Join the new world

For DB and Axeell

Axeell grimaced as his rifle kicked back once more into his shoulder. For the past three hours Axeell and the men of the Rampant Rabbits had defended their position against the encroaching forces of the French forces.

Outnumbered three to one the Rabbits had laid down as much fire on the French and for a time they had kept the enemy at arms length. But now, after countless spent bullets, three dead comrades and no sign of reinforcements Death was closing his hands around the final members of the proud unit.

“Watch out lads, here come the buggers again.” Woolfie hefted another RPG to his shoulder, squinted through the iron sights, muttered a prayer and pulled the trigger. The round blasted through the air, spearing into the setting sun and over the heads of the charging French. With a last spluttering of its propellant the RPG soft detonated above the heads of the French, sending tiny pieces of shrapnel piercing through the flesh of the enemy. The shockwave knocked a dozen more bodies off their feet which Axeell and the others quickly filled with burning hot lead.

But as soon as one Frenchmen fell to the bullets of the rabbits another one was there to step over that body and rush onwards towards Axeell and his comrades.

“Right guys. We don’t have much ammunition left to make sure every shot counts.”

Axeell clicked his rifles gas regulator down to reduce the recoil and allow every bullet to hit exactly where he aimed it. With a shout the French rose from the ground and, firing wildly, they charged against the entrenched Rabbits.

Squeezing his trigger in long slow bursts Axeell saw three men fall to his bullets, their heads and chests obliterated in a fountain of spraying blood. The men to his left and right did likewise and the small crest of the hill was filled with the bright flashes of the guns and the air smelt of spent bullets, dirty bodies, spilt blood and the sickly sweet stench of death.

With a loud crack Axeell felt a rushing bullet stir the hairs on his head before a sharp cry pulled his attention to the back of the trench. Caldy lay crumpled in the blanket of spent bullets, one side of his chest was drenched in blood, his eyes rolled around listlessly in their sockets but a scream ripped from his throat. That was good. It meant he could still feel pain.

Paulus and James Noel were already pumping Caldy full of as much morphine as his body could take and pushing whatever field dressing they had into the gaping bullet hole. The screams filled Axeell’s ears as he continued to pump the rifles trigger until the magazine was empty.

Reaching for a fresh mag Axeells’ hand grasped nothing but empty air as the French charged onwards into a rapidly decreasing hail of fire.