[center]
[h2][b][color=007236]The Osladian Empire[/color][/b][/h2]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/wUeuT21.png[/img]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QA4aWzS6sc][b]Ний сме достойни![/b][/url][/center]

[center][b]Early Morning Barrage[/b][/center]

Nikolai woke suddenly, his chapped lips taking in a lung full of cold Zellonian air. Looking around him, and up at the grey sky above, Nikolai could tell he had only slept a few hours at best. Ever since his regiment was moved to the front, and assigned to the god forsaken offensive, he didn't think he'd slept a full night. At around five A.M every morning the artillery brigades would begin their morning ritual of firing at the city and receiving return fire from the groggy Zellonian field guns, wherever they were. To say this made sleep impossible was an understatement, as by five thirty every man was awake and preparing for the day. Mornings in the trenches were an odd spectacle, soldiers stepping over each other as they woke to the morning artillery fire, gulping down the morning water ration before it was stolen by someone else, and silently waiting for the morning whistle.

However, today the whistle didn't come. Every day for a month, that damned whistle sounded and a new bloodbath started. A uncomfortable silence remained, and the men looked amongst each other for answers. Finally, by six A.M, a runner came down the muddy trench line.

"The 4th Oslograd Guard and the 8th Kurakka Guard are being relocated further north up the line. Orders are to pack up and move immediately. Your position here will be taken up by the 5th Volovichi." The young boy stumbled out, grabbing a fistful of the muddy trench wall to balance himself as he breathed.

Pytor, the new Podpraporshchik of Nikolai's squadron, was the first to respond. Rising to his feet and removing the pipe he had stolen from a dead Zellonian from his mouth. "Aye, inform the Polkovnik the 22nd squadron will begin moving immediately." 

The runner quickly nodded and continued down the trench, continuing to yell his message. 

"Alright then, new orders it sounds like. Start packing up whatever personal items you've still got and start marching up the trench, least Denisovich hear we're slacking." Pytor said nonchantly, sticking the dead man's pipe back between his lips and slapping his recently acquired officer's cap onto his head. Nikolai remembered when Pytor had been promoted to Podpraporschik, it was an immediate promotion after Roman died to a Zellonian barrage during their counter offensive. Had it really only been a month?

"Come on Nikolai, move it. Holding up the line is the last thing we need right now." Maksim, a gruff older man with a likely unapproved beard, grumbled as he pushed past Nikolai, shoving the smaller man aside. 

Within the hour, the entire regiment would be again moved. Their purpose for doing so unknown, however word quickly spread throughout the line that General Yakovich was attempting something new in the face of morale and supplies plummeting. 

[center][img]https://www.marxists.org/glossary/events/w/ww1/pics/ww1/russia/galacia.jpg[/img]
[i]Osladian Field Guns in the spring of 1900.[/i][/center]