A Memory
Through the woods outside Montgomery, the night air was cool and humid, the ground damp from a spring rain the day before, a Louisianan and Mormon patrol was making a push. The stench of rotting flesh filled the air and a stagnant, breeze less calm stretched across the darkness. Hundreds of men had died mere hours earlier in the twilight of the day, Montgomery had fallen two weeks previous and Georgian forces were rallying to take her back. The Mormons and Louisianan soldiers treaded lightly through the mud, keeping noise as low as possible, knowing the Georgian line is not far from their position and unaware of the exact location or strength. Mormon troops had been to the area two days before and had run into a few of the new Georgian tanks, causing them to make a swift retreat, but now the ranks are fuller and the odds seem more favorable. A hundred yards away, in the next tree line beyond a small meadow lay the Georgian lines. Within them a young James Dahl, his crew and two other tank crews with equipment, along with a company of infantry.
Georgian patrols along the tree line were being made to keep an eye out as the soldiers rested up in makeshift tents. Rifles stacked in cone shaped patterns near the tents and much of the gear and equipment laying around recklessly. The lines were not so stable and movement had become a regular occurrence. In the moon light there was a faint show of motion in the trees and as the Georgian guards walked past a section, the sound of three shots rang out. Two Georgians fell to the ground and the Gulf soldiers rushed to the edge of the trees. Seeing the camp across the meadow, a mere sixty yards away, they began opening fire at the tents as Georgian soldiers stumbled out and began putting their gear on and grabbing rifles. Dahl's eyes opened in a rush, he had heard the shots begin and was now grabbing his officers cap and handgun as he stepped out of the tent.
“Get to the tanks!”
Dahl raised his voice to overcome the sounds of incoming and outgoing fire, though he remained calm. A moment later the sound of two tanks could be heard cranking up, the engines roared and the sound of gun fire became dull in comparison. The tanks began to roll around the camp and towards a position that they could open fire on the tree line, which flashed like a lightning storm from the muzzles of the Gulf's guns. Dahl walked up besides his tank and motioned some orders to the crew within, they moved into the position he requested and as he turned his head, they opened fire. Sending a high explosive round into the trees, bursting behind the Gulf lines but giving a moment of light that showed the silhouettes of the enemy scum. The fighting continued as Georgians finally were in position and the chaos had settled. Dahl rallied his fellow soldiers, waving his handgun and sending off a few rounds in the direction of the enemy. As the tanks pushed forward, unstoppable by the smaller firearms of the Gulf, their lines began to break allowing a push by Georgians into the woods.
Georgians creped across the meadow, keeping low in the grass and firing all the while. The tanks continued to fire high explosive rounds and were busting trees and lighting the entire area up. The Mormons fled first, leaving behind the Louisianan soldiers who were no better a match to the Georgians than anyone else. Ten more minutes passed and the firefight was dying down, dozens of dead on both sides as the Louisianan soldiers finally turned an ran.
Dahl and his men walked into the trees hearing the sounds of the wounded left behind. Blood, guts and gunpowder were the smells that filled the air and Dahl walked through the mud, his feet dipping below the surface in some areas, with his handgun at the ready. Approaching a young Louisianan soldier, perhaps no older than fifteen and possibly one of the too eager to fight youth, he muttered some words of comfort to the boy as he bled out.
“Better to be in heaven with the Lord Almighty, than on the Earth in the Hell I bring forth.”
A single shot rang out.