Vignette:1600 Meissenstrasse

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1600 Meissenstraße

Neu-Amden, Imperial State of Alva
December 19th, 1952

estor sat behind a counter, clutching his rifle tightly. Sweat beaded down from his unkempt hair as he rose and took aim out from the little confectionery store he and what remained of his squad holed up in.

“God almighty, they’re everywhere.” His officer exclaimed.

“The Teutons are holding them back at the big housing complex; we’ve got this.” One of his comrades said.

“I hate sand. I hate heat. I hate the weather here. I hate this place.”

“We all do, Nikos.” The soldier replied. “Shit, that’s another goddamn squad.”

“Sperrfeuer!” exclaimed someone from the room above.

Nestor pulled the trigger, his shot landing in the leg of one of the Bakanese riflemen. His comrades fired as well, downing a handful of unaware Bakanese soldiers in the process. The room above them exploded with the roar of a machine gun. The remainders of the Bakanese squad in front of them quickly melted away into the darkness, their silhouettes illuminated by the burning city.

“Das war zu Einfach!” shouted someone from the room above. He couldn’t understand a word of Goetic, but clearly, they were happy.

“They’re like little rats. We catch them and they run away into their little mouseholes.” His officer said, clearly disgruntled.

Nestor put down his rifle to catch his breath. He and his squad had run through the desolate streets of Neu-Amden in an attempt to establish a defensive perimeter around the massive railway station on the northern shore of the city (or at least, that’s what his CO told everybody). In the process, he’d spent most of his ammunition fending off a Bakanese counterattack while hiding in the burnt-out skeleton of a townhome as soldiers all around him shouted gibberish he barely knew before rejoining his squad in the little confectionery store they were currently holed up in.

A lone figure appeared from the rubble, clutching an Alvak rifle in his hand. The dishevelled officer shuffled down the little hill of debris towards Nestor and his squad.

“Who goes there? Identify yourself!” shouted his officer, his voice hoarse.

“I am Thalassian!” Shouted the lone officer.

“Finally, someone who speaks our language.” sputtered his comrade.

Nestor breathed a sigh of relief.

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