Bidzakwemok, Northern AhkabnilThe atmosphere was jubilant with the urgent activity of wartime production, but sorrowful and depressed in the same instance. Men, women and children all wept. A mother, saw her 16 year old son off to war; an old man, seeing his family off as he carries on with a torn rucksack; stoic officers, greet the pale faces of the many new recruits, most young and supposed to be in their prime, but thrown into a situation where most if not all, would not return.
Pechani looked on from a distance, whole town’s young populations had been wiped out simultaneously in this war. There was so much grief that weighed down personally on his heart and mind, Pechan sometimes wondered if the suffering and toil was worth the endeavor. Then he glanced as the colors on his shoulder and realized the uniform he was wearing. He had grown up in an age of war, with his parents constantly telling him how much worse it was under Imperial rule. Was it though? Was there more to living in this world than the certainty of death and destruction. Yet, such hardship was accustom to Pechan’s generation.
He had just got back from the deemed ‘Chanal Front’ with a recommendation to be commissioned for the Oqiilchich, they were an elite group of troops that trained in the highest elevations of the country. Their name was akin to ‘Death Troopers’ meaning
warriors who fight to the death, they were a group that was all over the Horn with origins in the Quywe Empire, fighting most notably in the war with Ardia between Quywe, before the rebellions. A war his father and mother fought in, he always got the sense they were never the same.
Pechan was honored that he received such a valiant opportunity, though Yaotenmel knows he didn't have much of a choice. It was either this, or back to Chanal. His heart trembled with a deafening anxiety upon such a thought; he didn't remember what he did in Chanal and he didn't want to, Pechan simply knew it was enough to have him recommended here by superiors.
So he continued on down the street, several old and new soldiers were lined up together, many had bandages wrapped around their bloody wounds, propped up by their rifles. A tour of more battle hardened soldiers had just gotten off a truck, surely seeking out drinks and prostitutes in their neglected youthful exuberance. Some just sat somberly, one young woman, sitting in a perpetual state of shivering with a still, frightened face.
Finally, Pechan reached the temporary conscription enter down the street, a mere mobile tent full of officers who overwatched dozens of men signing up. “Lieutenant Pechan sir.” He approached a rather decorated looking man, standing at attention. “I was directed to report here under commission, for directions.”
The stoic officer grabbed the papers, onlooking them then handing them back. “Have you read these warrior? These… commendations. Quite impressive.”
“No sir I have not.”
“You're a medic?”
“Yes sir.”
The officer shook his head as he continued reading on, ascertaining a deep respect for medical personnel on the battlefield. Though he derived them useless in the grand scheme. “You held off an attack while treating wounded members of your group, in Chanal of all places. Why aren't you back there? We need elite men like you back there.”
Pechan paused for a moment, glancing at the questioning officer. “My entire group was wiped out sir, I was wounded and asked for a transfer, they put me here for moral, sir.”
“Ah.” The officer shook his head, holding out some wine for Pechan. He gladly accepted it and took a swig. “It's always an honor to meet an Oqiilchich, you men have a special place reserved for you in the Heart of Yaotenmel.”
“I am not one yet.” Pechan corrected, receiving his documents back.
“Ah correct, you need charter to the mountain post, the pipeline.”
“Yes sir.”
“Right, we'll get you on your way then, my utmost respect to you warrior.” The officer nodded, sending Pechan off.
May your death be a good one, Oqiilchich.
Oqiilchich were troops known all over the Horn, they weren't particularly Ahkabnilian or anything. They were troops of high caliber trained and bred in the most deprived conditions. Fanatic patriots at heart. However, Ahkabnil during the Ardian Scourge began to recruit commendable regular soldiers into their ranks, significantly boosting their numbers. Hundreds of thousands would train with the highest standards yet most minimal means. They were shock troopers then, evolving their reputation as brutal. They took no prisoners, gave no refuge, each filled with the fire of vengeance.
The Mountain Post“Will you be staying long, General?” Commander Weqpah asked, handing the old venerable leader a cup of squash wine.
General Daelin shook his head. “As much of a fan I am of the Oqiilchich, I am called upon by the Revered Speaker and the rest of the staff. Nurashima is no secret and several hundred thousand of my men are pulled off the line.”
“We need as much men here, they're not thinking of sending you to Nurashima are they?” Weqpah asked.
“There's not much I can do about it, plus I agree with their intent. Nurashima is vital, without it we can't continue fighting here and that's a fact. We're already battling the Ardians for control of this sea. If you agree, your men will be joining me, and you as well Commander.”
Weqpah paused, his heart racing. “What about the other Oqiilchich post?” He began to walk out to the balcony of his command post, overlooking to the bustling training ground and fatigued trainees. The distant valley echoed nothing but eerie quiteness and natures often crack of thunder or a Condor’s screeching call. It was a beautiful sight, watching the foggy clouds roll between each rocky crevice of each mountain, even the mountain post itself was choked thick with intense fog. The air was thin, that even Weqpah could hardly breath despite living high up here for so long, as he took a deep contemplative sigh.
“I always trust your word, you know that. And I'm with you on this.” He held his cup up, downing the rest of his wine. “I am just afraid on the Chanal Front. This scourge has forever changed the country. More than the rebellions ever have. I worry for our future if we're not here.”
“It's all strategy.” Daelin sighed as he stood up with the held of his cane, his right leg crippled from the Quywe War with Ardia. “Your Oqiilchich will be at the front of this operation. When that operation will be I'm not sure, we have to gather the logistics of it, it prepare your men for Himeyama, commander.”
“So this is what you came to ask?”
“It's what I've come to order.” The General replied. “You're too much of an asset to me.” The deep rumbling buzz of an
H-Uhke “Death Whistle” making a screeching pass overhead reminded the General. “We will have air cover, from our supposed allies and most importantly ourselves. So cheer up Commander, battle is what a warrior lust for. I will be back when a plan is set in motion, in the meantime bureaucracy calls!” Daelin said with one last swig before heading out. Weqpah continued to watch the Deathwhistle’s perform their low passes of the day, contemplating the year ahead. He looked forward to the Chanal Front, now he was set for Nurashima. How he hated Himekuno.