herr_bookman | WWI - Rifle Practice

"This war's a suicide mission, that's what it is," I said between bites of my boiled Landjäger sausage and potatoes in the crowded mess hall. It was supposed to taste of dried salami, but I hardly tasted it at all. I sniffed. "We're all going to get shelled, or stabbed with bayonets, or expire of gangrene."

I wondered if my purity ring--which granted me immunity to most poisons--would protect my lungs from mustard gas. I wasn't looking forward to testing that hypothesis.

Dylan laughed and looped an arm around my shoulders. "You're so crude, Krueger," he said, punching me in the chest. "Hey, are you ever gonna tell me your first name?"

"Would you please be quiet?" I said, shoving him off. Then sneezed and sniffled. "And no. Why would I?"

"Oh, you know, I'm just your only friend in the whole wide world," Dylan sniffed dramatically.

Dylan could be insufferably smug about some things. To my chagrin, I was beginning to like that about him.

"You cheeky measle," I said, and Dylan laughed.

"I tell ya," Abendroth said, settling onto our bench with his watery coffee, "it's a good thing the women ain't here."

"How is that a good thing?" Dylan asked, scoffing, and Mencken chipped from behind him in with a, "yeah, that's right!" I liked Mencken. He had a Berliner dialect that reminded me of Emcee.

"Well, think about our girls handling guns," Abendroth said, and passed a picture around of a stunning, dark-haired beauty, who caused my brothers to whistle. Though she had glossy black locks, I thought she wasn't as drop dead gorgeous as Asami.

Then Abendroth stood. "We got to protect them, right, boys?"

A cheer went up in the mess hall, and I frowned. Half the bar would laugh at you.

"Annie Oakley shot a cigarette out of the Kaiser's mouth at his request," I said. "It's not like they're helpless with guns."

"Who's that?" Strauss asked, but Abendroth waved his hand.

"She's in a class by herself. Women ain't got no place in war," Abendroth said, and I shut up. There was no sense arguing with him further, he was set in his ways. Besides, I didn't even want to think of Rae being shot at.

Later that week, I nearly killed him. The unit had been kept awake for thirty-six hours straight as a test of endurance, and we were practicing a night shoot. We were firing in lines while nestled in trenches, five at a time.

"Reload!" Oberleutnant Nadel called, and I reloaded my rifle, resting my back against the dirt.

"Fire!" the oberleutnant barked. I stuck my head up over the edge and took aim at the air above the rows of trenches in front of me. I sniffed. Then I squeezed the trigger.

Nadel called for the next row to fire. Their helmets popped up, five at a time.

My head dipped as I leaned against my gun. My throat was sore. I yawned, ears ringing from the shots, and my eyes filled with sand.

"Fire!" Oberleutnant Nadel shouted, and I jolted awake. I thrust my head up, taking aim at the invisible enemy--only to realize that Abendroth's helmet was in my sights.

My finger twitched on the trigger, and my mouth dried out. No! I jerked my gun up, firing into the air.

"Company, halt!" Nadel said, and stalked over to the edge of my trench. "Krueger. What the hell happened?"

I stared at him, wide-eyed and very much awake. "I fell asleep. Sir."

Nadel nodded, and I was sent to run around the grounds until I collapsed.

Grenade practice was surprisingly easy. I had never had a very good arm on me, though I managed to throw well enough that I wasn't in danger of losing a limb. I was surprised at how powerful the military-grade grenades were, and concluded that my making some before was a silly venture indeed.

I desperately yearned for more information from the front. As an infantryman, I didn't have access to supply reports or troop movements, and not one of my superiors saw fit to inform my company. I'd read of battles in the bar, and while I could keep the dates straight in my head, I was starting to lose track of time outside of boot camp. Life here was all-consuming: I rose, I washed, I ate, I chatted with my brothers, and then I did drills until I staggered into bed.

My cold worsened, catching the attention of Oberleutnant Nadel. “You all right, son?”

I stiffened, saluting him. “I’m fine, sir. Nothing I can't handle.”

Nadel regarded me skeptically. “Fair enough. Just remember that you’ve got people depending on you, now, so keep at it when you can, but don't keel over on your own, either." He patted me on the shoulder with his gloved hand. "You're a good lad."

Weeks ago, I would have answered with something snarky, or amused. Now, I couldn't help the faint well of pride in my chest that brought a tired-yet-true smile to my face. "Thank you, sir."