to his men. "Fire!"
The roar of the artillery drowned out all other sounds. Shells screamed through the sky, falling like the wrath of gods onto the city. The first explosions sent shockwaves through the battlefield, disintegrating buildings, collapsing streets, and throwing bodies both friend and foe into the air.
Fraihn's voice barked over the radio, commanding his troops. "Push forward! Kill them all!"
And through the open channels, this unfiltered chaos was heard by countless others. Soldiers miles away heard the dreadful symphony, the shells exploding, the screams of men as they were torn apart by shrapnel, the agonized cries of the wounded, and above it all, Fraihn's relentless orders.
"Advance! Bayonets out! Cut them down!"
Ivan's radio, malfunctioning in the heat of battle, broadcasted every horrifying detail to those listening on the other side. They could hear the rush of soldiers charging into the ruins, the thunderous sound of boots slamming into the broken ground, the savage clashing of steel as bayonets met flesh, the gurgling cries of the dying.
"Don't let them retreat!" Fraihn's voice screamed. "Push through! Burn them out!"
The sounds were harrowing, men choking on blood, others shrieking as they were gunned down or impaled. Machine gun fire ripped through the streets, cutting down anyone who tried to flee. The enemy, now trapped in a death trap of their own making, was slaughtered without mercy.
Those listening across the airwaves could do nothing but bear witness to the slaughter. To hear the horror of battle in such raw, unfiltered form was more than many could bear. For some, it was a grim inspiration, a testament to the brutal, unyielding spirit of Captain Fraihn. For others, it was a nightmare from which there was no escape, the screams echoing in their minds long after the radio fell silent.
As the artillery continued to rain down, Fraihn's troops pressed on, relentless in their mission. Blood soaked the ground, pooling in the cracks of the shattered city, turning the streets into rivers of crimson.
The enemy, once so confident in their overwhelming numbers, were now being slaughtered like cattle. Those who tried to flee were gunned down, their screams piercing the air like the cries of tortured souls. Fraihn's men showed no mercy, their bayonets cutting through flesh and bone, their boots stomping through blood and ash as they reclaimed the city.
The machine gunners did exactly what Fraihn had ordered. As they reached their positions, the bullets tore through the enemy ranks as they attempted to advance. The sheer volume of firepower cut down scores of enemy troops, forcing them into a desperate retreat. Those who weren't fast enough were shredded by the relentless barrage, bodies crumpling to the ground in grotesque, twisted forms.
It was exactly what Fraihn had anticipated. They had no time to regroup, no chance to retaliate. It was a slaughter, pure and simple. The streets became rivers of blood as Fraihn's men pushed further into the city, their boots splashing through pools of red.
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