December 30th - Observation Post
“Thanks. And thanks for the feedback too. I’ll keep it all in mind.”
Elliot had some great points. It likely would be so that marksman, already having all their specialized equipment already, wouldn’t bother with this mediocre mish-mash that did none of the other’s equipment better. But marksman were only a small minority of soldiers, so it is better if he’d focus on the other majority who would have loved to look at a creeping Imperial shocktrooper more closely. That might end up saving a trench sector one day.
On the other hand, hearing the curt reaction from the brown-haired lady...kind of tickled him. Oh god, is she another one of those stuck-ups? There were no shortage of these ‘soldiers are meant to kill not relax’ machines in the army, but she thankfully doesn’t seem to bother with him not doing it. He understood their rationale though.
“Suit yourself miss.” Michael gave a fuzzy smile as he replied. He wouldn’t bother with her for the next hour or two, nor for Elliot, respecting their duty. Instead, he worked even further on the design for the next half an hour before occupying himself with a good book and writing letters home. It was getting a lot easier to write compared to the first few months of his enlistment. Now that he stopped with describing how wet and full of rats the area was, or how great his friends are and that they are his strength and all that cheesy stuff, he suddenly found himself having a lot more to say. Like the stale food, the cute dogs in the squad and how Michael would want to wallow in their fluffy furs, or some random rambling about communication technology.
With the conversation having died down, Elliot soon settled into the rhythm of sweeping the area with his own periscope, detecting nothing in the initial sweep, and then sweeping the area once more, this time with the scope of his rifle. Peeking out of the safety of the trenches to get a better look at things with his scope was always a risky prospect, but if there was an enemy marksman lying in wait, Elliot would have spotted them long before.
Or he’d be dead.
...But seeing as neither of those things were the case, the boy settled into the monotony of his job. Thankfully, a marksman was nothing if not patient. Two years of war experience had desensitized Elliot’s perception of seemingly boring jobs-- as disinteresting as they were sometimes, they had a purpose to serve.
Soon, Michael found his hunger becoming more and more unbearable. The growling in his stomach were getting more and more obvious. Having no reasons to not eat anymore, he packed up his things and trotted down the trench line back to the reserve line for some good ol’ packed rations, the marksman seeing the young man off with a tip of his hat. It was a nice enough diversion, but Elliot supposed the sapper had no reason to stay for much longer if they were going to be quiet, which was reasonable enough. He would’ve done the same thing, in his shoes.
And thus, Elliot went on to do sentry duty...
After grabbing his portion of the meal, Michael was finding himself a seat at the tables, but he suddenly remembered both the sentries, wondering if they had had lunch yet. They might have already, and it would be a waste of time, but eh, it wouldn’t hurt if they did anyway. It would also be nice to have some companies. And so, Michael went back into the soup kitchen, and, with a little bit of modesty and politeness, convinced the soldier in charge to give him 2 more rations for ‘his friends’. And he wouldn’t betray their trust in him to do what he was told either. He went back to the observation post with them in hand.
”Anyone want some food?” He laid them out at the spot he last sat a few moments ago and sat down and took one for himself.
Elliot was surprised when Michael had returned, with food in his hands. The marksman had planned on getting lunch after his shift, but seeing as the sapper had gone out of his way to do this much…
”I’ll take some.” He said, the faintest of smiles on his face. ”Thank you very much.
The marksman placed down the meal before him. As far as army slop went, the food was still better than the claylike rations given to him on extended trips away from the trenches. Water, a small teabag, stale biscuits, dry bread, tinned meat and some kind of soup, the kind of which Elliot could not identify.
The marksman set a nearby kettle to boil-- the thing likely left there as a small reprieve for watchmen and sentries assigned to the observation posts. As the water began to heat up, he couldn’t help but ask. ”I would’ve figured you’d have preferred to spend your off-time back in town.” He commented. ”Why return to the frontlines?”
Elliot certainly wasn’t complaining-- anyone willing to bring food back for someone was a good enough sort in his books; he simply wanted to hear the sapper’s reasoning for it.
Michael put his fingers on his chin. He tried coming up with whatever reasons like he wanted to work on the periscope more, which he could just do it back there, or he wanted to work on the trench, which he wouldn’t get to do so without authorization, or he just wanted to talk...which sounded dumb. At the end of the day, he’d just give a light shrug as he picked up the cup of diluted tea.
”Well, I don’t know…” He said. ”I figured it’s not noon yet, so maybe you guys haven’t had lunch yet. I don’t think it hurts being nice.
If they already had lunch, he would be handing them to someone else anyway. Not everything is for personal benefit.
The sapper then took a sip of the tea. Although freshly boiled, it was still bland and watered down. Pretty tasteless and if he paid too much attention he’d probably appreciate just a cup of water more. But it’s wartime, he wouldn’t demand more than this. He’d treat it like any first-class meal he once ever had: with some delicate touch beneath the cup.
”How very thoughtful of you.” Elliot said in response. It was unclear whether or not he believed it to be so, but he looked thankful enough. ”...Well, you were certainly right about one thing: I haven’t eaten yet.”
With that, the marksman mixed in his own bag of tea with the newly heated water. He took the metal cup in both hands, holding the handle with his dominant hand, and using his other as an impromptu saucer. Elliot curled his fingers inwards, letting the warmth of the tea run through his hands, before raising the cup to his lips.
All things considered, the tea was bland and not nearly as sweet as he would’ve liked. He had heard that sugar rations were issued early in the war, but by the time he had enlisted, those were reserved for officers. Still, even despite the lack of taste, it was suitable enough for warming the body.
After taking a long sip, he set the cut back down on the palm of his other hand. Normally, this was done on a table with a small plate or saucer, but both things weren’t strictly necessary in a war like this. Elliot enjoyed his tea (or what passes for it) in silence, letting only a small sigh escape his lips.
Too Michael let out a sigh, as he grabbed the biscuit and held it by the very tip of his finger, biting it small and careful not to let crumbs stick on his lips. If any was left on, he would wipe it off with the given napkin. On the while, he was quick to notice the same exact posture carried out by Elliot. The palm beneath the cup, the fingers and especially how he didn’t have the next sip without putting it back into his hand. It might be just confirmation bias on his part, but Michael recognized these social gestures.
Whether or not he’s right, he let himself loose a little and asked, his head tipped slightly sideway.
“Y’ new mahney?”
His accent changed suddenly. It was no longer the neutral intonation that everybody across Europa were taught, but a distinct Tyrellan one. He was taught to be proud of his heritage, which was kinda dumb, but it helped recognizing people.
Elliot looked up at Michael, somewhat surprised, though he did his best not to show it. He took a moment to parse that Tyrellan accent back into the more neutral tone he had grown accustomed to, before letting out a small exhale through his nose, as if slightly bemused.
If Michael was going to hang a little loose, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for Elliot to do the same.
”Aye, something like that.”
Unlike the sapper’s Tyrellan accent, the marksman’s own accent was distinctly Castletonian. Elliot gave the young man a knowing glance, before shifting back to a more neutral tone. “...money’s a little tight nowadays, though.” He let out a shrug.
”What of you? Old, or new?” Elliot figured small talk like this was fine, as long as he was careful. Besides, it was better that he start making new friends and acquaintances in this platoon sooner, rather than later.
”Eh...Kinda both.” His eyes glanced up, ”We inherit our wealth, but our grandfather kinda squandered our wealth through...variety of means,” And rolled around, exasperated. ”So my father had to patch it up like a sinking ship. He did well though, professorship gets good pay so we’re doing just cozy. A nice house and some good academic opportunities.”
It was nice seeing an upper-class (somewhat) Castleton brother around. Despite Michael not wanting to look like a spoiled rich kid, he couldn’t help the pre-imposed impressions of these people in society, so he tended to keep his status hidden, only letting loose when he was around familiar territory. New money might sound derogatory, but if anything he even respected those hard working people. People underestimated the strength of the manual labourers these days.
Elliot nodded as Michael went on, the marksman occasionally snacking on a biscuit. It was interesting-- he didn’t expect a blue-blood to be working the trenches, but he’s seen more than his fair share of surprising things in the war. Still, he couldn’t help but ask another question.
”...So what are you doing here?” Elliot asked, not unkindly. ”I ended up being drafted, so I didn’t have that much of a choice-- not that I mind all that much, mind you.” He quickly appended. ”...but forgive me if I’m presuming a little much: you don’t seem like the kind to want to go to war.”
From behind a sniper’s scope, Elliot’s seen plenty of faces. Michael’s own countenance just happened to be the kind that didn’t seem like the kind to enjoy fighting overmuch (though in fairness, there were very few that did). It made the marksman wonder about the young man’s convictions.
”Oh I don’t have a choice either…” Michael sighed. Well, it was not necessarily right. ”W-Well, I do have a choice. Go to university and be considered a reserved-skilled worker, which is what I’m into anyway. But... He snapped his fingers several times, getting irritated by each. His accent changed once again. ”Some tired old codger in the Board of Admission prob’bly slept during the job or somethin’. Got the admission letter a week late, and got called. So ‘ere I am.”
To be fair, he wasn’t too used to the new admission process either. Most of what he was referenced to was from his father, who studied in Vinland instead. So it took him a bit of time to gather the documents. Probably served him right he should’ve checked early, but hey, whatevs.
”To be fair, it does make me a lil more plucky than if I stayed home, He said, which is true. His Amone experience really toughened him, but nevertheless...”Don’t get me wrong though, I hate this fecking war regardless. No disagreement is worth millions of deaths.
And whose disagreements anyway? Some worthless kings’ on the throne? All the while people die like dogs. People that probably don’t even know the country, let alone the soldiers, they’re fighting if they hadn’t been subjugated under so much propaganda.
Michael put the cup of tea down for a long sigh. He doesn’t often get riled up.
Elliot calmly sipped at his tea, giving Michael an apologetic look. The marksman didn’t seem to mind the sapper’s sudden turn of mood. ”It’s a damn shame.” He simply commented. ”The world is a beautiful place, made darker by the war.”
Was the world beautiful, and the war ugly? Or was the world ugly, and the war merely a byproduct of that ugliness? Elliot pondered this for a moment.
The marksman set down his cup and looked to the sky. Though bleak and overcast, there was a certain beauty to its dreariness. He then turned to his compatriots: the sapper and the rifleman. This moment, as fleeting as it was, was likely to be the calm before the storm. It was best to cherish it while he could.
Elliot then reached for some of the dry bread, cutting it crosswise before putting some of the tinned meat between the loaves. Impromptu sandwich complete, the marksman took a bite. It was lacking in many things, but it was still better than nothing. He ate in silence for a while, occasionally pausing to take a sip of what little remained of his tea, or to survey the area with his periscope.
Michael let the talkings die down a little as they both enjoyed their lunch, while Michael cooled himself as well, relatively quickly though. Thankfully with Elliot here, he wouldn’t mind releasing the valve a little. He wasn’t one to hang on too long onto negativity as long as he could just say it to someone and someone understanding. It gets boring. Better to hand it to someone so both can bury them into the Earth.
Once he was done, he briefly cleaned up and prepared to get back to the reserve line. Some bloke coming to replace the two here informed him they were probably gathering soon.
For a while, he also wondered about the idea. The world. A beautiful place? He didn’t really see it as such, nor he saw it otherwise. He just...didn’t really think about it a lot. He’d really love to think it is, for there is beauty he wallowed in. His family. His sickly yet gentle mother. His stern yet kind father. As of now, he fought the war for them, because he is an only child. He is their future.
What about Elliot?
”Also, if you don’t mind me asking something as well. It might be intrusive, but you have someone at home you look forward to seeing?”
People who love the world probably have someone to fight for.
The marksman gave the visiting man a nod. Elliot hadn’t even realized it, but it seemed his shift would be over soon enough. The man said that they were probably gathering soon, prompting the boy to wonder as to what kind of operation they’d be doing soon enough.
Michael’s question snapped Elliot out of his reverie, though. Someone at home he looked forward to seeing… He pondered the question for only a few moments, before continuing. ”I’ve got family back home. My mother, father, and brother.” He started. ”It’s no exaggeration when I say that a big part of the reason as to why I signed on was to protect them.”
”...Truth be told… I don’t know if they’d be glad to see me.” Elliot admitted sheepishly. Going behind their back, breaking off a betrothal, and generally making a mess of their plans tended to breed more than a little bit of resentment, even if his intentions were good.
”...but when the war’s over, I’d like to see them again.”
And that was the truth of it. Even if he had left out a large part of context, Elliot was content with that answer.
”Ah I see.” Michael nodded firmly, and gave a genuine smile. Thinking for a couple of seconds, he reached for his pocket and took out another piece of paper. This one not the weary yellow notes he had for his designs and other random things he needed to write down, but a pinkish-white one, slightly marred by the dirt, but still looked modest enough on its own.
”I have someone to see too. My mother. Basically the angel of my life. And she wrote me this. He unfolded the paper and read. ”I swell in pride in hearing your accomplishment. But please don’t get carried away. I don’t care what you did or how many battles you won. All that matters is you coming home...”
He stared at the paper for a little, held it out then folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, laughed a little. ”A little dramatic I know. But those who stayed always have strong feelings.” He then patted Elliot on the shoulder. ”So I hope everything will work out for you.”
Elliot looked on as Michael read out his letter, and soon, in spite of himself, the marksman revealed a genuine smile of his own. He knew his own family might not have approved of him disappearing, but he knew that they wished for his safe return as well.
Thoughts of family tended to make the world a brighter place.
”That they do.” Elliot said in reply. ”...thanks… I hope everything works out for you too.” He smiled.
The boy then reached into his pocket, retrieving a simple, brass pocket watch with just a little bit of tarnish. He opened it, looked at the time, and then looked to his companions, the sapper and the rifleman.
”Looks like our shift’s done. Shall we head back?”
”Let’s go then.” Michael said.
@Hawthorne@TGM
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