Infrastructure: Part Two Hundred and Sixteen

In all his years, Valrin had never been a battle as noisy as this one. The blare of cannons and the cracks of rifles and Automatics was constant. This was one more reason to hate these Infrastructurals in his mind. Even so he made out other approaching sounds. With an unenthusiastic slash of his scimitar he cut through the wire barriers above the trenches, the runic blade cutting through them with only the faintest resistance. He had his objectives for this battle and while he had enjoyed himself immensely cutting through these wretches orders were orders and he saw one of them get tangled up in the stuff and cut up by it's steel thorns. In any case it would be best not to play it safe for a bit.

A couple of Infrastructural soldiers in their crude tongue were coming down the line and so he backed up. "Come to me!" He snarled as he backed up down the trench.  He saw them come into sight rifles in hand but foolishly not leveled, which gave him the half second he needed to get into cover of a curve in the trench. A bit of dirt spattered his armor but he did not want to risk rifle fire just yet. After that he got his sword and prepared to charge, a trio of Janissaries ran through the breach in the wire barrier onto them.

The first of which made their presence known as his charge ended with a scream of pain as he stepped onto a Caltrop, but still stumbled forward with the metal thing in his foot and fell down upon them, driving his bayonet through one of their arms and weighing both of them. A second Janissary, more fortunate than the last fell through with a sword in one hand and his rifle in  the other shortly after. He drove his bayonet into the leg of the unwounded Infrastructural soldier and the sword into the spine of the wounded one. Afterwards he used the asymmetric blade's point into the neck of the other soldier and then staggered to his feet from the mass. Then he put aside his rifle and drew a dirk from a back mounted scabbard. For a brief moment Valrin felt a brief burst of approval at the slave soldier for not only killing the bastards quickly but responding in a manner he approved of, even if he put that down to good handling shortly afterwards. The one lying in a heap was just another slave soldier who did his function adequately. There was a chance that he would have to be put down after the dust had settled, epsecially if he was trampled by his squadmates as they came down, but that's what Janissaries were for after all.

But regardless of that the masses of slave soldiers were now pouring into this stretch of the Trenchline. No matter how many of their lot had died getting this far, the hard part was now over. The advantage was now where it always rightfully belonged, in Drow Hands.

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