HELL in nuso front WIP

Instructions

shows how bad the nusian front is... The rain never stops anymore. It falls on the wire, on the mud, on the dead. It turns the trenches into graves before we're even buried in them. Three months ago, command told us we'd push the enemy back by winter. Now winter's here, and we're the ones being pushed. I serve the Republic of Nusia. At least, I think I still do. Out here, the maps change every week. Towns vanish. Entire regiments disappear. Sometimes we hear their last radio transmissions. Sometimes we don't hear anything at all. The zombies came from the east first. That's what they told us. Some new plague, some failed experiment, some curse from God Himself. Doesn't matter now. The reason doesn't matter when they're climbing over the parapet. The first time I saw one, I thought it was a wounded soldier. Uniform torn to pieces. Face covered in mud. It stumbled through No Man's Land while machine guns rattled all around it. Then it kept walking after taking three rounds to the chest. Now there are thousands. Every night we watch them gather in the fog. Not charging. Not screaming. Just standing there. Waiting. Looking at us with those empty eyes. And every night, more of them appear. Our artillery is running low. Ammunition arrives late, if it arrives at all. Reinforcements come in less experince every month.recruits still fresh from the training camps. They still talk about victory when they arrive. They stop talking after the first attack. The line is breaking. Everyone knows it. Officers know it. Generals know it. The government back home probably knows it too. We lose a trench here, a village there, another supply route somewhere else. Small defeats. That's how a nation dies—not in one great battle, but in a thousand tiny retreats. Yesterday we abandoned Blackwood Ridge. Last week we lost Fort Harrow. Tomorrow? Maybe we'll lose this trench. Maybe we'll lose everything. I used to dream about going home. About seeing city lights again. About hearing something other than gunfire and thunder. Now I just hope that if the line collapses, it happens fast. The sentry beside me says he can see movement in the mist. I believe him. The whistles are starting to blow. The machine gunners are taking their positions. And out beyond the wire, where the fog swallows the world, I can hear them coming. Not marching. Not running. Just walking. As if they already know they've won. We listen to the General, who we call The Priest, He says: ‘Grab the Hydrogen Smoke bombs i spared for this. Throw them into the No Man’s Land and shoot.’ Ka. Boom. Nothing. None of the Intruders, Screamers, Hunters or Spotters were gone. Evil laughter filled the air as they laughed at us. Then, Ottolovu loaded every Platorm we had and commanded everyone on board to shoot. Ka. Boom. Thousands of motoloves filled the air as we heard screams of pain coming from the fog. An orange and yellow glow came from the fog. Then it stopped. There were only a few left. Then, they began ripping out their own organs and died. We knew this was only a small victory, but it will mean we are a bit safer. For now.