VR WARS Volume II - Coalition Army

CHARGING IN

Machine guns blazed, and cannons roared on both ends of the dusty fields that trembled with the impact of each explosion, attempting to furiously put each other out of action by firing almost blindly into the fold before a lucky shot did the same to them. As their approach into the enemy defensive perimeter became increasingly narrow, the enemy bombardment, although ineffective, so far, became sporadic; the fast-moving Panzers had frightened the Iberian crews.

“Let’em have it!”

Boomboomboom

Under Rafael’s orders, the confident squadron poured shell after shell into the enemy defensive line, blowing up trenches and knocking out a few emplacements without receiving a single direct hit. The Panzers' effectiveness had scaled to new heights after coming into range; mobility was a key factor for their early success. It all came down to who could dodge the most and being in a fixed position meant this disadvantage constrained the IF’s weapons.

Just as the first belt of defenses crumbled to pieces because of the abusive display of overwhelming and accurate fire displayed by Rafael’s proficient crews, something happened…

“!”

Peering through his periscope, Rafael witnessed an enemy shell piercing the tracks of one of his leading tanks unleashing smoke and fire and forcing the crew out and into the open fields. Tracer bullets immediately befell the grounded crew from the opposing end, forcing them to seek shelter under the burning carcass that was their home moments ago.

“What the hell happened?!”

“…”

Taking another look at the enemy they thought was beaten, the UAT Panzer squadron quickly realized the error of their thinking, and no other looked more terrified than their leader. “Jesus…I-I made a mistake…those aren’t 47mm,” he concluded in a mumble. “…Their 76mm ZiS-3’s—!!”

The impact of an enemy shell a few meters from their position shook the entire tank and nearly turned everyone inside upside down. Unlike their relatives of a smaller caliber, the ZiS-3 was unmatched at the beginning of the war as it could penetrate anything the German Army could field at the time. Technically employed in close support of the infantry and the destruction of enemy armor, Joseph Stalin famously referred to it as "a masterpiece of artillery system design," empowering it to quickly enter mass production and become the most produced Soviet field gun of the war. The ZiS-3 displayed brilliance across the board, from its muzzle velocity, excellent maneuverability, and incredible firing rate, which could easily reach 25 rounds a minute. Although they could not penetrate the armor of tanks such as the Panthers or Tigers, the older Panzer IV models were easy prey for the field gun that carried Stalin’s name.

“For f**k's sake, they’ve got us zeroed in!”

“What the hell do we do now?!”

“…I…I—”

Upon that sudden realization of doom, blindfolds were erected on that battleground, caging everyone’s thoughts with fear, more so for Rafael, for he was the one responsible for their predicament. After advancing so far and keeping his unit intact through multiple skirmishes, he had finally made that ultimate mistake that would cost him everything. Their courageous attack soon began to stall as the feeling of invincibility they felt moments earlier was shredded by the increasing enemy fire that threatened to overwhelm the lightly armored tanks. Inevitability was all that awaited them in that merciless scorched steppe.

“…Don’t give up, guys!” A female voice soon came over the radio to raise them from an early grave, bolting Rafael to inquire about what she meant by that, to which the woman simply stated, “Help is coming! To your front!”

“Our front? But that’s where the enemy is…wait a minute…Cristina you—”

“I can’t let you take all the glory now, can I? She answered playfully. “Thanks for keeping them occupied long enough for us to make our way around them, 1st Company is engaging now, out.”

Having been left in the dust by their own escort, lieutenant Cristina and the rest of the 1st Company took only seconds to react. They began with the simple movement of bypassing the IF stronghold, moving under cover of Rafael’s attack towards the unguarded rear, completely outflanking the Iberian students whose sights were set on the encroaching tank squadron.

On one of the rearer half-tracks, Mara, Gizelle, and the others sprang into action, checking their equipment and reloading their weapons for another confrontation with a brutal enemy. Crossing the countryside at the maximum speed their engines could tolerate, the UAT students in their armored vehicles eagerly waited until they knew with absolute certainty that all hell would break loose when they opened fire. Once the shapes in the distance gave birth to their true humanistic form, everyone released the safety of their weapons and simultaneously poured fire with their mounted heavy machine guns into the backs of the IF students.

Very few of the opposition fired back; a handful of mortar rounds fell here and there, scoring no hits. The IF’s lack of reaction assured success was guaranteed.

Unexpectedly for the UAT, who had braced for another heavy assault, the hail of lead that hit the exposed rear of their enemy effectively broke the IF’s spirits; people began running left and right without any cohesion as panic settled in. What came as a surprise to the 1st Company on the offensive was the disparity between both forces in confidence. Barely had the bullets left the barrels of their guns, and the enemy was already in disarray.

While the physical damage the IF had sustained could be considered to be minimal, even salvageable, it was at a psychological factor that they suffered greatly. The tables had been turned. Any kind of organized resistance collapsed in either direction at a moment’s notice. The sudden attack to the rear, a place they hadn’t considered worthy of fortifying, immediately crushed whatever hope there was in their hearts and minds. Using the ‘Angel’s Calling’ tactic to great effect, Cristina’s 1st Company completely broke the Iberian students' morale as they were now being attacked from multiple angles by a numbers-wise, inferior, but dedicated force. Rallied by the assistance of the people they were supposed to be escorting, the Panzer squadron, previously stalled by heavy shelling, once more joined the fray.

“…Once we’re over the trenches, dismount and start clearing from the right. Watch out for those pillboxes on the left, keep moving, and don’t bunch up,” Cristina’s orders could be heard over the radios amidst enemy fire, just as their vehicles suddenly began to slow their speed. “Good luck to you all.”

The ensuring madness put every scrap they had to shame; no other combat had been so chaotic as this one. For the first few minutes, it seemed like heaven and earth were on a collision course, with fire paving the way as judgment day beckoned the looming horizon. Bullets flew in all directions, enemy mortar shells targeted friendly and enemy troops alike, and people ran back and forth, some fleeing the field of battle altogether, others committing to the fight until their dying breath. Screams of terror and vengeance bathed the air, filling it with raw intensity and electrifying energy, the likes of which hadn’t been experienced by either side thus far. Explosions broke out all along the IF defensive perimeter, burning the tall yellow grass to ashes and dust. Cristina’s hardened troops infiltrated the enemy trenches to blow up ammunition dumps and put out of action the anti-tank emplacements that threatened their tanks. The latter's arrival ensured catastrophe for the Iberian unit, now trapped between encroaching bayonets and thunderous steel.

“Waste those IF pigs!” “Slaughter the fuckers!” “No quarter!!”

As the ruthless fighting consumed resources with no end in sight, it entered the savage stage of hand-to-hand combat when ammunition finally began to run out. With broken rifle butts and bayonets they fought, men and women fell left and right officers and subordinates alike, painting the smokey-gray graveyard in red. When that dire realization materialized, every student was let loose to rampage with free will, regardless of orders or ideology.

In the heat of battle, the burning desire to exact retribution outweighed that of yearning for self-preservation. Resistant to this general way of thinking stood the field medics on either side, rushing through danger to aid the many wounded who littered the field, left for dead by all once they fell and lost purpose.

Mara was no exception.

Purposely placed at the far back of the formation, the half-track carrying Mara and the many wounded was last to enter the fray, thinking that it would all be over by the time they reached the battleground. Denying Cristina’s belief, as they had suddenly caught a second wind and recovered from the initial shock, the IF continued to hold on to whatever holds they had left, dragging the irrefutable outcome by bravely persevering in the face of undeniable adversity.