This fanfic is a little different than the others in that the characters
of Tenchi don't appear at all. The story is about a final, apocalyptic
battle between the righteous and god fearing Aekaphiles and the
depraved, unholy, and immature AHRLI horde. It is the eve of
destruction. Either the bull will be lanced or the matador will be gored
to his death. Either the carcasses of AHRLIs will be gorged on by
vultures or the adolescent Ryokophiles will drink the blood of the
innocent. Either way, someone's gonna have a hell of a job cleaning up.

Sergeant Wittmann
deliciouswhite@allofyourgodsaredead.com
The Battle of Hill 223: Ch. 1, Last Stand on Hill 223

The final battle between the Aeka fan and the AHRLI is at hand. Praise
the Lord and pass the ammunition!!!

********************************************************************************************

This fanfic is a little different than the others in that the characters
of Tenchi don't appear at all. The story is about a final, apocalyptic
battle between the righteous and god fearing Aekaphiles and the
depraved, unholy, and immature AHRLI horde. It is the eve of
destruction.
Either the bull will be lanced or the matador will be gored to his
death. Either the carcasses of AHRLIs will be gorged on by vultures or
the adolescent Ryokophiles will drink the blood of the innocent. Either
way, someone's gonna have a hell of a job cleaning up. For the
soundtrack, I recomend RAMMSTEIN!!!!!!!! Especially the songs "Mein Herz
Brennt!" and "Sonne" from the album Mutter. "Dead Bodies Everywhere" by
KoRn is also appropriate.

The Battle of Hill 223
By Sergeant Wittmann

Ch. 1, Last Stand on Hill 223

AHRLIS IN THE WIRE! AHRLIS IN THE WIRE! GUNS UP!!!

The slavering hordes of mutated haters of Aeka stormed up hill 223,
occupied by the Aekist militia. It was no avail to them as individuals
since their maniac charge was met only with screaming lead from the
barrels of Militia M60s and mortars, but still they came inexorably on.
They had no sense of individuality and acted like a swarm of red ants;
engulfing and devouring anything in their path.
"Damn, these are tough mothers," yelled Corporal Taylor as he fired into
a thick mass of AHRLIs as they moved up to his pillbox. Though they
seemed physically weak, the AHRLIs possesed a thick cranial casing that
prevented shots from even a machinegun to penetrate to their soft
brains. But still, the scythe of modern logic and industry sliced into
the thick hide of primal fanaticism and lust. As the last of the AHRLIs
fell, a few gave out plaintive, impotent cries of "RYOKO RULES" as they
were felled by the angry lead hornets.
Taylor wore a tattered, dirty, field grey uniform spattered with the
gore of thousands of AHRLIs. Patches of a thousand different colors were
sewn on to  cover the most gaping holes and he gave off an awful stench.
You could tell he had been in the shit for years.
Firing died down all along the perimeter of hill 223 as the last of the
AHRLIs were killed off. Only a few of the men were killed, mostly by
those savages with enough intellect to use guns. The Aeka Militia was
holding this hill as the last line of defense between the bloodthirsty
host of lost souls and the huddled masses of Aeka fan refugees who had
been lucky enough to flee from the bloodbaths.
Taylor looked down into the stinking jungle that surrounded their muddy
outcropping of death and sacrifice. It reeked all the way to the top of
the high hill with the corpses of so many rotting AHRLIs.
He noted movement in the undergrowth. The thick foliage shook as AHRLIS
passed through. It couldn't have been any of the local fauna since they
had all been devoured in the invaders' search for unholy sustenance.
"Well, it's time to put a few more notches into my gun," thought the
militiaman. "Or at least I would if it wasn't already filled." But as
Taylor aimed his weapon, the forest shuddered. Hundreds, no! thousand of
of AHRLIs charged out of the jungle.  Just as men started firing, a
unearthly wail of millions of AHRLIs opened throughout the jungle,
drowning out all other noise. "RYOKO RULES! AEKA SUCKS! RYOKO RULES!"
"Oh my god! Unruh look!"
Unruh, his assistant gunner and buddy peered over the edge of their
water-filled hole and cursed.
"The bastards sent everything they got against us," he spat. "There
ain't no way we could hold 'em all off, the Aekists are finished..."
Though Unruh was always a tough soldier, tears slipped from his hardened
eyes. Taylor, and also every other militiaman on that god-forsaken hill
did the same.
It was the end. The apocalypse. All that they had hoped and prayed and
died for would be to no avail as the hideous half-men roared up the hill
to massacre the soldiers and their wives and children. To squelch their
hopes and dreams of religious freedom and a safe world for their youths
to grow up in.
As the futility of the militiamens' endeavors and sacrifices hit them,
the stalwart troops let lose a pained, wounded, yet valiently defiant
roar like that of a great wounded lion ready to take down at least some
of the rabid hyaenas that had brought it to the ground.
The militiamen had no illusions about how this battle would end, but
they all knew in their hearts that they had no choice but to fall on
that hill. Not as a people laid low, but as a proud, decent people who
had stood up against savagery and said in one haughty voice: "NEVER!"

GUNS UP!!! GUNS UP!!! GUNS UP!!!

A living wave of AHRLIs rolled over the approaches to hill 223. The
Militia had prepared quite a welcoming for their bestial foes. Trenches
were dug all along the hill, some were filled with sharpened wooden
stakes and jagged pieces of metal. Others were filled with burning fuel
oil. But that did little to stop the swarm of half-crazed
middleschoolers; as they were impaled and burned alive, the AHRLIs'
mangled corpses filled the trenches of death and bridged the gaps for
their brothers. Tripwires and mines also greeted the animals, but these
had only a limited effect due to the density with which the mewling
cretins gathered.
On the hill, the militiamen were firing everything they had at the
marauders. No bullet missed its mark in the solid wall of mutants, every
shell took a dozen lives, and the 20 mm quad-cannons aimed down the
slope cut huge swaths from the attackers' ranks. But what are dozens of
lives when measured against thousands?
No man on hill 223 thought for his own life on that day, only for those
lives on the other side, the women and children. The only other thought
that entered their resigned yet tenacious minds was to hold. To hold
till not a single AHRLI breathed on hill 223 or until they no longer
breathed.
"We gotta hold!"
As the AHRLIs surged through the kill-zone of interlocking heavy
machinegun fire and maiming boobytraps, they came to the barbedwire,
laid as thickly as the undergrowth of a forest and as tall as a man with
all portions electrified. The electrified wire was like a seawall to the
living wave. As the AHRLIs, blinded by the promise of fresh meat,
screamed into the wall of thorny strands, they were thrown back against
their mates by the powerful volts of electricity.
The AHRLIs were enraged, they had no way to get over the charged mass of
wire. Any attempt to climb was repelled and those who tried to jump for
it only got immolated on top of the wire instead of next to it.
The militiamen jeered the once-unstoppable horde. A few even grew to
hope for victory, but the sheer mass of AHRLIs on the tremendous
bugzapper was too much for the generators attached to the wire. They
shorted out and burnt up. The men who taunted grew hard again as the
mindless murder machines used the smoldering carcasses of their fellows
as a scaffold with which to climb over the razorwire and onto the kill.

Dug in alongside the hill close to the top were barrels of napalm. It
wasn't really napalm per se, but a concoction of gasoline, oil, and a
melange of other flammable liquids mixed together with a thickener. But
it was as good as napalm. Mounted to the rear of the drums were charges
of plastic explosives with blasting caps wired to triggers within the
Aeka Militia's compound.
Colonel Bone, the Aekist's steadfast leader, watched the AHRLI onslaught
from the frontline trench with his men. They continued firing but as the
wave passed into the area of no man's land called the "bitchslapper" by
them, they all packed up their weapons and ran from the trench. Bone ran
up and down the length urging his men out. He only departed when he was
sure none were left. As the troops ran over the barricade to their final
positions, Colonel Bone spoke two small words into his radio: "Open up."

On his orders, the engineers inside the camp slammed down on the buttons
that fired the plastique and ignited the homebrew napalm. As it
exploded, the napalm was jettisoned from the ruptured barrels and sent
hurtling down the hill. The AHRLIs on the receiving end found not a
feast of warm children's flesh but a storm of liquid fire screaming
towards them packed with all of the spite and vengeance of their hardy
Aekist foes.
Those beasts at the front suddenly became aware of their own lives and
fled before the wall of revenge but their weak, gangly legs could not
propel them fast enough to escape their deaths. The firestorm came
inexorably on into the ranks of savage creatures and tore through the
massed animals like the Grim Reaper's own scythe. The burning chemical
stuck to their bodies and seared the flesh off of them. When the fire
subsided, the hill was ablaze with mangled and still-burning carcasses.
But they still kept coming. More bolted out of the jungle and up the
hill. At the top, Bone ordered his soldiers with cool determination.
"Gunners! Fan out in front of the formation and fire on anything that
comes into view! Engineers! Take the grenade launchers and do the same
from the center! Troopers! Drop your guns and arm yourselves with melee
weapons! The AHRLIs shall have their victory, but we shall drain every
drop of blood from their pestilent body as payment!!!"

To be continued.