A dim lamp hung in the dark shed, illuminating a table made from piled ammunition crates, along with the blueprints and radio atop it. Whenever tremors rolled in from afar, dust and dirt would sift down with the flickering light, settling in their hair and making that already messy mop look even worse.
Still, in the thick smoke, nobody cared about looking presentable anymore.
Everyone crouching in this trench was filthy and battered. Avoiding bandages and not being carried deeper into the emergency room on a stretcher was already a blessing.
Explosions and thunderous blasts kept erupting nearby, gunfire never ceased, and only this place was briefly shrouded in silence. A silence quiet enough to hear labored breathing and footsteps heavy with rage.
They rapidly approached and kicked the door open.
The soot-covered Titan pilot still had scorch marks and blood on his face. His expression twisted as he roared, "Fuck your mother, where are the engineers? I'm going to kill that bastard! He blew up the autocannon again!"
The exhausted lieutenant narrowed his eyes at him and continued smoking. "It broke the day before yesterday. They welded it back on yesterday. It'll hold as long as it holds. What good does blaming him do? Can he conjure an autocannon out of thin air for you?"
"What about shells? Do we have any shells left?"
"We're out of armor-piercing rounds. Two incendiary shells left. Use them sparingly," the major said.
The pilot wanted to curse again, but when he saw that exhausted face, he could only sigh. "Explosives?"
"Two crates left, but they're all engineering-grade. Won't do much," the lieutenant said. "The engineers have already buried them throughout the position. If we really can't hold, at least they can buy us some time.
Then I can still be of some