Rudolph: What's that sound?
Rudolph has set about packing his things. Like many in the trenches, he doesn't have much, but his greatest treasure is a pile of manuscripts and notes.
He lifts his head. A pale look glints behind his glasses.
Erich: What are you standing there for?
Rudolph: They're firing again.
Erich: So? Surely you're used to it by now.
The rumble of artillery had become so familiar to them that its return is barely noticed.
Rudolph: But, isn't there supposed to be a ceasefire? I know it isn't official yet, but there's no point in firing now, is there?
Erich: Ah!
Erich draws in a sharp breath.
A low, ominous whistle follows.
Erich: St! Take cover!
All at once, the quiet of the front erupts into fire and fury.
Rudolph: Ugh ... cough
The impact of the explosions shakes the trench lines in unyielding waves, the blasts spraying mud and earth in every direction.
Erich: Damn it! Has everyone gone mad?! Those old farts! I thought they were supposed to be negotiating peace?
Rudolph: Why? Why are we fighting again?
Rudolph sprawls out on the ground, trying to find his baggage, which has been scattered in the blast.
Clothes, notes, and cans are buried in loose dirt or carried off in the air.
Rudolph: No!
Erich: Forget that rubbish! Get inside!
Erich forces the bespectacled soldier into a dugout, then forces himself up to the parapet, peering over with his periscope.
Erich: St! S**t! Who in the hell is attacking us?
Rudolph: I-I don't know. They're not even wearing blue. They're in all black.
Erich: Right. Are they wearing masks? Can they even see through them?
Spotter: pant The flank! pant
Scouts and messengers dash in every direction, alerting everyone they can reach of the attack.
Spotter: I don't know who or what they are, pant but they're coming from our flank! pant
Erich: Damn it all to hell!
A stray bullet shatters his periscope. He tosses the device down with a stream of curses.
He grabs a messenger by the collar.
Erich: All men from the 2nd Company, assemble! Focus fire on enemies in black uniforms!
COMBAT
Their first assault breaks against the renewed defenses.
But the black-clad soldiers seem numb to their losses; they advance in rigid order, stepping over the dead and dying.
Erich: Have they lost their minds? They just keep charging right into our gunfire.
Erich steps down from the parapet to relay orders; in every direction he sees his comrades lying wounded.
Only yesterday they had begun to believe their fight was over, but the rattling barrage has shattered their dreams—a new war has begun.
Erich: Damn it. What the hell is going on?
Rudolph hasn't reported back. Concerned, Erich begins to search the dim trenches for his friend, only to bump into a striking figure in a white uniform.
Creius: Are you the captain of the 2nd Company?
The man speaks with a gravity of command that Erich still has yet to find.
Erich: I am. You ... with the Foundation?
Creius nods, articulating the battle at hand in an organized manner.
Creius: I am Creius, the commander of the Foundation personnel stationed in Montpaix. This is an emergency situation.
Creius: Manus Vindictae invaded the safe zone. We neutralized the threat there, but now they're on a mission to kill every human soldier on the front lines.
Erich: Every human soldier? You-You mean, including those on the other side?
He struggles to find sense in the words.
Creius pats the soldier-turned-captain with a firm and steady grip.
Creius: If you're willing to give up this position, follow me.
Erich: I couldn't give less of a damn about positions, but where are we going?
In a nearby section of trench.
Marsha: Anyone still standing? Help me clear this bunker!
The field medic arrives in sync with the rest of the Foundation's team.
Soldier: Doctor! Doctor! My brother—he's wounded! Please!
Marsha: Bring him to me!
The soldier hauls his wounded comrade to the makeshift aid station. The man's leg hangs limp, soaked in dark red blood.
Rudolph: Urgh ...
Marsha: Easy. Put him down here. I'll patch him up. Have you seen any other Foundation personnel?
Soldier: I-I think I saw one—a redhead.
Marsha: Good. Go tell him we need medical supplies. They should've brought plenty from Montpaix.
Soldier: R-Right away!
Next to them, another soldier clutches his thigh, gasping for breath.
Only a moment passes before yet another man is carried in. Marsha makes a brief inspection and returns to the soldier with the injured thigh.
Marsha: I'll stop the bleeding first.
Rudolph: W-What about him?
Marsha: He's dead. Now relax, and try to stay with me.
Rudolph: He's dead? No!
Rudolph: Ahhhhh!
Rudolph: Good heavens! It's over. I'm dead. I'm dead.
Rudolph: Urgh ...
Marsha: No, you're not. Not today, anyway.
Rudolph: Huff ...
His vision blurs—for a moment he thinks he sees a soldier in a gray and blue uniform.
Rudolph: Is-Is that ...?
Then he blacks out.
Sentinel: Update? Have you located Creius?
Marsha: He's somewhere in the trench. A soldier spotted him.
The man soon appears before them.
With solemn deference, he nods to the sniper he once pursued.
Creius: I didn't expect to run into—
Sentinel: Save the pleasantries.
The response is blunt.
Sentinel: Marsha made known to me the situation. The Foundation ought to have a sure plan, having requested me to join her.
Sentinel: Speak then, what would you have me do?
Creius adjusts his tone to match.
Creius: The frontline soldiers have little experience fighting enemies with arcane skills.
Creius: If they stay here, it's only a matter of time until they fall to the Manus. I'm going to move them to a safer strategic position.
Creius: However, enemy forces on Hill 299 have us pinned down in the trenches. Manus Vindictae has turned it into an underground fortress, housing an estimated ten thousand troops. They've even—
Creius: They've even positioned artillery on the hillside. Retreating under that kind of fire would be a death sentence.
Sentinel: Eliminate the threat from Hill 299, then withdraw the troops from the front—this is the Foundation's plan?
Creius: Not the Foundation's plan. Not yet, at least.
An icy restraint condenses in the man's eager eyes.
Creius: This is my course of action.
Sentinel: How do you intend to do this? Even with an army of ten thousand at your command, to take a fortified high ground under artillery fire is no surety.
Creius: I know. That's why I need your help.
Creius stands solemn and sure, though he knows how absurd his request sounds.
Sentinel: Such an act is to walk into the valley of the shadow of death. What difference would be made if I lent my aid or withheld it?
Creius: If I recall correctly, Gargoyles are insusceptible to poison gas.
Sentinel: That's correct. So?
Creius: So, we may be able to take a subtler approach. Please, come with me; my subordinate will give you the details.