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2021.11.30 18:59 Cabalist_writes The War of Exaltation - Chapter 25
Patterson shivered and pulled the scratchy wool blanket tighter around his shoulders. It wasn't right - late August and nights should be balmy, not this misty bollocks. In the dark you could barely see more than a few dozen yards into "no-mans-land". The mist clung, soaking damn near everything. Morning brought little respite these past few days, the weak sunlight barely drying anything- damp clung to everything.
Some were grumbling it was the Martians - their lines far off had belched smoke into the sky and fired rockets into the clouds. White smoke had poured from behind their distant barricades and vanished. The mist had descended a few hours later: It seemed too neat to be co-incidence.
All along the line cooking fires and lamps were dimmed and hidden under tarpaulins or dug-out little crevices; the earthworks and trenches that formed the bulwark against the invaders was now a muddy, sunken thoroughfare. To the rear, the artillery sat in their neater dugouts, all sandpits and ordered ammunition stacks. They were a little ways back from the main front, whilst further into no mans land were dotted smaller posts - the forward observation points.
And here Patterson sat, on watch for their little section. Watches still needed to be kept all along the line. The bulk of the men hunkered down in rear-ward trenches, or rotated through to the tent camp further back towards Aldershot. Right now, Patterson would've shagged tupn'y whore riddled with the clap for a chance to bed down in a tent.
He shifted at his post, a small alcove he'd carved against the earth-work mound, and peered over the edge again, his eyes straining against the evening gloom. Far across the miles of scorched grass and muddy topsoil he could just make out faint glows where alien creatures moved. All along the front their strange plants had begun to sprout and the damn things glowed in the dark. he thought that was a ruddy stupid thing to let sprout near your lines - light sources right up close.
But so far no one had actually seen any aliens manning the defences. Now and then a beam of light would sweep across the space and incinerate anything it saw that seemed in any way human, whilst the strange red weed had begun crawling across the desolate space between, much like it had begun infesting barren crop-lands and the small streams nearby. The sappers had launched a few incendiary devices to burn it away, on the off chance it was yet another diabolical weapon out of nightmares, albeit a more insidious one - where some armies salted the earth, maybe the aliens spread their damnable weed?
Patterson stretched his shoulders and grunted. The creaking of a wooden board made him turn, rifle clutched, "Who goes there?"
"Lovely lad, still on watch eh? Tidy, yes, proper tidy." The voice of Sergeant Ross susurrated from the dark. The Sergeant was a proper Taff from the Valleys: he had that sing-song cadence of all Welshmen, which sounded leering, jolly and intimidating all at once. And, like all good Sergeants, he radiated affable malice and cunning: it was all contained in a man five foot nothing with a waxed moustache and a deadly glare.
"Yes, Sergeant, nothin' to report."
"Keep a weather eye out, boyo. Doin' me rounds, checking on the lovely boys and their spit 'n polish. All gleaming smart. Wouldn't want them mucky buggers being all offended at our lack of decorum and bearing now, would we? Cold it is lad, but fight the chill in them bones, keep them peepers peeping, spick and span aye?"
Patterson nodded. Somehow the Sergeant looked well turned out - boots mostly clear of the muck of the trenches, buttons gleaming in the dim light of a covered lantern. The stable belt he wore was practically a beacon of white all on its own. The Sergeant gave him another once over, then continued down the line, pausing to jostle a dozing soldier here, rouse a poker game there: Keeping order. No doubt there was a Rupert due any time soon, for whatever good that'd do.
He turned back and looked out over the expanse and sighed. But something made him startle; he squinted: There were new lights now, all of a sudden. Not that strange, seemingly sourceless spotlight, but almost like new stars in the sky, high up. They were moving, but the ground wasn't rumbling - had the fighting machines learned to creep? His mind whirled - was he imagining it? Stars breaking through a gap in the clouds?
Patterson looked up.
There were no clouds. Mist, yes, low lying. But no clouds above. And these were too large for stars.
He scrambled down and hissed, "Enemy! Enemy lights!"
Roberts, the Corporal, was dozing nearby. He started as Patterson's boot kicked his dozing shin, "What the fuck, mate?"
"They're stars, you…"
Roberts scrambled up alongside him. The lights were bobbing. Then suddenly they grew larger and a hum filled the air, accompanied by a strange warbling thrum that they felt in their gut. The lights grew larger and were suddenly above them, then gone, whooshing past, above them, with a sudden swirl of air.
There was a flash of green from one of the strange collection of lights, which seemed to be... rotating? An explosion blossomed to the rear as an artillery magazine caught: the fire fountained up in a mushroom and shocked cries could be heard. Patterson stared, then looked back at Roberts. They paused for a moment then began shouting.
"Alarm! ALARM! Enemy attack!"
Bells were ringing, whistles sounding, all along the line. The sound of Ross' sing song cadence, edged with anger cut through, "Stand ready my boys! To arms! Any sign of the bastards?"
There was another warble and the lights passed over head, stitching a line of green streaks into another artillery emplacement. Patterson could see the night horizon being lit up as more lights droned overhead, too fast to really see, raining fire down onto their guns. He stumbled as the ground suddenly shook and looked back out across the barren space between the lines.
The mist was curling, parting as the dim light reflected off of faint metal outlines, "Fighting machines! Advancing!"
"Canny bastards, knocking out the guns, so their tall-boys can have a crack eh? Well, let's show these bastards we don't roll over like a French fancy my lovely boys!" roared the Sergeant. He barked orders and men spilled from their bedrolls and cook-fires. Rifl men lay against the earthworks and hunkered down, lining up their shots.
Patterson cringed as there was the whining hiss of a heat ray charging. The air suddenly shifted from the nagging cold of the damp and the mist hissed into steam around them. A few men caught jogging down the line were clearly in a vulnerable spot, in line of sight. They sprawled, screaming, heads and torsos steaming and clothes aflame, but still alive... barely. The mist was good cover for the alien advance, but it seemed to mitigate the more instantaneous impact of the ray.
Small mercy though.
Others ran to their comrades side to drag the wounded and dying men into cover. Shots could be heard echoing down the line and distant yells as men shouted conflicting commands or directions. There were flashes as heat rays discharged, the night suddenly lit by wood and ammunition catching aflame. The whole front was now a tinderbox waiting to happen.
"Ready my boys, by the numbers! Patterson, you lanky arsehole, grab more ammunition from the depot back behind, double time now. We'll keep them looking our way. Now jog, you English bastard."
Patterson wasted no time. He broke into a run. Part of him wasn't sure he'd actually head back, but his training and the fear of a proper tongue lashing by the Sergeant spurred him on. He glanced back and blanched as two fighting machines loomed out of the mist a few hundred yards away. They paused and sighted along the lines, firing swiftly. He heard the screams of men caught in the beams. He turned and sprinted towards the depot, a bit further back behind the lines, dug into its own covered trench. Men jostled in the narrow dugouts, pushing forward to the lines, or limping back towards triage medical points.
Patterson shoved his way through and yelled at a dazed looking Corporal to hand him boxes. The man looked about to argue, but saw Patterson's stare. A large crate was hauled from the stack behind him and pressed into his hands.
Patterson staggered and shoved his way back, as mud smeared the navy-wool of his trousers and other men's' blood splashed against his jacket. He staggered back onto the main run of the lines then tripped and fell. Around him men screamed and the air cooked. Patterson felt his hair singe and eyebrows burn. He pushed his back against the earthworks and stared up as a huge metal beast stomped over the trench like it was nothing more than a road-gutter. The machine ignored him, advancing past the trenchline, pausing only to resight its heat ray and fire. There was no answering artillery.
He staggered to his feet, ammunition box clutched to his chest and pushed down the line. Men were slumped here and there and the stench of cooked meat filled the air, sickly sweet. Others leaned against the earthworks and trench-sides, firing intermittently at other things out of sight. He heart alien and bestial squeals but the men didn't stop firing, almost frantically loading as they picked off target after target.
He saw his Company ahead, a thinner collection of men now. Charred husks lay about and the Sergeant now looked dishevelled and mud spattered. Paterson sprinted up and sagged, then slammed the crate to the ground. He yanked his bayonet from his belt and prised open the crate as the Sergeant glanced his way.
"Good job boyo. Let's give these devils what for?"
Patterson unslung his rifle and scrambled up to the trench side where Roberts was huddled,. The man turned his face to his comrade and Patterson flinched back as he saw that the man's face was half melted. Roberts gave him a pained grin and sighed, then slumped down, dead.
Shaking, he Patrick looked over the lip of the trench and stared. Other machines were advancing, spider-like things, carrying large barricades in front of them like shields. Behind them he could make out the silhouettes of hulking brutes, advancing under cover.
A thing reared up in front of him and he fell backwards. It had four legs and an upright torso, covered in carapace, with the face of an ant. It squealed and lunged for him, only to stagger back as a bullet tore into its chest.
"These are my lads, you dirty foreign bastard. I'm the only one allowed to rip them a new arsehole," growled Sergeant Ross. He had his rifle held at hip level and was chambering another round. His movements were fluid and practiced and he brought the weapon up in a smooth, rapid shift and fired. Another round slammed into the monster, "So you can bugger right off to whatever shitty little hovel you call home."
Patterson scrambled back. He saw his comrades staggering about, switching targets. Traces of green plasma scattered overhead as the advancing beasts took potshots at the line. He stared as the mantis-like monster was driven back, then staggered to his feet. The insect-beast screeched and lunged again: it slashed at another man who reeled away clutching his ruined throat. Another round brought it down and Patterson found the Sergeant suddenly in his face.
"Get the lads back, get to the colours and do what the Rupert says. Get on now boyo. Not having you trump me here. "
"But Sergeant, what…"
The man gestured down and Patterson saw blood staining the watery mud at the Sergeants feet, "Can't ruddy move boyo. And I'm going to go out like a proper man of the Queen. On my feet. Not in some sawbones ruddy charnel house. No get on. Before we get more bloody cock-roaches crawling up our arses. Shift, and get them colours spick and span."
Patterson nodded and yelled a rallying cry, "Fall back, by the numbers! Rally to the colours!"
The soldiers who were still standing hastily withdrew, barely in an orderly fashion, firing, dropping to a knee to reload as comrades provided cover. They were slow and methodical as they dragged themselves down the trenches to the back-lines. Other companies were crying a retreat as well, men swarming back, firing and falling as green bolts lanced the air. A heat ray swept across a bank of trenches and the air filled with the sound of screams and sizzling flesh.
Patterson watched as more comrades fell but still they moved. He dragged one man, limping, back down the rearward lines and halted as they saw the slumped form of one of the spider machines. Corpses littered the trench it was half buried in - aliens and men. A crater had been gouged out of the soil and smoke poured from the wrecked monstrosity.
The troops staggered on, cutting back into another trench line. The aliens had broken into these dugouts, while the fighting machines were now pushing to the rear. Distant explosions could be heard, muffled by trench walls and Palisades. Pursuit was constant, as monstrous shapes lurched over earthworks, or from side trenches filled with corpses. Grey creatures gurgled and lunged, or skittered out of sight, retreating or falling under the fire of the men.
Slowly they were whittled down - a crab-like horror erupted from the soil to drag a man down in a shower of gore; a hulking brute appeared at the top of a trench and shrugged off bullets as it bludgeoned a trooper to death. Patterson's dwindling company made it to a collection of tents and found men struggling with a strange collection of what seemed to be undertaker's attendants - gentlemen in mourning suits and top hats. An officer clashed with one, his sword like quicksilver in the torchlight. The interloper wielded a strange blade covered in pipes, which looked more like some sort of horrific medical implement.
Patterson had gone from fifteen men to three others now, but thy were still men of Britain: With a bellow they launched into the fray, bayonets jabbing and fists flying. It wasn't a glorious battle: it was a melee in the mud, surrounded by craters and the groans of dying men.
Patrick watched as a man reeled backwards, his eyes now purple and filled with panic as he drew his own bayonet across his throat. As the man struggled Patterson noticed a grey thing staring at the dying man and, in a sudden flash of desperation, hauled himself forwards and thrust with his bayonet. The creature squealed and staggered backwards, collapsing a hastily erected tent about itself as it fell through the canvas.
He turned and saw the officer impale the tall-man, but then stagger as a cloud of green mist exploded from the unearthly opponent. He starred as the officer sagged and fell to his knees, as blood poured from the Rupert's eyes. Patterson made to head towards him but the officer looked up and waved frantically. Patterson recognised him - their new Lieutenant. He saw the man gesture further back, towards the headquarters for the Company and Regiment - where the colours were. Then the Officer toppled over, dead.
Patterson cast about him and realised he was alone. His comrades lay dead among their foes, locked in the eternal embrace of death.
Bloodied, bruised and running on fading adrenaline, Patrick "Pat" Patterson pushed back. He staggered down shallow trenches as around him fires burned and men shouted to each other in the dark. Alien hoots and shrieks permeated the air and the night lit up with green tracery. Machines clanked on, advancing past the lines, nearly drowning out the heavy tread of alien legions.
Above, lights whirled and took shots at stragglers - Patterson could see that the lights were attached to something - a flying contraption of sorts. Where the defiant boom of artillery sounded it was swiftly silenced by malevolent angels from another world. Patterson watched as trio of rocket-beasts ducked and weaved around a cluster of men, huddling behind makeshift barricades. He hunkered down and watched as one of the beasts tossed a glowing green sphere into the group, the gesture almost contemptuous. There was a green flash and the soldier's screams were abruptly cut off.
He staggered on and glanced up as strange shells whistled overhead, slamming down into distant, bunkered areas. The sound of gunfire from those positions faded and died as black smoke poured out and pooled across what was left of the British defensive line.
He was nearly into the main camp, nearly half a mile from the front itself, back to the forward headquarters. Ahead he could see more fires and heard the sound of gunfire: The headquarters still stood, strangely bypassed by the fighting machines as they pressed on towards… Aldershot?
As he approached a song caught his ears, drifting across the battlefield.
"...he countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark satanic mills?"
He stumbled forwards, almost blinded by the blood in his eyes. His vision swam as his strength ebbed and he could feel the pain of a hundred tiny cuts and maybe more. But he pushed on.
"Bring me my bow of burning gold!"
A creature loomed from an alien firing line - another strangely suited man. Patterson fired and the creature fell, head a tattered mess.
"Bring me my arrows of desire!"
He moved forwards into the light and heard a shout over the gunfire. Somehow he made it to the perimeter of stacked boxes and overturned tables. Hands grabbed him and hauled him in.
"Bring me my spear: o clouds unfold!"
He saw around him other soldiers - a mix of uniforms and ranks, hunkered behind barricades and passing ammunition. A Colonel stood amidst it all gesturing for reinforcement. Next to him stood the colours of the Regiment, Patterson's regiment. He wasn't sure if the man was his Commanding officer, so streaked with mud and gore were all the men around him, their uniforms covered in soot and soil. The Colonel looked at him as around them the men continued the hymn, keeping their spirits up.
"Well done, trooper, getting this far. Any sign of Lieutenant Gregory and the second platoon?
Patterson blinked, "Sorry sir. I'm Third platoon, Second Company. I think… I think I saw my own Ru-Lieutenant… but they got him. No sign of the others. It's a rout at the front, sir."
The Colonel gave him a faintly tired look, "I think we rather gathered that, soldier. Can you fight?"
"Good show. Corporal Jameson, give this man some ammunition. Let's try to hold these ne'er do wells a while longer, let the others regroup."
Patterson found himself at another barricade, taking shots at silhouettes in the dark. Large figures loomed but were driven back by a hail of lead. Scuttling figures got a tossed petard and a blast for their trouble.
The hymn started up again as another wave of creatures pushed forward. Patterson fired, his vision only on targets he could see right in front of him, or in response to called out warnings where he flicked his aim right and left, cracking off rounds as fast as he could re-chamber them.
He looked around and saw the men to his sides were down, a mess of burned flesh. Another man shrieked behind him and shot his comrade before another man stabbed him. More fire came in, a hail of withering green. And still the hymn continued.
"I will not cease from mental fight;"
He grappled for another round from his pouch but found it empty. A figure charged forwards - one of the suited creatures. It leapt forward, snake like and Patterson thrust his rifle forward. The creature squealed and tried to dodge, but momentum had it. It slammed into the bayonet and Patterson went backwards. He followed through and the creature passed overhead as his rifle clattered away, lodged firmly in the inhuman beast's torso. It landed hard squirmed and then died, leaking noxious gas around it.
"Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,"
Patterson got to his feed and hauled a rifle from the cold hands of a fallen comrade. He scrambled for more bullets and took stock: in the furore most of the humans now lay dead. He spied the Colonel, slumped over a crate, pistol limp in his hand. The Corporal lay nearby, his chest a smoking ruin, the banner of the Colours now fallen beside him. He realised the hymn was quieter now.
"Till we have built Jerusalem,"
He moved unsteadily as the last gunshots died away, heading for the fallen pole. Carefully, with single-minded determination, Patterson hauled the standard up from the mud. He looked around and saw shapes moving through the gloom. Great creatures, clad in green loomed near the barricades, armour scarred by bullets and shrapnel. Smaller figures flanked them, whilst eerily human shadows paused to watch. The ground shook briefly and Patterson looked up: a fighting machine lumbered closer and clanked to a halt; steam hissed from the shoulder joints near its hood and there was a whirr as the heat ray protrusion levelled itself down to aim at the lone soldier. He stared up at the darkened visor of the machine hood, no doubt where some monstrosity piloted the vile contraption. Patterson set his jaw and drew a deep breath, then hefted the colours above his head and bellowed out.
"In England's green and pleasant la-"
The engine fired and heat bathed the ground, turning the mud to blasted clay. The air hissed to steam and flesh broiled, while cloth caught and burned to ash.
The light faded. The collection of aliens turned and moved along. With a whirring hiss, the machine rose and turned West, moving to follow its fellows.
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2021.11.30 18:59 Emergency-Spare-4431 [Kit] le kits Cameroon wc 1998
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2021.11.30 18:59 Married-bi-theway 32 [M4M/MF] Philly burbs looking for ongoing male, female, or couple to develop a friendship and explore sexuality freely
Hi all, first the obligatory rapid fire facts about myself, I’m 32, fit, well built, handsome, white, clean and fun; And I live in the Philadelphia suburbs. I am married, don’t go drugs except smoke 420 and I’m finally back to looking for like minded people in similar situations.
I honestly am open to chatting with males, females, or couples whether you be fwb or married. I’m just looking for people who are also curious about exploring their bisexual. And ultimately it would be awesome to find something that clicks for us and transition from online to real life to live out some of our fantasies… i have a lot of those; and to keep things simple for now let’s just say I’m honestly open to trying just about everything at least once or twice lol.
Anyway, if I peaked your interest let’s chat and see where things might go. After all this is kind of like the lottery, can’t win if you don’t play haha.
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2021.11.30 18:59 barnaby-jones Judge Won't Order Restart on NC Legislative Redistricting | North Carolina News - USNews.com
|submitted by barnaby-jones to ElectionReforMaybe [link] [comments]|
2021.11.30 18:59 Lebyclist Ammar truly is the gigachad of DotA (source: Creepwave twitter)
2021.11.30 18:59 auntieScrooge [L] [F] Finally ready to vent after 3 years. Trying to process the day’s events but it’s been hard doing it by myself.
2021.11.30 18:59 solo_dol0 Is there any evidence of the U.S. actually censoring coverage of the "Spanish Flu"? Is its etymology more myth than fact?
There is a commonly repeated claim going around that the 'Spanish Flu' is only named that because Spain was one of few neutral countries through WWI that was thus free to report on the otherwise demoralizing truth of the disease. In fact Wikipedia even says:
The pandemic broke out near the end of World War I, when wartime censors suppressed bad news in the belligerent countries to maintain morale, but newspapers freely reported the outbreak in neutral Spain. These stories created a false impression of Spain as the epicenter, so press outside Spain adopted the name "Spanish" flu.The idea being that Spain was reporting it so much while other countries were reporting it so little (due to censor) that everyone assumed it was coming from Spain. Searching sources I can find that the British did in fact have the 'Defence of the Realm Act of 1914' which enabled such censure, but I can't find any definitive evidence of this ever taking place in the U.S.
Miner considered this incarnation of the disease so dangerous that he warned national public health officials about it. Public Health Reports (now Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report), a weekly journal produced by the U.S. Public Health Service to alert health officials to outbreaks of communicable diseases throughout the world, published his warning [in April 1918].There is ample reporting cited in that very article of illness throughout the country as well though not necessarily as influenza or any universal nomenclature.
2021.11.30 18:59 pricegun Got em five!!
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2021.11.30 18:59 N0GARED Unbelievable
|submitted by N0GARED to antiwork [link] [comments]|
2021.11.30 18:59 Cathf17 https://www.paypal.me/JNGDrt
2021.11.30 18:59 ghibl1 mfw today, 1st of December, patiently awaiting Dev Thoughts #24
2021.11.30 18:59 Airijko Aatrox is outdated, we need a Rework!
2021.11.30 18:59 Juicebox3234 Having to stand the entire time during work is stupid
I work at a smoke shop rn (also in college) and like a lot of jobs I can’t sit down at all. I personally don’t have any injuries or problems that would standing for 8 hours a problem but a lot of my co workers do. There is literally no reason why we can’t sit down when there is no customers and even if there is customers I don’t think any of them would care. I don’t even understand this thought from an employer because who actually think that sitting is unprofessional now?
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2021.11.30 18:59 johntheplaya [COD] Come December 8th
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2021.11.30 18:59 mcerdx13 Request for Expedite
Anybody tried to do this?
My condition is preventing me to work overtime, I am on a debt settlement, my spouse is pregnant and can’t work full time.This has caused us financial hardship. I submitted documentations to support this.
Is this enough for them to expedite my claim?
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2021.11.30 18:59 mollymolotov666 What's the most memorable thing you've ever seen on the T?
2021.11.30 18:59 EonXII What maps have sentinel beams?
2021.11.30 18:59 mikesmith929 November 30 - Alberta COVID-19 vaccine coverage by age group
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2021.11.30 18:59 CryonicYtFurry Question
2021.11.30 18:59 BoringAbbreviations5 Already back to SWSH..
Got about 16 battle ready Pokémon and realized there isn’t a matchmaking system to battle. I respect that this game didn’t originally have it, but I think the online community will move back to SWSH once they burn through the end game.
What is everyone’s thoughts?
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2021.11.30 18:59 Channing22 Stuttering in Fedora 35
Hi everyone, new-ish Fedora user (not new to Linux though) user here.
2021.11.30 18:59 SnooOpinions7345 Messed up real bad on ethical scenario
I still don't exactly know how I'd answer this question but I don't know why I said what I said. The scenario is for law enforcement officials. You got to a friend's house for dinner and his gf you realize you know because she's been convicted of a crime. What would you do? I stupidly said I would continue with the dinner then I'd ask a manager what to do when I got to work, as per policy. I think I was supposed to leave the dinner??? Confused AF.
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2021.11.30 18:59 i_am_nobody_who_ru My mjolnir
|submitted by i_am_nobody_who_ru to NorsePaganism [link] [comments]|
2021.11.30 18:59 Apple-plus-Insanitea How do y’all interact with your readers/do you interact with your readers?
I try to be friendly. I’ll reply and make conversations in the comments and I’ve got a tumblr set up where I take prompts. I’ve written fic for people in the comment section of my own fic to fix something, and generally try to be as nice as possible. I think I might be a little over-enthusiastic in this way, and I was wondering how y’all talk to your readers (if you do at all).
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