Diary Entry – October 22, 1919
Five days after my seventeenth birthday.
They made it official.
I'm a Vanguard now.
Part of me thought they'd give me Officer—maybe even wanted it. But I can't say I'm surprised. I've always stood at the front. Holding the line. Taking the blow. Shielding others before myself. That's what a Vanguard does.
I was handed the segmented plate shield yesterday. It's heavier than I imagined—like dragging a collapsed roof through the mud—but something about it feels right. Familiar. The weight reminds me that I'm still here, still breathing, and still useful. I can't shoot like Levin, and I can't navigate like Nika, but I can hold. And sometimes, that's enough to keep others alive.
They said my actions in Tunnel 41B were beyond what was expected of a Soldat. I don't remember most of it. Just orders. Noise. Smoke. Watching my squad fall back behind me while I kept the bastards from pushing further.
And then silence. The kind that only comes when death forgets to show up.
I should've died then, but I didn't.
Maybe this shield will make sure I don't next time either.
We're being sent out again tomorrow. Briefing was earlier today. Not a word of praise. Just a map and a target. The usual. I'll write it down so I don't forget:
Briefing Notes – October 22, 1919
Objective:Advance into the southern half of Stormfront Ravine, establish a forward dugout, and secure an overwatch point near a collapsed railway junction.
Location:Mid-point between Renewal and Bastion Line Delta. Tunnel lattice is unstable—expected gas pockets, falling rock, and possible Empire movement.
Squad Composition:
Vanguard – Joseph Aslanov
Soldat – Levin Markov (Rifleman)
Officer – Kirill Dobrev (New)
Mortician – Nika Aslanov
Rook – Mikhail Ivanenko
Jaeger – Vasha Orel
Lancer – Dima Yegorov
Intel:Scouts report Golden Empire patrols conducting mine-depth sweeps. Possible recon outposts in the adjacent tunnel-line system. Little to no surface access—expect close-quarters tunnel combat. Potential Bandit scavenger interference from the west shaft routes.
Command Notes:
Dig in, establish a temporary shelter.
Scout and secure forward approach.
Avoid over-extension. Reinforcements are three hours out if contact is made.
This is not a push operation. Hold until further command.
Nika joked during the meeting that I finally got a role where getting shot less is encouraged. I didn't laugh, but I appreciated the attempt.
We leave before dawn.
Stormfront Ravine. The name doesn't sit right. Too quiet. Like it's holding its breath.
Let's see what's waiting for us in the silence.
— Joseph A.
early morning, the next day
The light above the dugout flickered, casting long shadows along the cavern wall. The whir of generators hummed in the background, barely masking the distant clatter of pickaxes and the hiss of steam valves. Renewal's southern outpost was no more than a half-built tunnel spur reinforced with stacked iron plates and cautionary prayers.
Joseph adjusted the straps on his new segmented shield. He wasn't used to its weight yet—but there was a strange comfort in it, like wearing responsibility in metal form.
"Try not to get shot in the back, Vanguard," Levin muttered with a smirk, pulling tight the sling on his rifle. "I don't have enough rounds to clean up your mess."
Joseph glanced over. "You'll run out of jokes before you run out of ammo."
"I doubt it," Nika chimed in, tightening the straps on her satchel of stim kits and field tourniquets. "But if he does, I've got a stim for that. Causes total silence. Permanent, if you're lucky."
"Is that your medical opinion?" Kirill Dobrev asked, stepping into the dim light. He was the new Officer—fresh-faced, barely older than Joseph, but wore the red armband like it meant something. "Because I was told this squad needed discipline, not sarcasm."
"Same thing around here," Mikhail said, clanking down a reinforced crate of bomb charges near the exit shaft. "Discipline keeps us alive. Sarcasm keeps us sane."
Vasha Orel knelt silently in the corner, tuning her tripwire rig with gentle, precise hands. She didn't speak much, but Joseph knew she was always listening. Nearby, Dima sat cross-legged on an overturned crate, humming an old Nation war hymn while oiling the curved edge of his lance.
The room smelled of rust, gun oil, and stale bread. It felt… ordinary. At least, as ordinary as war could get.
Joseph stepped forward and faced them all.
"We deploy in twenty," he said. "Stormfront Ravine won't give us a second chance. We hit the junction, dig in, and scout as far as we're ordered. This isn't a push — it's a hold."
Kirill nodded. "Command's clear on that. We're to mark any signs of Empire movement but hold our ground unless ordered to fall back."
"And if they come early?" Nika asked, slinging her stim pack over one shoulder.
"Then we buy time," Joseph said. "One breath at a time."
Dima rose, resting his lance across his back. "They'll break before we do. I'll make sure of it."
A silence fell over the squad, brief but mutual — not fear, not bravado, but a recognition of what lay ahead. They all knew what tunnels like Stormfront could do to a person. But no one said it out loud.
The radio at the corner clicked. A static-choked voice came through:
"—Team Vanguard-3, you are green. Open shaft 9-C. Time to move."
Joseph gripped the edge of his shield, breath steady.
"Alright," he said, "let's move."
The old freight elevator groaned to life, cables twitching as it lowered them into the abyss.
Joseph stood near the front, his shield planted firmly at his side, the metal cold even through his gloves. Around him, the squad stood in tense silence, lit only by flickering headlamps. No one spoke. There wasn't much to say. The deeper they went, the more the noise of the outpost above faded into memory—replaced by a stillness that gnawed at the edges of the mind.
Tunnel 9-C hadn't been used in nearly a year. Too unstable, they said. Too close to no-man's zones. The last recorded contact from a patrol down here had ended with a scream, a gunshot, and then… silence.
Now it was their turn to walk it.
"Depth marker coming up," Nika said quietly, watching her portable altimeter. "We're almost at the 300-meter mark."
"That's three hundred meters of forgotten dirt between us and daylight," Levin muttered. "Feels like we're descending into a grave."
"We are," Joseph replied flatly. "Theirs or ours—depends on what we do next."
The elevator thunked hard as it hit the shaft floor. A mechanical hiss followed as the cage unlocked. Metal doors wheezed open to a low, yawning tunnel supported by rotted beams and half-sunk rebar.
Steam drifted from a cracked valve in the wall, casting shadows that danced across the ancient stone. The air tasted like rust and mold. Every step echoed louder than the last.
Mikhail swept his rifle across the darkness. "Clear. But if the Empire's been here recently, they cleaned up well."
"Or they're still here," Vasha whispered.
The tunnel narrowed as they pushed forward, boots crunching gravel and old glass. Faded signage marked rusted junctions: 41A – Storage, 41B – Ventilation, Stormfront — scrawled hastily in red over peeling paint.
As they passed an old barricade—half-collapsed and covered in blood-stained cloth—Joseph raised a fist. The line stopped instantly.
He crouched beside the wall. A faint mark ran across the dirt—fresh drag lines. Something—or someone—had been moved through here recently. Not days ago. Hours.
Kirill knelt beside him, pale. "Tracks lead to the west tunnel—toward the ravine choke point."
"We expected a fight," Joseph said, voice quiet. "Looks like they're ahead of schedule."
"Think they know we're here?" Levin asked, hand twitching toward his trigger.
"No," Joseph replied, rising. "But if they're waiting, we won't surprise them."
He looked ahead toward the tunnel labeled Stormfront. The entrance was collapsed partially, a low crawlspace of debris they'd need to move through to reach the ravine's overlook point.
"We set up above the break," Joseph ordered. "Tripwires, mines if we have them. Watch the sides and ceiling—we're not fighting them in a straight line if we can avoid it."
The squad moved like seasoned machines. Vasha and Dima worked the wires. Nika adjusted her stim doses and handed small satchels to Joseph and Kirill. Levin took point with his scope trained on the shadows ahead. Mikhail watched the rear, silent as ever.
Joseph crouched behind a fallen beam and stared into the dark slit of the tunnel beyond.
"Stormfront silence," he muttered under his breath. "Now I understand what they meant."
The air stood still. Even the rats had gone quiet.
They waited.
The traps were set.
Tripwires lined the side corridor. Frag slates were nestled beneath loose rubble. A reinforced barrier of scavenged scrap now overlooked the ravine mouth—thin cover, but better than nothing.
Now, they waited.
Joseph sat with his back to the wall, shield resting beside him. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his canteen, half out of boredom, half nerves. Across from him, Nika crouched, adjusting the straps on her field harness.
"You always fidget before a fight," she said without looking up.
"I do not."
"Do too."
Joseph exhaled through his nose. "You keeping track of all my nervous tics now?"
"Someone has to. It's either that or watch Mikhail oil his bayonet for the hundredth time."
They shared a quiet laugh—small, but honest.
Nika leaned back against a broken vent pipe, letting her head rest against the cold iron. "Feels like we haven't had time to breathe since Tunnel 41B."
"Did we ever?" Joseph said. "Seventeen deployments. The only thing that changes is the number of dead at the end."
She tilted her head at him. "You always get this grim right before your birthday?"
"Just feels strange, I guess. Turning seventeen down here. I should be worrying about school, not tunnel clearances and gas canisters."
"You should be dead," she replied bluntly. "We both should. But we're not. And you're a Vanguard now, Joseph. You earned that."
He looked down at the rank badge pinned to his uniform. The steel shield insignia was still new, barely scuffed.
"I still don't feel like one," he said quietly.
Nika nudged his boot with hers. "You're doing fine, 'little brother.' Better than most of the bastards barking orders above us."
"I'm not your brother," he mumbled.
"You're like a brother. A very sullen, too-serious brother who stares into the void a lot."
Joseph smirked in spite of himself. "And you're like an older sister who steals the last stim pack and blames it on Kirill."
She gave him an innocent look. "Well. He's too jittery for his own good. I'm doing him a favor."
From further down the line, Levin called out in a hushed tone. "Hey, Lovebirds, Knock it off. I hear something."
Joseph and Nika exchanged a final glance.
and he smiles a little bit.
"Time's up," she whispered, drawing her knife.
He rose, grabbing his shield.
"Let's make sure it's them who don't get a birthday."
Joseph pressed himself against the rust-streaked wall of the tunnel. The others fell into formation with practiced precision—quiet, quick, focused.
Levin crawled forward to the edge of the barrier, scope clipped to his rifle, scanning the darkness.
"Movement. Confirmed. Flashlights—three, maybe four," he whispered. "No chatter. They're being careful."
Joseph crouched beside him. "Which way?"
"East tunnel. Approaching the choke point just past our traps."
Nika was already adjusting her rifle sling. Mikhail checked the safety on his scattergun with a familiar click. Kirill knelt behind the blast cover, fiddling nervously with the wire for a flame charge.
"Hold," Joseph whispered. "No one fires unless they cross the red wire. Wait until they're in the kill box."
He tapped twice on the pipe next to him—a quiet signal.
Two taps returned from somewhere down the line. Officers on the other end were ready too.
The tunnel was silent again. Silent, except for the slow, deliberate sound of boots scraping against stone.
Then—one heavy step too far.
Snap.
A thin whine, then a sudden—
BOOM.
The pressure mine ignited, throwing a wave of light and debris across the cavern corridor. Screams followed. Shouts in Imperial tongues, hurried orders, chaos.
Joseph surged forward, shield raised, voice sharp. "FIRE!"
The squad let loose.
Levin's scope cracked. Nika braced her rifle, cool and precise. Mikhail bellowed as his shotgun roared, clearing the left flank. Kirill triggered the flame trap, sending a wave of fire washing through the collapsed archway. The smell of burning oil and scorched flesh hit the air.
Golden Empire troops scrambled for cover. Some tried to fall back, but the kill box had them choked.
Joseph advanced. "Push left! Cut them off at the rail curve!"
Shots rang all around. Bullets pinged off his shield as he pressed forward, eyes locked ahead. One of the Imperials rushed at him—a knightly trooper in partial plate, bayonet raised. Joseph stepped inside the strike, slammed his shield into the soldier's chest, then followed it with a heavy punch from his trench knife.
The Empire man dropped.
Another explosion tore open the back of the formation. One of the frag slates—set by Nika earlier—had finally gone off.
And just like that… the push broke.
The surviving Empire soldiers retreated into the smoke. No order. No formation.
Joseph didn't follow.
"Hold position!" he called. "Don't chase them—we've done our part."
The squad regrouped. Mikhail clutched a shallow wound in his arm, but waved off Kirill's help.
"Only a scratch," he said with a grin. "Don't patch me till someone else falls over."
Nika wiped soot from her cheek and leaned on her rifle. "That went better than expected."
Joseph nodded slowly, lowering his shield. "Yeah," he said. "Too well."
They didn't know if this was the only wave.
But for now… they had held the line.
Joseph's Diary
October 20th, 1919Three days after Tunnel 41B assault repelled
I've had three nights to sleep since the fighting ended. I think I got maybe two hours total.
They promoted me to Vanguard. Didn't ask. Didn't debate. Just pulled me into the command tent and handed me the insignia. Said my "fortitude and coordination under fire reflected the best of the Nation's old guard." I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about that.
I keep replaying it in my head. The moment the mine snapped. The fire rolling down the stone. The scream that came from the second guy we hit—it sounded too human. I mean… they're all human. I know that. I try to remind myself, but it's easier to forget when they're silhouettes in a cloud of smoke.
Nika says I saved lives. Levin told me I bought us the time to breathe. Even Mikhail offered me half his rations without a word (I didn't take them, obviously). But deep down… it still feels like I'm the one dragging them closer to the edge.
Being a Vanguard isn't just a shield in your hand. It's the weight of knowing you're the first to get hit—and the last to retreat.
I keep wondering if I'll make it out of this war alive.
But for now, we have another day of silence. And that's something I'll take.
—Joseph
The dugout was quiet except for the occasional drip of condensation from the beams. A red lantern flickered weakly overhead. Joseph sat with his back against the stone wall, shield propped beside him, his diary still half-open in his lap.
Nika's voice cut the silence gently.
"You're writing again."
Joseph looked up, a faint smile breaking through the fog of exhaustion. "Just trying to make sense of things."
She sat beside him, brushing loose gravel from her trousers. "You always write after battles."
"I guess it helps. I think better when I'm not being shot at."
Nika gave a soft chuckle. "You did good out there, you know. Even Kirill said it. And he hates giving credit."
Joseph shrugged. "Doesn't feel like it matters. We win one tunnel, they'll just send another wave next week."
"Yeah, probably." She leaned back against the wall beside him. "But still. You kept us alive. And that counts for something."
He looked down at his gloves—dried blood flaking at the knuckles. "I don't want to be a hero, Nika."
"You're not. You're just trying to survive like the rest of us."
She nudged his shoulder gently. "But maybe... you're doing it a little better than most."
The two sat in silence for a while longer. No orders. No alarms. Just breathing.
Just surviving.
The quiet lingered as the two sat together, the distant echoes of the underground war muffled by layers of rock and earth. Outside, the cold seeped through the tunnel walls, but here, in the dugout, there was a fragile moment of calm.
Nika stood, brushing the dust off her knees. "You should try to rest. I'll take the first watch."
Joseph nodded, feeling the weight of his new responsibilities settle even heavier on his shoulders. "Thanks, Nika."
She smiled softly. "Anytime, Joseph. Tomorrow's a new day. Whatever comes, we face it together."
He watched her disappear down the narrow tunnel, the faint glow of her lantern bobbing away.
Joseph closed his diary and leaned back against the wall, the shield beside him. For now, the silence was his shield.
And in that silence, he found a sliver of hope.
end of chapter 5