Mess hall, Garrison barracks, Site 9, Region 4: Todenland,

Protectorate of Drestburg

1/03/301 A.C.

1215hrs

" By now, the artillery is currently being transported by train and, surprise, surprise! They are squeaky clean as if they just got out of the factory. And according to a lieutenant from the First guard's regiment, the Fifth and Twentieth assault groups are currently camping two miles away from here and a single reserve corps of two regiments are also expected to arrive in a day."

Alek ate a spoonful out of a bowl of tasty meat porridge. 'The cooks are in a good mood' he thought as the bowl was exceedingly tasty.

" So let me get this straight Francis, we have two Divisions of tanks both at full strength made up of to 20 percent Infantry tank type with each division as of late have at least 200 tanks and light reconnaissance vehicles, a single understrength artillery regiment with only 20 pieces; one of which is a cannon meant for fixed fortifications and lobs 200mm shells, two assault groups containing two understrength armies of veterans awaiting reinforcements and a single newly-created reserve corps made up of old geezers who were pulled out of the area to reinforce this line. As if we weren't meant to be here in the first place." He said once again before taking another spoonful.

" Not just that, I also heard that the 83rd and 106th Heavy regiments will be combined alongside a newly raised Armored regiment and a single artillery battalion to form a new Siege regiment."

Alek nearly choked as he heard that.

"Also that applies to the rest of the garrison regiments here, that includes the two misfit regiments and the Guards Regiments."

"Siege regiments! But we already retired the last remaining siege regiment ten years ago!"

"I don't know if it's right but we might be waiting for something."

"It smells like the brass wants this war done and wrapped by the next five years."

"Maybe."

"Not just maybe Francis, we won't be going home by next year if this is the case. The brass most likely wanted a brand new assault. All we're waiting for is the transports."

Just as he said that portion, a rattle of voices were heard in the room.

" Guy's! Corporal! You won't believe this! There's an entire regiment of armored transports sitting in the motor pool as of now!" They immediately saw Mikhail with Petrov as they ran towards the table.

The two corporals stood up with surprise in their faces, slowly becoming a look of grim realization. The two split up and decided to head straight into their designated areas and await instruction. If a regiment of transports appeared right behind them without warning then something is up. Something so important that the brass kept it under wraps until it happened. Though the idea of spies in their ranks might be a bit weird, taking into account that independent homesteads were under attack by enemy forces for months meant something; that the enemy might just appear everywhere. And so everyone was ignorant of the fact that entire armies were being mobilized as of late, especially near them.

As they rushed straight out of the mess hall and straight into their stations. Murmurs were heard in the hall until the word was spread as a second batch of low-ranked soldiers came and went straight to their superiors to tell the news. One by one Colonels, Majors, Captains, Lieutenants, Sergeants, and Corporals finished their meals and dispersed. Each heading straight into their places. Though the garrison might have suffered some casualties, especially the last devastating assault, they only lost less than 2 percent of their fighting strength. They can still mount an attack and with the 20 thousand men garrison alongside those coming to reinforce, they can in truth commit to a punitive campaign.

One thing that truly freaked the heavens out of every soldier's heart would be the chilling sight of more than five hundred SB05 heavy bombers flying in the stratosphere escorted by some less than a hundred ragged and ancient FM79M air superiority fighter. Assets that should never be used unless forced to do so.

They looked like pencils with wings. The SB05 were pencils with swept wings and four engines dangling on the wings. The FM79M's were pencils with blocky portions and Delta wings with their pilots sitting on top of their engine intakes.

The SB05's slowly moved in the sky as they were turboprop bombers and they flew in the stratosphere. These were the latest heavy bomber design available to the Protectorate as they are only five years old. And in a world where technological advancement seemed to stagnate for more than a hundred years and even regress due to a lack of familiar materials and rising costs, this design is the most optimal for their use. They weren't carrying high yield bombs, however, and by the looks of it, they might be carrying normal 100kg bombs.

The FM79m however, is a different story. Already in the hands of the protectorate since their dark past, there's barely any left. As of late, the reported number of these jets was just at three hundred. Seeing nearly a hundred of these sent to the skies is troubling for the people of Drestburg, it heralded something bad. The jet is state of the art, though, for the most part, they are having a hard time maintaining it although they had the money. Most of the materials are found off-world and with a world, as divided as this one, it is impossible to even pool some money to create a single starship that can traverse the stars. The technology is still there, but the materials aren't.

The soldiers below the wall turned their heads as they watched the sight. After a minute they decided to continue with their duties until they saw something. It was another FM79, only it came from no man's land. The squadrons of Protectorate FM79m's broke formation and immediately rushed to intercept the enemy plane, by now it was a squadron. The FM79m's were sending a salvo of missiles straight into the enemy line, which by now is still beyond visual range, the only way that the people below can still see the fight was due to the fact that the planes were so high in the sky that they looked like mere formations of dots.

The first salvo struck various targets on the enemy side, but they came in huge numbers. Volley after volley of missiles was sent in the enemy's lines and hundreds fell like flies, they didn't even bother to activate countermeasures or even evade the missiles. For those below, this was not only intriguing, this was horrendous. As if fighting an entire squadron of the undead. Swarm after swarm of enemy planes intercepted the flight. It's like watching an entire school of piranhas in the sky.

When the range was starting to get close, the fight went personal. The enemy squadrons blanketed the sky with their Laser cannons. The well-armored SB05's barely rocked from enemy fire. The FM79M's were experiencing the same thing. Their armor was updated using local materials that managed to increase their protection for the same amount of weight. As for the enemy fighters, the Dresters can only think of one thing; the FM79S. Cheap, easy to mass-produce, forgiving to fly, and capable of carrying all kinds of munitions and bombs. The perfect go-to airframe for guerrilla tactics and interception duties. This was the most ubiquitous atmosphere fighter aircraft ever since they came and colonized the continent, and due to the thin armor, the enemy suffered. The enemy might have blanketed the sky but the Dresters were well spaced and ready for a dogfight. The Dresters downed, droves after droves even with just their 30mm Tungsten core armor-piercing cannons and the laser cannon mounted on the nose. The Drester pilots also enjoyed the privilege of being able to think for themselves. Utilizing the adequate maneuverability of their planes, they made use of individual tactics. Many decided to make attack runs and went boom and zoom while utilizing the supersonic abilities of their aircraft with others pushing to Mach 4, others decided to beat their opponents by tailing and beating them in a turn fight since the enemy turned and reacted rather slowly and sluggishly.

The pilots in the middle of the formation however had the biggest problem; They can only decide to go up or down. The FM79m had the best climb rate but the undercarriage is the least armored portion of the plane, climbing would only present it to the enemy. Many decided to dive and attack the enemy in their undercarriage and even firing blindly, while others decided to trust their armor and strafed downwards.

By this point, even the bombers were involved. Due to their size, they were able to carry both autocannons and rotary cannons, both of which were chambered for 20mm shells. Their gunners shot left and right trying to avoid the four engines that stuck like sore thumbs in the wings. Most of the time, they hit large numbers of the enemy craft while their escorts danced around the airspace wracking kill after kill.

However, despite the superiority of their pilots one of them ended up colliding with an enemy fighter. He was currently trying to avoid a scathing volley of cannon fire when due to his stress he forgot about an entire flight of the enemy right below him. Another was trying to go for another pass when a volley of five missiles immediately raced towards him. He sent flare after flare, jamming signals, and even tried to outmaneuver the missiles. All of them he neutralized, except for one which grazed his left-wing and blew up a few meters ahead of his plane's nose. The shrapnel and explosion broke the glass canopy and incapacitated him, one of the glass shards hit him in the neck. The plane's AI sensing his critical condition went auto and flew to the nearest airbase, the damage managed to affect the nose cone and so the plane flew almost half-blind. Many more of the same caliber occurred, one plane lost the other wing forcing its pilot to eject. Another was less fortunate, he was killed when a missile hit him square in the engine. Overall nearly twenty friendly fighters were killed or MIA, only two of the bombers were down as another immediately broke its wing as it tried to level itself. The crews were hastening their speed as they jumped out of the falling aircraft.

For the enemy force, they lost all of their fighters. None were shown to even try to retreat. All in all, the raiding force was outnumbered 10-1. It was perhaps due to luck that their enemy came in waves rather than one big blob. For the tired and shaken pilots, that was not a moment to relax. Rather it was the time to be ready for surface defenses since the squadron leader of the first wing of bombers informed them that they will be bombing targets in less than a minute.

The soldiers tailed the entire wing and the fight. The foreigners especially were the most curious and affected of the bunch. Not many of them had seen supersonic aircraft since in the main continent only the powerful and altruistic Khaarkonen were in possession of supersonic aircraft and they even keep them under wraps. This is the first time they witnessed an aerial battle of such calibers as aircraft whizzing at supersonic speeds just to make an attack run, beyond visual range combat, and the explosion of nuclear weapons dropped behind enemy lines which truly terrified each and every single one of them. For the locals, they only wished that the quartermasters received the right shipment since they will need the right filters for their mask and the suits to protect them from radiation. However, for the foreigners walking towards that bombed and possibly irradiated land nearly meant walking straight to hell for them.

****

"Jill! Help the Lieutenant with his equipment please, we'll be expecting radiation in the area."

"Radiation sir?" Pierre asked surprised as Jill helped him seal his suit and hood.

"You'll be cooked from the inside if you don't seal yourself correctly, and do always wear your mask from now on. Don't take it off unless you were asked to."

"I don't understand sir, radiation?"

"Those blinding explosions you saw yesterday are nukes, our methods are no longer as refined as before and we are currently challenged by a lack of equipment. Those nukes had a large chance of being salted bombs instead of tactical nukes due to imperfections. That means low yield but very effective ground denial weapons. If only it denies our enemies, it denies us far better."

"Wait, sir! You mean.."

"The chances of us being culled by the air we breathe is indeed high?" After Jean spoke, Pierre nodded.

"Yes, very high. But for the undead, it's a minor annoyance. It's very effective in atomizing huge clusters of the dead, but also it's very effective in killing us just by walking past the zones. So you better stick to us, especially Grigory..." Oscar spoke as Pierre looked at Grigory lazing in a corner with his entire protective suit on complete with an E17 respirator. Both the E17 and E15's were NBC qualified respirators and are current issue models.

"He's the one in charge of carrying the Radiation detector." he continued.

"I barely understand the concepts you have just given me."

"Just stick close to us like glue and you'll survive. We went through worse during our training in High School." Jill interjected as she continued.

"Merde! I can't believe you people!"

"Just remember to stick to us like glue and you'll survive." Jean once more said as he wore his E17 respirator and secured his helmet. He looks quite different from the norm now. Due to advances in textiles, his hazmat suit and hood looked no different than a mono-color uniform with a metallic sheen. It was indeed fitting and made him look like an infiltrator of some sort, wearing very fitting clothing. The only things that stood out from the body glove-like suit was the pieces of armor meant to protect him and his helmet. The suit looked very aerodynamic and quality made rather than their usual mass-produced uniforms.

Pierre might have more questions, but there's actually no more time. Just as Jill finished helping him, Gregori stood up, took his bags, and waited for Jean to leave.

The entire platoon was in a lot of ways, faceless. With each wearing their masks/respirators they looked like tailored-made men. All of them looked the same. Their respirators didn't help this, they had circular holes for eyes and were tinted. It almost seemed like they were meant to hide the person rather than just help them breathe. Though for the untrained eye, they were all scary men wearing black clothes and equipment, for others they aren't totally uniform. Most of the soldiers were wearing the same E17 box respirators with their tubes dangling on the uniform just enough to keep them mobile and nonrestrictive. However, some were sticking to tradition and brought their father's or grandfather's E15 canister respirator. These were introduced about a hundred years ago and served the last generation before being phased out and mothballed. These had circular canisters for filtration rather than big boxes like the new one, and can only last a good five hours before needing replacements. The new models lasted for two days before that box had to be replaced and if the manuals are to be believed, were meant to give the military a chance to commit themselves with more staying power in the wastelands for longer periods rather than be troubled with staying power. Although the E17 was available and is distributed to the military, only older models and the E15 are available to the civilian market. For the most part, Jean was unnerved by the huge amount of E15's distributed to the "Attaches". It rubbed him the wrong way that he wanted to swap his' with Pierre's since it's almost a way for the government to say that their lives are pretty much more expendable than their troops.

He called them to attention and announced the removal of their silencers for the moment. His voice was most clear if only a little muffled. Most of them looked at each other. They never experienced being sent outside without the silencers, but he had already been informed by his Superior to instead save the silencers from damage since it's going to be a very noisy operation. Nearly everyone, even his own command squad removed their silencers. Only Pierre reacted late and was still revolving the silencer as Jean gave the order to board the transports.

And as if those ten-foot-tall transports weren't intimidating enough, the frontal armor was sloped and had explosive reactive armor, a single swivel-mounted 50mm autocannon on the hull located to the right of the driver, and two 12mm heavy machine guns in the same configuration mounted on small remote control turrets to the sides. It looked like a lozenge tractor with sloping armor to the front and sides, two machinegun turrets, and a cannon with massive doors on the back and exit points on the top of the vehicle. The front in particular looked like the Mark IV's tank's face while the back is akin to an M2 Bradley's back.

You might ask why they had this technology when they used semiautos without proper handguards? The only difference between an R200 and an R55 was its action and the magazine. The R55 was inferior in firing rate but saved resources since it had an inbuilt low-capacity magazine and required clips for loading. However, for vehicle armor, they indeed scaled-down but still quite advanced compared to the rest. This type of armor was actually easy for them to produce compared to the less ubiquitous armors that they hoarded in their depots. And as for the Explosive Reactive Armor in their possession, we must give them some credit. They won't explode unless penetrated by a 100mm ap shell or 200mm shells.

After the loading, the men hunkered down on that tracked transport. The drivers were still waiting for the order to move when the guns started blazing. Hundreds of artillery shells rained down from the heavens straight to no-man's land. The majority of whom landed near the spires of the old city. Not only cannons but also rockets joined the cacophony and for those close to the driver's seat, it brought something odd.

Jean stood near the driver and looked at the glass only to see a sea of fire. The cannon shells were carrying some sort of flammable material and instead of exploding, propagated it. The rockets were all incendiary and ignited the flammable materials thrust into the air burning everything in its path. The artillery was still pounding when the driver was given the order to go.

With a nod, he went back to his seat and held his P3000 close. The 0.44 caliber submachine gun was a standard issue for officers and very ergonomic and short. It had the same range as other submachineguns because it was a bullpup and can shoot up to 800 rounds per minute. Hugging that gun on safety helped him cope with the buzzing sounds of the engine and the squealing of the tracks.

Transports aren't the only vehicles that traversed no-man's land. Ever since they were attached to a siege regiment, tanks followed around them to protect them from possible enemy encounters. There are trucks behind them carrying the artillery and some supplies alongside mine flails that the crews weren't ordered to attach yet. The whole force moved at 45km/h except for the slow-moving trucks that carried the weight.

The entire formation looked like a blitzkrieg with infantry carriers, BM02 tanks, and LT98 reconnaissance tanks followed closely or went ahead to scout. Some of the LT98 stepped on mines but were undamaged and reported their findings. The Entire element stopped as the LT98 went close to the tanks, the slow-moving IM04 infantry tank managed to catch up after moving at a max speed of 35km/h, and the engineers installed the mine flails on the BM02's before they formed a formation and continued moving while detonating a lot of mines.

As the tanks with mine flails started moving forwards and detonated multiple anti-personal and anti-armor mines, Piere felt a bit peculiar with traversing this area. Despite being inside a heavily armored APC, the sight of undead wriggling on the sides of the vehicle was giving him the creeps. His convoy might've encountered mines but others weren't. Their convoys immediately zipped past his' whilst his slowly crawled as the boxy BM02's were slowly detonating the traps. One thing, in particular, is the sight to his immediate face. As he was seated to the left of the vehicle with a circular window, he noticed a pack of soldiers who were sitting on a six-wheeled truck jump and start burning anything that moved. That truck also carried a sort of rocket artillery that was following the tanks and the sight of still moving and crawling dead people made the NCO tick that he took a flamethrower and started burning anything that moved.

The same sight was seen as he saw another group dismount and start "cleaning" the place. Looking at the soldier next to him reminded him of something: They literally looked like assassins doing some cleaning.

"Hey! You alright? Your arms are shaking." A nearby soldier asked him.

This made him look at himself and it made him a bit embarrassed.

"Is this your first time?" The soldier once again followed up.

"This is nothing corporal, I used to sweat profusely when anticipating..."

"Corporal!" Jean called out.

"Sir!!!"

"Keep the lieutenant some company. He'll need it."

"Lieutenant, this is not really..."

"No need for that here Pierre. You might not experience a normal conversation for months after we're done with this transport..." Jean paused for a moment before looking at every single one of the troops who sat there. " We'll be fighting in the trenches! We'll be sleeping, eating, shitting, and waiting in there! So you bastards better start zipping your pant's or you'll get the worst infection ever! And no! I'll be punishing you bastards even for a fellatio! We're going straight to hell as of today. And there will be no more questions, whether we will be stuck there for five years or for five nights, there will be no complaints!!!

Understand!!!" Jean screamed as they responded: "Sir, yes Sir!"

"I can't hear shit! Understand me!!!"

"Sir, yes sir!!!"

"Good..." His voice trailed off as the transport stopped and its ramparts deployed.

"What are you waiting for you twits!!! Get off and get the shovels!!! We're making the trenches, right now!!!" With that half, a platoon of troops dismounted and took positions or whatever kind of cover they can find.

The trucks were still moving slowly at a pace of 30kph due to their load and the transports can't wait. A single transport can carry at least three squads of seven troops each and the entire convoy element carried his battalion, troops are still waiting at the walls and they had to move fast.

As the APC's left, Pierre saw what exactly the Infantry, BM, and Reconnaissance tanks were doing after they arrived. The armor was perfectly lined like a wall of steel to protect the soldiers. As he laid eyes on them, and LT98 took a shot to the turret but didn't budge. He didn't know-how as he hadn't read anything about these light tanks but surely it must be that reactive armor that the Jean spoke about.

As he was turning his head, he felt his suit pulled down as Jill made him crouch and pointed to where his current command squad was taking cover. Jean was found just a few meters from a tank crouching as he waited for the lumbering trucks.

"Get ready to hit the floor, Pierre. It might just save you."

"Why do you say that like every time we get in some sort of trouble?"

"Hahaha! Who knows? It might just save your life."

'And the borders are starting to get creepy' Pierre thought, remarking how Jean is starting to act like the typical Drester again. He breathed hard and easy as he looked to his sides whilst crouching. A small horde of undead was walking straight into a squad of soldiers as they were taking cover in some rocks. All of them started shooting and downed some of the dead menaces while others incapacitated the rest, reducing them to crawling goons. Although the tanks were lined up like a wall a way back, it so happened that the squad was positioned near a concrete tube that stuck up the ground for about two meters. This most likely might be where the undead came from. One of the soldiers started burning the bodies, his flamethrower is no different than a thin metal tube with a pistol grip and a trigger connected via a flexible wire to a small pouch where he placed the canister. Just as he was busy burning the bodies to a crisp, something hits the left of his thigh where the pouch is, burning him and sending the nearest aflame as their comrades tried to save them by wetting extra pieces of clothing. Their suits are flame resistant alright, but it's the sticky liquid that's causing the ruckus. As the situation became direr and the young soldier screamed from the burns, Jill and Jean ran towards the screaming young man with a canister of flame retardant and a gallon of water. Pierre didn't even notice as they went into action saving both victims with the retardant and Jill spraying them with water to cool them down.

After the wounded were taken care of, Grigory and Oscar carrying some of the flame canisters dropped them into the structure and detonated it with an offensive grenade followed by an incendiary round from Grigory's scoped R55. The opening erupted into a fountain of fire and smoke, and it didn't seem to stop. It might just continue burning for five hours as Pierre remembered the reason why Jean rushed with a retardant.

The trucks arrived and the men inside started pouring out alongside shovels, picks, and sacks. The first arrivals ran straight to the newly arrived trucks which immediately drove off after dropping and picked up the tools to start digging the first trench. The artillery crews immediately set up their cannons and started orienting their maps. The city was almost in their reach, just seven kilometers away. More than good enough range to pound the city to dust with their 100mm howitzers to give the cannons at the walls some time to rest as they instead bombarded the place.

It took more than three hours to at least give them a good enough trench, It took them another five hours non-stop to make it good enough to last them three decades. Most of the troops and even commissioned officers helped to make it. The next wave of troops and equipment helped. Not only did they bring men, munitions and, supplies, they also brought entrenching equipment. Work was made easy as boring tools were used on the hard rocks and rough ground. With the artillery sending smoke canisters and other methods to conceal their movement and positions, it made it easier as the enemy was unable to accurately pinpoint their position.

Thanks to the planks of wood, concrete, as well as some plastic-like materials, the trench were finished that the new arrivals immediately made the dugouts and pits for tanks and artillery. The tired batch immediately proceeded to either relax in the trenches or participated in the rotation where they will keep watch on the city in front of them while they take a breath. The trenches were as wide as two meters and had a jagged pattern as opposed to a straight one to ensure that no artillery shell will luckily hit someone and to facilitate close-quarter combat. By the fifteenth hour underground loo's, rooms, and bunker systems were made using rock and concrete. By the twentieth hour, no engineers nor heavy equipment can be seen as only supply trucks were found moving about supplying them with food, and some the late weapons, etc. By the next day, a sprawling trench system five lines deep was made. A wonder of engineering and ingenuity although for those who made it, it was no different than plowing a field. The Protectorate had the technology to make both bunker and trench systems as large as 500klm squared in as little as five hours provided sans the underground bunkers and loos. It became apparent to everyone that the brass was indeed serious, and for the protectorate with a ruling council filled with people more than willing to lead an army and near viceless to a fault, this was indeed very serious. The artillery alone sent smoke canisters per smoke canisters for almost a day as they blanketed an area of more than 98klm squared.

The very reason why the walls were made was because Drestburg was flanked by spires of Hard rocks strengthened by percentages of ferrite that looked quite rusty in the bottom and weirdly ethereal at the top. It was similar to a salient with the exit facing the walls. The city faced the walls to its immediate east, one mountain range to its north, south, and west. The wall from the city was only barely 20 kilometers in range with the northern mountain range to the south just at 14 kilometers. The terrain was a tad bit odd as it was close to flat as if someone bulldozed a dozen hills to achieve it. Even though he was at least 13 kilometers away from the walls, he can still see a trace of it. And by god, did he miss it.

***

5hrs later...

"Corporal Alek Martins?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"The Captain apologizes for the inconvenience. It's at least five hours late."

"Mail? What a sight for sore eyes!"

"Indeed, we heard that the train was nearly taken off the tracks by an attack."

"Precisely why it was late, wasn't it?"

"There are no other excuses that the corp was making at the moment other than a dirty train that was almost as sorry as a dying man."

"Very well private, you can continue now."

"Thank you, sir!" The mail carrier replied.

"Wait! Is there anything for me as well?" Mikhail asked as he chased the other private.

"I'm sorry but as far as we've checked only your corporal received a letter but no one else did. If you'll excuse me, I'll have to deal with kind of behavior in the next part of the trench." And he just left, just like that and probably irritated.

"Tough luck for me."

"You only had a mother at your house, Mikhail. Imagine the rest of us, we haven't received a single letter for four months!!!" Anya iterated and didn't hold back.

"That's exactly why I'm more worried, who knows what happened."

"Maybe, the train capsized in while passing through Lake no.7?" Petrov remarked as Alek and Ryan looked at themselves before snickering.

"I know, I shouldn't sweat it but what if?"

"Just relax! It's the calm before the storm." Alek hissed as he went back to reading.

Mikhail went back to his machinegun nest that already qualified as a bunker and manned the Heavy machinegun. He took the belt out and started reloading it again in record time as if practicing it. Monika who was assigned as the medic of the squad sat near him after he was done dealing with an infected finger that one of Francis' three two troopers was afflicted. All of them were taking stock in the same bunker that Anya was in, the sergeant was also snickering when Petrov remarked.

"Tough day eh? Mikhail?" Monika asked as Petrov once more focused his sights on his simple but elegant weapon.

"Not quite really, my mother can give me a far worse treatment than them."

"How, come?"

"Trust me, Our mothers can make you piss your pants after meeting them."

"Let me guess? She lashed you fifty times with a metal rod?"

"No, she used a metal tube to break a dead man's skull with one hit."

"Ouch!"

"You don't want somebody like that to hit you even in the ass with a belt."

A bit of an awkward silence ensued as Monika thought of something to talk about while Mikhail was being very vigilant, in particular, he saw an undead turned into a walking target practice. Its arms head and legs were slowly cut and removed from the body.

'The snipers must be feeling sadistic today.'

" Do tell Monika. What is your current impression about us Dresters?"

"You people? Conflicted."

"You people from the outside must have stereotyped us as walking and talking automatons now don't you?"

"More or less. Parochial people from my Rodina think of you people as stern and extremely morose people. However, in my case you are sort of a mixed bag that seemed to follow the stereotype a bit closer but not too close."

"I'm not that smart to understand what you mean by that however Monika."

"It means that I'm conflicted. When I arrived here, the people were moving almost like they were following a script. I thought it was an act until I was stuck in Region 3 for a month and found them doing the same thing. I managed to chat with a local and she said that it's normal, even she would do things almost as if by instinct unless she needs her head."

"HAhahahhah! That was just about as true as it can get."

"Do you know why that's the case?"

"It may be cultural to some degree. We're used to going to school for eight hours and expect more stress from home that we made sure to perfect every stroke of the broom and do it fast enough to make supper."

"How harsh is the school system here?"

"Very! You read after you learn your alphabet, line in huge squares by the moment you follow instructions, and you spend a total of fifteen hours a week for military training ever since you turn eight."

"That's a bit inappropriate."

"If you think that's inappropriate, They would bring still moving undead bodies to school for practice and demonstrations. I managed to learn to kill one with a rock thanks to them."

After that reply, she was a bit shocked, to say the least. What were they doing when they were eight? Playing toy soldier and shooting in ranks!

"Anyway, away from that topic. What about the love life..."

"Just don't marry somebody you knew that would qualify in the misfit battalion and you'll be fine." She can see that he was a bit uncomfortable when discussing this one.

"Why so? Isn't that a bit discriminatory?"

"If you don't want your bed to have some stranger in it by the time your muscles ache then don't. The dating market as they call it is a bit screwed. You need to be careful or you'll literally step on a landmine. Most of the population of Drestburg is filled with people whose moral fiber is nigh incorruptible, it's the reason why we were capable of withstanding despite being outnumbered a thousand to one. But there are still some deviants and sort of undesirables who mingle with us and they are not fun to be with."

"Does that include that bellboy who tried to flirt with me and even invited me for a drink?"

"That is the typical one. Marital fidelity is pretty much easy to maintain as we have higher tolerance from our primitive urges but our "misfits" are a can of worms. Also, the typical Drester won't rope you for a hookup. They want to know you better before they let you touch them. Also, don't touch anyone who wasn't very close to you. It only irks us."

"Please elaborate."

"Is it really that important?"

"Pretty please?" She was acting a bit like a begging dog at this point.

" You can expect them to either be one: Aromantics, suicidal and antisocial of the least harmful kind; Second is very adventurous, manipulative and rebellious, expect them to cheat behind your back and the least likely of the bunch to be sent here as they would be the first to look for partners and gain an exemption. Just expect them to give you lots of love and sexual gratification. And be sure to be receptive or they start jumping and stabbing you in the back for not fulfilling their wants. You can be sure that they will start doing things you will never like after you bore them by spending more time working or when you start serving them the prenuptial agreements. Never marry anyone who never accepts the prenups; Third are the real wild cards. Never expect any from them, they will turn from the devil to the angel in a split second.

Although for the most part, we took pity on the first type. They sometimes are the kind of friends we'd rope to marry early or pray as much as possible for their safety. It is even said that mothers could end up crying in secret after finding the signs that their children are of the first kind. You never should ever expect them to come back, no matter your feelings. But they might come back either as heroes or newscasts concerning heroic deeds. Only their true friends can understand them, and even treasure them. I had one in our batch, he was already a hero, to begin with even when we were young. He's daring but not because he is, rather it was in him to be like it. He was my hero, and I do hope he gets his arse out of here alive."

"I kind of wish I had someone like that. You're younger than me, but the people there even my kind are only capable of heroism just to fill their egos. Never because they just wanted to or felt like they must. "

"Yeah, I might be kind of lucky but I thought Puloustaja is infallible?"

"Never tell a Puloustaja the obvious or be pessimistic or you'll get the butt of the rifle."

"Oh, I seem to kind of get it."

"I don't know if you even memorized every word you said or it was genuinely yours but you went from dumb to smart to dumb again."

"I memorized the big part. It took me three weeks just to consider for a lifetime."

"That's! Never mind!"

Mikhail started snickering and murmured a few words to himself. Monika looked at him and tried to see for herself what was happening. It was a dumb sight, she saw a barrage of primitive rockets meant for celebrations. What was even funnier was that the troops were treating them as rocket-propelled grenades and used tubes of plastic or metal to launch them straight into a hoard of undead. The rockets either missed their targets or smacked straight into the blob which not only exploded after their fuses burnt but some exploded on impact which revealed that its warhead had the characteristics of a white phosphorus grenade which not only created a smokescreen after detonation but also burned the living hell into the already dead walkers.

Monika found herself snickering at the sight when Alek spouted: "Are they nuts?"

"Corporal!"

"Mikhail, are you going to join them or what?"

"Gladly Corporal!" Mikhail cracked a smile as he cocked the belt-fed boxy Hm2 machinegun with two barrels sticking in front.

Him joining the fray was glorious! His bullets literally tore them to shreds like chopper cutting the precious meat.