Ashes to Ashes

Western Front, Order of the Seven, Kharkiv 0800

Private Leonivich Kharkov sat shivering in his dugout. The thin summer uniforms barely did him any good. He watched as his comrades pissed in their coats, desperate for any warmth of any kind. They had been fighting for months now, ever since the Council decided it was a good idea to go to war with one of the most technologically advanced nations on Earth. After all, they had promised: "Boundless goods and glory for our brave men who will support the Order". But where were the prizes and glory when an incompetent leadership sent them brown summer uniforms in the cold snow. They weren't even allowed fires for fear of being spotted by the dreaded mobile suits. Leonivich shivered quietly. Mobile Suits, like vultures in the sky. He had watched them turn an entire enemy trench into little chunks of flesh and red mist. They were towering, 20 metres tall and still blindingly fast, and carrying everything a tank had and more. The Order had had no response to those beasts, every tank and artillery they threw at them were soaked up like water in the ground. But his thoughts were cut short by the loud whistle of a sergeant signalling attack. Grabbing his trusty PK N77 Blast Rifle, he activated his combat mask and sat at the edge of the trench, waiting for the charging enemies. But to his horror, he watched as a mobile suit emerged from the snow, rocket launcher aimed directly at him. That was the last thing Leonivich Kharkov saw before being turned into a distant memory.