Since I happened to have written a piece of fiction in the vein of final stands, I thought I would use that for this week’s entry. This is War’s End, a piece based on a reddit writing prompt based upon North Korea’s recent threats. The prompt is as follows. North Korea declares that, should the US fire a single bullet against the North, Nuclear weapons will be used; the USA goes Medieval.

I had never been so god damned hot in my entire life. My BDUs were stuck to my body like spandex, and my head felt like a wonton in a bowl of soup inside my helmet. There weren’t a cloud in the sky, but the mosquitos were so thick it looked like the sun wasn’t even shining. There had to have been millions of them just floating around, pricking anyone with exposed skin. Wasn’t much of that with my boys, but a few of the lighter squads were armored for mobility and that meant less clothes. I honestly couldn’t tell you which was worse, the smothering weight of a full uniform soaking wet, or having those buggers pecking at your arms every few seconds. Where we were up on the hill, we could see the advance regiments struggling through the tall grass below. The People’s Army had chopped down every tree within a mile of the fortress, and the only way to advance undetected was through the tall grass on the eastern side. I checked my weapon, made sure nothing was rattling, and put it back down. I’d been in the army about seven years, but they’d introduced some new gear and I’ll admit, it was hard to get used to.

Looking back, I’m amazed we made it that far using what they gave us. Each mile had been fought for by heavy armor, the occasional skirmish unit, and a few “distance warfare specialist” squads. Getting that much armor and that many men through the jungles had been a living hell, and ammunition was spent like a kid with his momma’s credit card spends money in a candy shop. The number of Javelins we used to fight for Pyongyang alone had to have cost the army a big buck. But we had won, and now the fight was almost over. Kim Jong Un had fled the city as we’d approached, and now he’d holed himself up in a bunker near the Chinese border. Command estimated he had about 4000 men ready to fight, but god knows if they’re right about that. We’d lost some men in the jungle, but by the time we reached him we still had about 1500 of our boys in fighting shape. I’d take one of ours over a dozen of theirs any day, so I wasn’t too concerned about numbers. I looked up at the sky and watched the sun come over the trees.

We’d all suited up and moved out at dawn. Since we’d be attacking from the east, we wanted to move in the morning and hope the sun would make it hard for the North Koreans to aim at us. We all hoped it’d be at least a little cooler, too. There would be no reinforcements from the Cavalry regiments, only Rangers and Armor today. I turned my attention back down to the field, where the Rangers had made it to the walls of the fort. The North had re-commissioned a piece that must have been six hundred years old. It had a full curtain wall, complete with fighting platform and walkways. I could see their sentries walking around up there, peering down occasionally to look for any sneaking American troops. A small group, maybe five or six, was set up above a gateway on our side. They were all armed with rifles, but no heavy weapons. They probably knew they wouldn’t need them. Getting artillery through the jungle would have been just about impossible, and our boys would have been sitting ducks for snipers anyway.

“Sir, you’re gonna want to watch this.” My lieutenant pointed towards the guards with a smile. I squinted in their direction, and watched as all six men sprouted arrows from their chests and dropped unceremoniously off the wall. Someone started shouting, and within a few seconds there were ancient alarm bells ringing from inside the walls. Fifty or so of the 75th Rangers rose up out of the grass like specters rising from the grave, cloaked in dark green hoods and capes. Each one carried a longbow, and they used them to put down any guard who showed his face as a smaller group ran to the walls with grappling hooks. They tossed them up onto the walls, and started climbing up the side. I smiled, everything was going to plan.

“Alright boys, we’ve got to be at that gate when it opens so we can relieve the 75th. You ready?” I shouted to my troops.

“Hooah!” They shouted back. I drew my longsword and started to jog down the hill. There was no point in stealth. The sun would be glinting off my chainmail by now, and all my men would look like shining knights charging into the fray. When the fighting had first started, they’d tossed us into battle wearing these fifty pound steel suits and we’d just about passed out within five minutes. Months later, we barely felt the weight, especially as the excitement of the fight came upon us. I don’t mean to say that we were happy to be fighting, but the rush would come over us like euphoria, giving us strength to face the hail of bullets and bayonets the North was tossing at us.

“If even one bullet is fired,” Kim Jong Un had said, “we will strike with Nuclear Weapons against the imperialist pigs.” Little did that bastard know, we were itching for a fight and command was happy to oblige. They rearmed and retrained us, turning the US Army into a glimmering force of knights and archers that would have made Richard the Lionheart proud. I stepped on an oddly hollow plot of dirt, and as I stumbled I snapped out of my daydream. We were twenty yards from the gate, but it wasn’t open quite yet. The Rangers had disappeared, I only assumed over the walls. The alarm bells still rang from within the fort, and I could hear weapons being loaded and commands being shouted inside. My lieutenant pulled his broadaxe from its straps on his back, charging for the doors. He reached them and swung a mighty blow against the gate. The North must have expected we’d try that, however, and reinforced the gate with steel, as Lt. Jenkins’ axe jarred backwards and he fell over.

“Six out of ten, Leroy. Great form, poor result.” I reached out my arm and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s try the grappling hooks instead.”

“In these drapes? We can’t pull ourselves over that wall wearing this.” He was right. I turned around, and realized my men were reaching the walls with nowhere to go. If we were trapped down here, we’d be unable to make it back without getting slaughtered. The plate armor on our shoulders and chests did a good job of deflecting low caliber and ricochet bullets, but sustained rifle fire would kill us as we retreated.

“Open the god damned gate!” I shouted, hoping the Rangers would hear me. There was no reply. My men assembled beneath the walls, prepared to try to scale it if they must. My heart pounded in my rib cage. What if the gate didn’t open? Would we die here, being shot like fish in a barrel? Had we come all this way for nothing?

“Alright troops, change of plan.” I was about to order them up the walls when the gate burst open. Several of the Rangers waved over the gatehouse and shouted something unintelligible. Without a word, I charged into the open gates. My men, loyal and well trained as ever, followed me into the breach. I immediately found myself crashing into a Korean soldier. At five foot ten, I was average for an American, yet I towered over the tiny communist like a giant. I cannot imagine the fear he must have felt as I, an armored lord of war, plunged my sword into his chest. I suspect it was something like that which the innocent people he and his comrades had executed in concentration camps must have felt as they perished, hungry and alone. “For the imperialists,” I mockingly spit as he died.

“Sir, there’s a problem!” Jenkins pointed out the door. Bullets were flying into the rear of our ranks, and as our reinforcements streamed across the field, men were falling left and right. Gunfire sounded from every direction, and I realized what must have happened. The hollow patch of the field had not been hollow. It was the covering of a foxhole or a tunnel. The Koreans had hidden men beneath our charge, and they had emerged as we breached the walls. I thought about what to do as I sliced the arm off of another Communist. West Point must have trained me for this moment, yet I was unsure how. Words, doctrine, history, streamed through my conscious as I searched for an answer. Then, I had it. If you are going through hell, keep going.

“Forward! Forward! Find Kim and kill him. He is their god! Show them that their god can have his guts spilled open by a longsword, see if they don’t throw down their arms!” I shoved my shoulder into the man in front of me, then broke his jaw with a mailed fist. He fell to the ground, and I crushed his throat with my boot. Pulling my seaxe from my side, I advanced with two blades twirling. I cut a man down at the knee with my sword, then slit his throat as he fell with the seaxe. I plunged the shorter weapon into a man’s gut as I cut the head off his comrade with the longer blade. Despite the ambush, we were making progress. I looked around as I caught a bayonet between my blades. We were taking casualties. I threw his weapon to the side and kicked him in the groin. Jenkins cleaved a man in two with his broadaxe, then ducked as Private Adams shoved a spear over his shoulder and into a charging soldier. My foe moaned on the ground beneath me.

“Where is your leader?” I shouted into his pained eyes. He shouted something in his own language, and I backhanded him. “Where is he?” He desperately pointed to the north side of the fort, where a storm door sat. “Was that so hard?” I asked, and then kicked his weapon away. “Leave this place and tell your remaining comrades that your leader is dead.” He stood and sprinted for the western exit. “Leroy! Lead the men through that storm door on the north side, and bring me Kim’s head!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”, he returned, “alright boys, with me!” My men followed him in a cascade of glinting armor and weapons now stained with the red blood of the communists. I took to the stairs to reach the top of the wall. As I crested the staircase, I looked out into a slaughter. Our soldiers were surrounded, and gunfire pierced them from every angle. I cursed. It seemed we’d find Kim, but these men would all die. If Jenkins didn’t hurry, we too would all die. The war was won, but perhaps we would lose the final battle? I resolved that if we were to die here in this fort, I would take every one of the North’s bastards with me until I fell dead. I turned to retreat down the stairs and rejoin the fight, and then I heard it. A battle horn sounded from the hill where we’d begun the day. Not a bugle or a trumpet, but a great bull’s horn. We had gotten into character as the war progressed, but the only attacks announced by bull’s horn were those of the heavy cavalry. Then I saw them.

On the hill, hundreds of horsemen emerged from the jungle. The horses were draped from head the haunches in lorica, and their riders glimmered in magnificent plate mail with crested helms. Their crests were bright plumes of red, white, and blue, and their horses’ mail was draped with cloth in imitation of our stars and stripes. And then I saw who they were. These were not just the armored knights of the Army Cavalry. Upon their backs flew majestic wings of steel and red, white, and blue feathering. The horn sounded yet again, the mounted warriors leveled their lances, and the Winged Hussars charged down the hillside.

They flew like patriotic angels into the fray, and our warriors cheered as lances pierced the black hearts of the communists. The horn continued to sound, and the enemy fled desperately from the vicious attack. Blood sprayed through the air, communists screamed as they died, and our infantry renewed their charge into the fortress. I raised my sword yet again, and charged down into the bunker’s doors. I led men down stairs, down a ladder, and into a corridor where men battled close enough to smell each other’s’ breath. There was no gunfire, only men fighting with sword, axe, and bayonet in the dim light of the final stretch of the campaign. I charged down the hall, slicing through anyone who stood in my way, and shouting obscenities at the final defenders. The door into the final room of the bunker was nothing but a simple wooden door, and I steeled my resolve as I charged the last several yards down the hall. My should crashed into the door, and the barrier flew open without resistance. I lost my balance and rolled onto my shoulder, heaving myself to my feet, ready to face whatever elite bodyguards defended the despot behind his door.

I faced the man we’d come all this way to kill, and I felt nothing. His guards had thrown down their weapons and were, I assume, pleading for mercy in their own tongue. Kim’s pale, fat face stared at me in disbelief. I stood before him, head to toe in mail and plate, my arms red with the blood of his best men. He open his mouth to speak, and I shoved my seaxe into it. He choked on the blade, on his blood, and then I pierced his bloated stomach with my sword, I kicked him over, and with no expression, I ended his life.