>>315461
Fun in the Trenches

>The sounds of whistles blast through the air as you're torn from your slumber.
>Immediately you're greeted by the bright lights of phosphorous flares lighting up the night sky.
>You hear the shouts from every where along the trench line, "Masks on, on the wall, incoming fun!"
>Fun is short for fungus.
>You scramble to your feet as make sure the gas mask you always go to sleep with on is still there.
>You look around and kick your buddy Frank awake, how he can manage to be a heavy sleeper in a war-zone is beyond your mortal reasoning.
>You boost yourself up, rest your bolt action rifle on the top of the trench, and chamber a round.
>Soon you're joined by Frank.
>You stare into the nearby treeline and darkness that isn't lit by flares.
>You spare a glance to your left and right to see the countless men also with rifle in hand, mixed into the rifles are also a few machine guns and flame throwers.
>While they may function a bit differently, all of these are blessed tools of war, made by the clockwork magi of the Order over the course of decades of total war.
>Without these well designed compact miracles of the goddess, we would have lost this war long ago.
>Silence falls along the trench line.
>It's now you notice how your stomach hurts, the air chills your bones even through your biohazard combat suit, and how much you don't want to do this right now.
>This, of course, being fight to the death.
>You try to take your focus away from all that though, and you attempt to focus on the distance: scanning for targets.
>Gripping your rifle tight, you hear something... Something like the shaking of tree leaves...
>Suddenly movement from the treeline.
>A thick light brown fog starts to flow freely from the entire tree line. Its advance is like a tsunami rolling into a beach.
>In no time at all, the fog envelopes the whole trench line.
>Fortunately your mask serves it's purpose well, unfortunately the fog has reduced visibility.
>In response to this, more flares are shot up into the sky, this helps a little, but the difference is negligible.
>You can hear distant coughing, most likely someone who didn't secure their mask correctly... You know what happens next and attempt to think happy thoughts as you hear a firearm discharge echo throughout the trench and field.
>Oh how sweet the warmth of a bed is you attempt to think.
>Your happy thoughts are cut short as it begins.
>It being the war cry of fun.
>The cry is best described as a chorus of squeals with a few moans mixed it.
>Suddenly the treeline turns into a funline.
>The ground shakes with the charge of innumerable matango and other fungoid monsters.
>Through their evil magic, the witches of the Demon Lord have modified the fungoids to allow for periods of self-mobility.
>It is through this modification that fungoids are able to charge us now.
>Their bodies all resembling that of women, some of the fungoids are what could be called absolutely beautiful.
>Some of them are with clothes, some naked, but most barely clad.
>The untrained mind and eyes would be fooled by this scenario, and the untrained groin engorged at this sight.
>But we all know, we've all been here before.
>These are no more women to us than a manatee, nay, a man eating shark is to a sailor.
>This defensive line is within spitting distance of a city of the Order.
>Meaning if the fun breaks through this line, it means an entire city will be torn apart: actual women would be put into harms way.
>Losing here would also mean the worst for me, possibly death, and the inability to ever return to a warm bed.
>Due to this, we are not allowed to lose.
>It is for the Order and goddess, our women and children, and warm beds we fight.
>And with that, the officer of our piece of the trench bellows, "For Goddess and the Order, fire!"
>With that, every rifle with a man belches holy retribution upon the enemies of humanity.
>The rumble of fun is overridden by the rumble of machine gun fire,
>The war cry of fun is overridden by the explosions that propel our wrath.
>And the fun fog begins to dissipate more and more with each spurt of flames shot by our flame throwing purifiers.
>You work the bolt of your rifle as fast as you can, with each bullet finding its own unique target, yet the tide of bodies inches it way closer and closer to you.
>Your office shouts, "Fire at will!"
>In no time at all, you've already gone through four clips of ammunition.
>Nearby flamethrowers and machine guns haven't stopped firing since the enemy charge began.
>Yet the enemy is now within a stone's throw.
>The fungoids that fall in front are almost instantly replaced by fresh fun whenever they're shot down.
>You glance to your right while reloading to see part of the line breaking!
>Cowards! Traitors! Get back here and help us fight! You think to yourself.
>Your sentiments are echoed by the commissars and officers that were nearby; however, their sentiments are punctuated with gunfire.
>This is getting out of hand, soon the fun is...
>Your train of thought is ground to a halt by the screams of Frank and by the great force that slams into your head and upper body, sending you sailing into trench.
>You lost grip on your rifle and realize that there's a matango sitting right on your stomach looking down at you!
>This is the closest one has ever been, and you finally get a good look at her.
>She has a almost completely red face despite the rest of her body being an almost olive complexion.
>Speaking of her face, her pupils are huge along with her grin. She seems to be extremely happy... Definitely too happy.
>You spare a quick look at the rest of her, she has quite the slender and shapely body while having a nice set of breasts...
>What are you thinking? You shake those thoughts away, and you attempt to reach for your trench knife, but the matango quickly pins your arms to the ground.
>You struggle under her inhumanely strong grip and hiss out, "Ah, damn it, get off!"
>Still grinning, "Ah-haha, they said you guys would be kinky when we first claimed you, but lets save the knife until after marriage."
>"W-what?" you decrease your struggles a little out of confusion.
>She just keeps grinning, "I got to you, now you're mine! Those are the rules!"
>She then looks at what you assume is the straps to your gasmask and says with almost lustful voice, "Now... Lets get that silly thing off you for you can breath."
>She then begins to lean down and bite the straps!
>She was just trying to get you to lower your guard to make you breath in the poisonous gas!
>You're not going out like that! You're going out in a warm bed years from now after you win this damn war!
>You strengthen your resolve and attempt to roll her off of you, and you on to her.
>This is the first time you see her not grinning.
>She probably didn't expect a human to overpower her here, all monsters are arrogant like that.
>You're on top of her now, with knife in hand.
>"Wah, what are you doing honey?" the matango stares at you has she tries to pull you off with her flailing hands.
>You grip your knife downwards in your fist and push your fist towards the matango with your free hand.
>"No no no, stop that!" the matango pleas for life, but she was more than willing to remove your gas mask and take yours!
>The matango is at the disadvantage while she attempts to push the knife back, the bad angle prevents her using all her strength and gravity itself is fighting against her.
>It's with a whimper this little fight ends, not a coughing fit.
>You catch your breath, relinquish your grip on the embedded knife, and stare at what you've done.
>A similar scene unfolds all around you.
>Man and monster in a fierce melee for each-others lives.
>The men are winning thus far, leaving the knife where it stands, you pick your rifle back up to notice the absence of Frank on the line.
>Your head spins as you look for him amidst the chaos.
>As you search for Frank, you shoot a few matangos that had men pinned similarly to how you were pinned.
>Finally you look over the trench, he was dragged out of the trench and is now surrounded by matango!
>He's without knife or rifle and is fighting them off with his fists and feet: kicking and screaming.
>You watch in horror as his gas mask hits the ground and his screams intensify.
>You line up your iron sights with the only target that makes sense.
>Good bye, Frank. I'll tell your mother what happened here.
>Moments after pulling the trigger, deeps howels and whistles can be heard in the distance, growing in intensity.
>Instinctively, you practically throw yourself into the trench as the field erupts in explosions.
>The onrushing tide of fun is swallowed up in flames and smoke.
>Man is once more aided by fire.
>The melees in the trench are won and the artillery barrage halts.
>A quick peek over the edge reveals the once mighty horde reduced to a few hundred.
>Your officer seems to be taking a dirt nap as a different officer yells and commands everyone to, "Stand up and fight you dogs!"
>"Up and over, charge!"
>"Drive them back into the hell they climbed out of!
>Flame throwing purifer squads spear head charges as they burn corpses of matango and men alike.
>You throw your rifle and body over as you climb out of the trench.
>You shed no tear at the sight of Frank's fire.
>You shed no tear at the sight of a begging matango.
>You shed no tear at the sight of a thousand burning bodies.
>You feel very little.
>You've done this too many times already.
>If you had to say you felt anything, you would say you felt tired.
>But yet... Still within you is hope for a better future.
>A future where the war is over.
>A future where every single monster rests in the past.
>A time without monsters, perhaps a time only of love, understanding, and warm beds.
>But is such a world possible?
>Isn't it more likely that the monsters just grind us into dust?
>...
>You help your regiment dig the new trench line, a few miles ahead of the last one.
>During your break, you talk with a fellow soldier named Ronnie, trade rations, and joke around.
>He's a lot like Frank in a way.
>Night rolls around after some time.
>Scheduled rest time.
>You nod off in the trench, gripping your rifle, but you leave your gas mask off this time.
>...
>The sound of whistles blast through the air as you're torn from your slumber.