Through the wilderness the caravan trudged on, the horses and men equally tired and broken, though only the latter knew the full extent of their suffering. While it has been weeks since they have departed from the outpost, heading towards the main part of the army with much needed supplies.

Or rather, where the army is supposed to be, according to the last letters received from them weeks ago. It wasn’t even the first set of letters, just the first set that managed to make it. Couriers tend to be a rather dangerous post in the best of days, and recent days are far from even that low of a standard… For all anyone knew there could be nothing left but ruins and death, this whole endeavor pointless before the first boot had left the gates of the outpost.

But it must be done regardless, if not for the vain hope of the slim chance of making it before too late, then it shall be done in the same of duty and service.

All high minded words and all, but for the conscripts of the 19th штрафбат/Isekai Regiment (5th reconstitution), those words are as meaningless as all the others that came before, and all the ones that will come after. Lies, lies, and more lies. That’s all they have heard from the moment they entered into this world. The lies of fake promises, the lies of faithless faith, and countless others of all shapes and sizes. Only the beatings, the executions, the sufferings, and the privations remain true, the only constants in their lives.

Yet they trudged on. The reason was as simple as it was nonsensical: survival. A miserable existence yet they clung on with all their strength and internal fortitude. Why holding onto such a life is a rather unanswerable question.

Sean certainly has no idea of why he continues to put one foot in front of the other, trudging along the stream of mud that was a footpath, before the hundreds of feet and hooves of men and horses before him had churned it up. The mud had long since stopped registering on his feet through the holes of his shoes. It was just another part of life, the dirt, the filth…

… and the diseases. Dropping out of the line, he made it a couple of steps to his right before he threw up into the ground. It wasn’t much, just some droplets of discolored liquids. Like the others, there wasn’t much in his stomach to actually be thrown back out, just the body’s instincts at work.

He was by far the only one to be jettisoning the dregs of his stomach, as the sides of the trail were lined with others doing the same ritual, one that marks a line from their point of departure to wherever they’re heading.

It was just as well that he was kneeling over at the time, for off in the distance came the cracks of arquebuses firing, followed by some of those around him falling into the ground, blood seeping from fresh wounds…

The scene promptly exploded into the chaos of combat as some of the troopers of the regiment stumbled outward towards the sound of the gunfire, meeting the enemy, who were simply melting back further into the woods. Despite the shouts and threats of the officers to stay in ranks, many paid little heed, and soon after disappear they did into the woods as an eerie silence met those who stayed behind, only occasionally punctured by the screams of the damned as the enemy claimed another victim.

Belatedly Sean picked himself up, and hobbled back to rejoin what remained of the caravan, who were already moving forward.

After what felt like an eternity since the last of the screams faded away the cracks of gunfire began again, but those who remained behind the convoy simply kept moving, the dying and wounded lay where they fell, cared for by no one, only those around picking up what could be easily carried off, mostly their weapons. It might not be much, but some pointy sticks are simply better than others, especially those picked up from dead enemies of past battles. Despite the withering fire they did not break off, knowing well enough what fate awaits those that do, the ones whose bodies now litter the foreboding and proven deadly forests beyond.

As the hours dragged on and day turned into night the sounds of gunfire finally faded away. The relief was short lived as the sounds of man were replaced by the sounds of nature in the form of the howling of wolves. As the shadows grew and enveloped so did the sinister sounds, of not just the wolves but others, less identifiable but no less sinister sounds, the darkness amplified them all.

With such dangers all but surrounding them it was still surprisingly difficult to find enough bodies to stand guard, for while the spirit was for the most part willing the flesh was predictably, weak. So weak that many simply collapsed at their post. Oftentimes dragged away to their doom by the things that go bump in the night, offering only the most feeble of resistance as they seemed to have accepted their fate. Even with their comrades being dragged away like that most of the rest slept on, too exhausted to notice anything amiss. For the few who were awakened by the scuffles, there was little they could do, and even those were not acted upon, such was their exhaustion.

And so the night went on, as the hours went by and souls departed, but as with all good things that came to an end with time as a new dawn slowly banished the shadows… some of them anyways, for storm clouds darken the day, and soon a downpour came upon them. Such a soaking was nothing new, and the men drearily picked themselves up, and continued their trudge.

The supplies must be delivered.

------

After the forests came the steppes, the endless fields of waving grass, shifting slowly with the wind. As they passed through there the men began to ease from their fear of ambushes, as there were few places to hide behind.

… for men or the elements, for the trees of the forests borne those. Now without their protection, the full brunt of the gales descended across, flaying men and beasts alike. Lands in their natural state are very territorial, and unprepared trespassers pay the price for every step they take. It wasn’t just the wind either, as the drying grass sliced through any and all exposed skin, spots of quicksand swallowing the occasional luckless fool, and swarms of insects buzzing around, taking what they desired from the helpless creatures below.

Still they trudged on, no longer held by ideals nor fear, but by the instincts of survival, of sheer spitefulness towards the cruel world and all the things that torment their bodies and souls. It is a powerful force, one that in another world fueled greatness, yet also pain, suffering, and destruction in its wake. A force almost as powerful as the forces of nature, and just as uncontrollable and unpredictable.

So far it has been useful, as the caravan trudged on through the endless steppes, fueled by an almost mechanical survival. Of the simple step by step, one step at a time.

The question on no one’s minds is where those steps are taking them.

……

The lack of convenient hiding spots did not mean the lack of those who seek the prize they’re escorting. With a suddenness large shadows cast over the caravan, followed by chilling winds and sinister howls. The men looked up, and the sight that greeted them chilled their souls.

Dragons. Flying, fire breathing dragons. Deadly creatures of majesty, lords of the skies and all they survey. Apex predators of the known lands.

It was too much, and a few simply broke and ran, making themselves easy targets. Quickly they were snatched up, their blood curdling abruptly truncated by showers of blood and gore as the dragons took some sampling of the moving buffet before them. With the graphic evidence before their eyes, the rest of the regiment quickly formed up into squares, the precious wagons, horses, and officers, who for the first time had an expression approaching fear.

For it was a futile gesture for intents and purposes. Merely tools of man can do nothing against the beasts of primordial itself. But for the isekaied conscripts, futility is just another fact of life in this unforgiving world. The specter of death has long since lost its fear factor to those who have died, and are more than willing to die again.

For a long time the two sides were at an impasse, though it could not have been more than mere minutes. The dragons circling above, and the insignificant humans below. Then, as suddenly as they appeared they flew off, having decided for easier prey elsewhere.

With a collective sigh of relief the regiment shuffled back to columns, and the caravan resumed its slow trek.

And with the return to the usual the insects, the gales, and the grasses resumed their torment…

Still, the supplies must be delivered.

-----

Nothing is endless, and at length the steppes came to an end, at the foothills of vast mountains. For the survivors, the bitterness continued, as the whipping of the grass was replaced by the biting cold of the mountain tops, and the ice covered path.

Through the meandering mountain path they trudged onward. Men dragging horses as the latter slipped often on the icy paths. Many times all faltered, flinging men, horses, and wagons down sheer cliffs, their last screams quickly drowned out by the ceaseless howling gales. In the first few cases when it happened the officers ordered more conscripts to scrabble after the falling wagons, but as those also disappeared as well they soon gave up, simply shrugged at the losses, more annoyed at the loss of supplies than of men.

After all, bodies are far easier to replace than material, especially these weak disgusting ones from another world.

Even as cruel as the days were, it was nothing compared to the horrors of night. The temperatures, already biting cold, dropped even further. Meanwhile the winds, if anything, intensified, as if wishing to sweep these interlopers from the peaks and into the endless depth. Without means of fire and little means of warmth by other means the conscripts huddled together, slowly falling into fitful sleep, frequently broken by sudden starts as the biting cold rip men from their sleep.

And so the night passed, and as another iron gray cloudy dawn broke revealing the huddled piles, of which none would ever rise again. Not everyone’s dead however, as on the edges the few who stood for watch, more ice than men, staggered back at the pathetic excuse of an encampment, pilfering through the ice encrusted masses for anything of value. Sean was extraordinarily lucky: he managed to find a wooden spoon out from one of the bodies. Such a prize must have passed through the hands of dozens before him, and if he’s unlucky, dozens after him.

He has survived all that so far, but that by itself meant nothing. They were all destined in this other world, but so far the only destiny seemed to be various flavors of ignominious deaths, and they were the lucky ones.

Still, that inexplicable… something, within him and the other survivors stopped them from following those now forever sleeping comrades, and soon after what’s left of the caravan continued.

The supplies will be delivered.

------

Down the mountains they came, through the meandering paths. They were not the only ones to do so, for the melting snows also came, and fed into a mighty river. A river that they must cross.

Of course, out in the wilds there were no bridges, no ferries, and no crossings. Everyone knew what must be done. Thus prodded on by the whipping of the officers the regiment began the cutting of trees and digging of dirt.

It was not easy, if anything it was impossible, yet however it must be done. Through the power of the human spirit, or rather throwing enough bodies and labor at it it was done. The costs were, as usual, steep and irrelevant to the powers that be. Gaggles of men were swept away by the river, from logging accidents, from each other as tempers flared, and from summary executions as the officers sought to motivate the rest to work their utmost.

And so, after a mere handful of days the bridge was constructed, and after a final mass beating for their lackluster enthusiasm in their work the regiment began trudging across.

As if fate itself was congratulating them on their work, as the last of the conscripts were in the middle of their crossing the rickety bridge finally collapsed, and in minutes even the screams of the drowning men and animals were washed far away. A few of those who just made it to the other side merely watched on with sunken eyes, not a shred of emotion elicited.

Just another tragedy in this farce of a world. Or rather a farce in this tragedy of a world. The two are the one and the same.

An officer soon noticed those few, and without a word of warning simply kicked them into the river as well, cracked a smug grin as those too, were swept away to a watery grave. Just another case of proper discipline being maintained and justice dispensed.

Thus the caravan trudged on. The supplies will be delivered.

------

Through the torrential downpour and the sea of mud they finally saw it, the proud banners of the country and god, defiantly waving despite the weather. A muted collective sigh arose from the conscripts, for the end of the task is at hand.

The supplies had been successfully delivered…

… but as they trudged through the palisade they were beset upon by the hordes within, as the starving rabble of the 9th штрафбат/Isekai Regiment collectively lost their mind and discipline. Within seconds a series of bloody brawls broke out all over the outer camp.

Through the baser violence and desperation the horses and wagons carried on, and soon disappeared into the officers quarters. As the last of the wagons disappeared from view the fightly petered out, having lost the reason that was never there.

Of course none of that was ever for them, dirt deserves nothing but dirt, and scum of the earth not even that. As the mud encrusted starving isekaied conscripts stared at each other a grim chuckle began to spread amongst them.

For from wherever they came from, and to wherever they go, at this moment, in this field of mud amidst the flood of rain from above, they revel in the insanity of it all.

Just another successful task completed.