herr_bookman ([personal profile] herr_bookman) wrote2014-10-03 11:50 pm
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WWI - Settling In


Settling in took a shorter time than I thought. PT grew easier as the weeks passed, and I was even gaining a bit of muscle. Weekly trips to the field with full packs weighing up to sixty pounds increased my stamina. And I was praised for my speed. I grudgingly admitted to myself that boot camp wasn't all bad.

Sometimes, though, I tired of being a secret bearer.

"What is that rag you keep in your pocket?" Dylan called out to me during our morning run. "I keep seeing you look at it."

"It's a flying carpet," I said. My pack bounced against my back as I ran. My mother had sent me my carpet at my request, along with my T-Minus and some water purification tablets that I'd picked up in the bar. She also sent the metal loop with signs etched into it that created Rae's Seeing Things Clearly ward, which I hung from my helmet straps. I kept the anti-crushed-by-flying-metal ward in my boot.

"You are so full of it, Krueger," Dylan said, laughing softly even as he panted for breath. "Where'd you get it?"

"I went to a moon populated with people who knew magic," I said, and sniffled. Running with a cold was terrible.

Dylan opened his mouth, but I continued speaking. "I got there through a door leading from a bar, which had a window that looked upon the end of all things."

"Good Lord, we have a storyteller on our hands," Dylan said, snorting. "Think you'll be a writer after the war?"

I smiled bitterly. I tried to tell myself that Dylan couldn’t know of my failed attempts, but the damage was done. "Maybe." I tensed my legs and left Dylan behind with a burst of speed.

After several weeks of basic preparatory discipline and drill, Dylan, Strauss, Eberstark, and I raised our right hands for God and the Fatherland. Placing my left hand on the staff of colors in a time-honored tradition, I swore an oath to uphold my solemn duties as a soldier, and protect my brothers. I wondered if Sherral ever had to undergo a similar ceremony. I also wondered if I myself would desert if I could.

We all headed to the mess afterwards, chatting about which unit we'd be assigned to. "I bet I'll be assigned to carry two flags into battle," I said, shaking my head and sneezing into my arm.

"What are you talking about, Krueger?" Strauss said, and Eberstark raised his brows.

"It'd be a double standard," I explained. Dylan punched me in the shoulder as the other two groaned, and I grinned at the three of them.

"Hey, Krueger," Dylan said, strangely pensive. "How do you call someone a bastard without calling them a bastard? Make me sound smart."

"What?" I said, blinking. "Well, there's always body parts plus an action. 'Armpit nuzzler', I guess?"

Eberstark chortled, which spurred me on. "Craven, crook-pated codpiece? Gleeking, fen-sucked mammet?"

"'Gleeking'? What on earth?" Strauss said through his snickers.

"Gleeking is the process of rolling back your tongue to gather spit in your mouth to let loose on someone," I explained. "Fen-sucked is one who has been sucked out of marshes. And a mammet is a false god. They're from Shakespeare."

The Shakespearean-flavored insults spread like wildfire around the camp. It was all fun and games until Dylan opened his big mouth, and used one of them on Oberleutnant Nadel in jest.

Nadel was silent for a long moment. "Krause! Did you get that from Krueger?"

I stiffened, swallowing.

"Sir, yes, sir," Dylan said, in the same state as I was.

"One hundred pushups for each of you," he commanded. "Don't ever call me a pustule sucker again."

"Sir, yes, sir!" we chorused.

And so our days went. I passed physical muster just enough to be a Rifleman in the Infantry Brigade. I pined after the highly paid and more interesting radio man jobs, but managed to keep from starving during the evening meal of coffee with my meager pay. I missed good tea and croissants at every meal. I tried not to think of Oswin or Rae.

I often wondered what unit I’d be assigned to after camp. I knew that I'd see the muck and the mire at the front, knew I'd see horses hit with artillery, and the people around me cut down.

I read everything I could get my hands on, which wasn't much. If I had to go into combat--and the very thought made me want to scream--I wanted to go to the somewhat quiet Eastern Russian front. It made me think of Katya.

Soon, I speculated as to whether my unit would be able to compete in the Kaisermaneuvers, yearly mock engagements to which many foreign heads of states and other dignitaries were invited. The 12th could win the coveted Army Corps Konigschiessabzeichen, a swelled-sided crown, if we excelled in marksmanship and tactical maneuvering.

I also questioned when I started caring about such things.

I warmed my hands at the cast-iron stove in the mess hall, deep in thought. Dylan threw another log on, nudging me with his elbow. "Missing someone, Krueger?"

"Always," I replied, and felt a familiar pang in my chest. I sniffled again. There was no cinnamon in the camp, but I still pretended I could fold my arms around Rae and breathe her in. I pictured Gavroche sketching people in the bar--and then Jay kissing me.

I tried to push the pang back down, but it settled, an almost comforting weight.

"Wanna tell me about them?"

"No."

"You secretive maggot-pie. One of these days you're going to crack open like an egg and tell me everything," Dylan said. "Starting with your name."

"Good luck," I said, with a sharp grin. Then I sneezed. "You might not like what you find."

Dylan laughed, and I concluded that no, boot camp wasn't so bad after all.
runningred: (Default)

[personal profile] runningred 2016-01-26 09:10 am (UTC)(link)
(ooc: Beautiful, love! Just beautiful.}
clayforthedevil: (Canard)

[personal profile] clayforthedevil 2016-01-26 12:50 pm (UTC)(link)
((Oh, this is all so lovely and horrible-- I keep wanting to bust in and break them all out of training camp. Poor kids! I love Autor's refuge in audacity here. ))