"He's coming to..." An Erusean physician comnts while pulling a chair next to a makeshift bed. "Go take care of the others, I will handle this one."
After dismissing the nurse, the physician proceeds to fetch the usual dical tools for a check-up of his newest patient. The man is about to bring out his stethoscope when the patient starts coughing before opening his eyes.
"Easy there, Corporal." The Erusean physician says while putting out an open palm to signal the patient to keep lying down. "You got a nasty cut on the head alongside nurous lacerations and bruises. Miraculously, you don't seem to suffer from anything severe. It doesn't change the fact that you collapsed on arrival after trekking goddamn how many kiloters back here though."
The patient groans as the pain all over his body starts settling in. When the physician sees this, he hums before performing a routine check on the man. Shining a light into the patient's eyes, the physician says.
"You were obviously put under by head trauma, blood loss, not to ntion running on fus when we got to you. I advise not making any sudden movent just yet, at least until you can confidently sit up without keeling over to a killing headache. I would have given you sothing for the pain and the dizziness if it weren't for our dical supply being stretched thin as is. I am having trouble locating our dical stash these days, you see. Now then," The physician pulls away. "Do you still rember your na at least?"
"... Soap." The patient pronounces the word clearly after taking a stabilizing breath. He rests his head back on an uncomfortable and itchy pillow, closing his eyes to enjoy the mont of not crawling across the dirt.
The physician raises an eyebrow before moving to pour a glass of warm water for the man. "Who the Hell nad their son Soap, Corporal?"
"Not my birthna." The patient, Soap, adds. "That moniker I earned back in the days when I started running a 2-pounder crew. Since I drilled my n to be the best they could, achieving the best possible accuracy and rate of fire that were humanely possible, I was nicknad 'Soap' by the others."
"Like a lubricant, you an." The physician comnts before passing Soap the glass of water. He then helps the injured Corporal sit up by adjusting the pillow against the cent grey wall. "I reckon that you also rember your actual na if you can rember your moniker.
"Yeah, Johny Mactavish, or John, or Soap, whichever works these days. Also..." Soap raises the glass with a scrutinizing gaze. "Is that dried blood I see on the rim?"
"... Your eyes are playing tricks on you, Soap." The physician looks away and marks sothing on Soap's health report. "You can call Stronoff, by the way."
"That's not a very Erusean na." Soap quips before turning the rim of his glass to where he's sure that relatively clean. The man then proceeds to down the water in slow, deliberate gulps.
"I get that a lot." Stronoff shrugs. "Also, apologies for the condition of this clinic. Had to make do with converting so warehouses in the bum-fucked area of Dunkirk and turned them into a hospital complex. As you can see..."
The physician gestures around them, introducing Soap to the sight of a packed clinic with the doctors and nurses running on hopes and dreams. "We're kinda overtaxed here, so cleanliness isn't the absolute best right now."
"... That bad, huh." Soap comnts.
Stronoff nods. "You have been here for hours in the deep end, so maybe you wouldn't know but the EEF will be pulling out, soon. In fact, there's a scant two to three hours till dawn, that's when the ships and floatplanes can start berthing and bringing people outta here."
"Jeez," Soap sighs, putting the empty glass back where it belongs. "Talk about us coming here for absolutely nothing."
"... Yeah, I can't argue against that, given what we have achieved so far." Stronoff ultimately shrugs helplessly.
"I dare say the truth that we basically got our collective asses handed to us." Soap leans back so that his head rests against the wall.
After crawling out of that trench, the Corporal thinks he can survive a court martial or two. Stronoff suddenly asks while grabbing so water for himself. "Say, how did you land yourself in here? I an, I get that you're one of the few survivors of your unit that made it back but..."
Soap dryly answers. "I pitch a solo battle against a Belkan tank with my 2-pounder. Gun flipped. flying back into the trench, again. Woke up to being half-buried by the enemy tank driving over my trench. Literally crawled out of that grave back here. Thank you for listening to my bed talk. Enjoy the rest of your day."
Stronoff nods. "I see. I see... No, I don't. I get it, but I don't see it. However, I know that you're one tough bastard surviving all that. Unfortunately, we will be stuck here for a while. Priority for evacuation is given to the VIPs and seriously injured, after all."
"Go figure." Soap replies.
"Did you even score a kill on that tank?" Stronoff adds.
Soap is then reminded of the sight picture he got with the 2-pounder back then. It was just him and the AT gun, alone, against an unsuspecting group of Belkan vehicles.
"We didn't even scratch their paint job." Soap answers, thinking back to the mont the shell just harmlessly shattered against the plating on that Belkan tank.
"... Tough luck." Stronoff comnts after a mont of silence.
"You don't bloody say." Soap scoffs before rembering sothing. "Say, mind telling if the rest of my unit is here? Did they make it back with the Territorials?"
Stronoff responds affirmatively.
"They're around, but they got hit worse than you did. They will be one of the first batches to be transported back to Erusea. The Territorials that carried them to this complex are now part of the new defense line, just outside and underneath the city walls. Surprisingly, they said sothing about going back for you, but an officer conscripted them for the defense around this part."
"Well, colored impressed." Soap comnts. "It's the thought that counts and all that jazz. Hopefully, those lads are still alive out there."
Spoiler alert, they may not be.
---------------------------------------------------------------
To protect the evacuation effort, Dunkirk was fortified by the Allied forces to have an expansive layered defense, starting from outside of its walls to the inner city area. Rows of trenches and fighting positions are visible outside the walls, with even the remaining tanks being lowered into the ground haphazardly to act as heavy bunkers. The cherry on top is the nurous brown coats tucked behind these makeshift protections. The majority of the defenders here are the Territorials, acting as the main buffer for units like Frankforce to hold the line when the evacuation comnces. If everything goes well, the EEF will be shipped away in multiple parts, leaving just enough troops behind to cover their retreat. It's as good of a plan as any, given their circumstances.
Although the Belkans have sothing to say about that.
Nearly ten kiloters away, Belkan MLRSs are set up. The Sunburst rocket artillery systems are finally given the chance to shine... Quite literally so.
"Let's raise so Hell."
A familiar female voice announces over the Belkan battle net, thus penning the final words for the Allied forces in Dunkirk. Punctuating her words are the nurous rocket launches, with each rocket being 220 mm in size and fitted with a heavy thermobaric warhead. There's gotta be nearly 200 of these rockets, and the Eruseans won't know what will hit them. One mont, everything is fine for the EEF. On the next, they hear whistling of disaster coming down right on top of their heads. Then... Well, there's no then for many of them.
All at once, the outer layers of Dunkirk's defenses explode in quick succession. Approximately five kiloters of land and defensive installations are evaporated without as much as a warning. For the normal human soldiers under the effect of the Sunburst rockets, it's not all sunshine and dandy. The thermobaric rocket's blast kill chanism against living targets is unique, and unpleasant. What kills is the pressure wave, and more importantly, the subsequent rarefaction that ruptures the lungs... If the thermobaric mixture deflagrates but does not detonate, victims will be severely burned and will probably also inhale the burning stuff, cooking them from inside. As a little-known crossover of Magitech, weapon design, chemistry, and alchemist, the Belkan thermobaric mixture is highly toxic. Undetonated thermobaric warheads should prove as lethal to personnel caught within the cloud as with most chemical agents. I an, can one inhale thermite and hope to survive?
If the Eruseans aren't obliterated in the blast zone, then they're probably suffering from multiple internal and invisible injuries like burst eardrums and blindness. Though unconfird, the shock and pressure waves may cause minimal damage to brain tissue, aning victims are not rendered unconscious by the blast, but instead suffer for several seconds or minutes while they suffocate.
The Sunburst, true to its na, has cast an early morning for everyone to see, one with devastating consequences for the EEF. Gone are the buffer zones that the Eruseans counted on to buy ti, much-needed ti. Now, there's nothing but smoldering craters, unrecognizable bodies, and lted carcasses of tanks. Like the ever-watchful hawks that they are, the Belkan Army dives in to seize the opportunity to close the gap even more. The Eruseans are stunned and silenced by the sheer evisceration of their outer defenses before ultimately slapping themselves awake.
Quite literally, the enemy is now at the gate.
"I love thermobaric in the morning~!"
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