*huhu *huhu

Vicka panted heavily as he dag the ground. It was all he had been doing for six days along with other eight thousand men.

He stuck his shovel on the ground and swiped his sweat away from his forehead as he took a small interval. He dropped his butt onto the ground inside a one-meter-wide hole and glanced at the sun. He accidentally met eyes with Private Berry who was also sitting by the edge miserably.

He tapped Berry's leg lightly with his shovel. "Get off from the edge. *Pant* I will fricking kill you if it collapses."

When Sergeant Laurice first explained it to them, they could not believe their ears. They thought it was impossible. A mega fortress in the ground made of trenches in zigzags which spanned across the entire region. It even had bunkers and dugouts to sleep in, storage for food and ammunition, and even command posts. There were tunnels connecting to parallel trenches so that no one had to go above ground between the frontline and supply line.

Berry replied nonchalantly, "it is fine. They could stand the weights of sandbags anyway."

"You weigh more than those bags. Move."

Since Vicka insisted, Berry moved his butts away from the edge unwillingly. He was as exhausted as Vicka. They all were. One by one, they all flopped down to the ground and admired the structure they just built within a week. It was nearly finished. The great fortress in the ground, though only from the sky, one could see the insanity of it.

Meanwhile, back at the main command camp near the village, Lt.colonel Winslate saluted Colonel Mckanthy for his daily report.

"The trenches in section 3 are near complete sir. All that's left is to add some sandbags on parapets, to place some barbwires and to reinforce the dugouts with planks."

"Good. Fire steps and firing bay are all that matter. These trenches are useless if we can't fire. ... What about the machine guns?"

"We placed them behind the front line, hidden."

"Good. Forget the barbwire. No barbwire. I want full men working on sandbags and covering them in the dirt. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Great. Now that section 3 is also almost completed, we can safely say we did it. All we need now is the situation of the enemy. What is our scouts' report?"

Mckanthy asked Lt Col Henry from scouting and reconnaissance. Henry stepped forward with a report paper and placed it on the table. His face did not seem well.

"We lost contact. I believe they were caught. But we got some news from back home. Our intelligence got a credible report from an inside man that nearly ten thousand are deployed from Goli side."

"Ten thousand?"

The number of enemies shook the officers in command. It was twice the size of theirs. They only had six thousand deployed currently although they initially asked for eight.

Lt. col Winslate twisted his moustache out of nervousness while Col.Mckanthy took a whiff and scratched his head with the pipe.

"I hope it is enough."

8th day in the frontline, 1st day in the trench;

somewhere inside the 3rd section;

"Finally, all the digging and all the wiring are over," said Clooney while lighting a cigar from the ration, though it was hard to call it a cigar. It was a mix of some leaves and little tobacco rolled in a piece of paper.

"My back is killing me," Dickson complained as he took the fire for his own from Clooney's cigar by bending near. "Are you sure you don't want them?" He asked Vicka. They got the cigars from both Vicka and Berry who did not smoke. Vicka gave them away for free while Berry exchanged them for half a chunk of meat from both at every meal.

They could not understand why Vicka did not smoke or drink. It was not like Vicka had to take care of his lungs. He would never play football again anyway.

"I thought writers smoke or drink a lot."

"Just because they do them, I don't have to. I am not writing a book and have a thought block or something. I have no reason to. I have nothing to stress about." Vicka replied.

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"I thought you hated this. Coming here. This war. All this digging we have to do every time we shit."

Dickson made him think for a while. It was true that he hates it. "I guess I just don't want to."

While they were chatting leisurely, Berry came back from his business. Dickson shouted to him why it took so long for him to finish his business. The officers allowed only one from each squad to go toilet at the same time so he had been waiting his turn to piss. Dickson yelled, "I told you not to eat too much meat. Eat more vegetables."

"It is not that. Okay? It won't come out while another man is sitting across from me. I hate meeting eyes."

After hearing Berry's reason, they could not control their laugh. They also knew how ridiculous and awkward that was. It was something they all could understand. It gave them a good laugh.

"Oh wait. I forgot to tell you guys. Breaking news. One column is moving out tomorrow," said Clooney, "I heard it from Bruno while I went for rations. Kline, Hillstone and Borough were in that battalion."

"Why?" It picked Vicka's interest. He found it ridiculous to go out after all the digging for perfect defence. "A squad would be enough for scout. They don't need a column. Where are they moving out."

"Into Goli. I also don't know why. Maybe they have to raid some villages nearby to cut off supplies before the enemy comes."

"Raid a village? Why would we need to kill civilians? They must have brought rations anyway."

"Well. We are not experts in military tactics and strategies, are we?"

As Clooney said, three columns did move out the next day. They sent them off with waves and cheers. After that, the whole region turned silent. There was no news. No fighting. No explosion. Nothing but some caws from ravens and chirping from sparrows. They felt like they were in their village in Davia. It was too peaceful. Sometimes they wondered that were they really at the frontline.

On 4th day in the trench,

"What are we doing today, Clooney?" Dickson asked his friend who was private first class, their superior.

"Nothing. They told us to sit tight and wait."

"Well. If the enemies are not here, can we play some football above?"

"I have already asked. They said no. They specifically told that no movement, no activity above ground."

Clooney answered Dickson impatiently while he dragged Berry down from the firing step, who was playing with grass above ground through the firing bay.

"Hell," Dickson complained, "I am bored. The worst is guarding at night. We can't even smoke. No entertainment. Those crickets are the only thing accompanying me. I think I am turning insane."

"Everyone feels the same," Clooney comforted his friend.

"I miss playing football. I miss those passes and corner kicks you made with that foot of yours. Remember how I headed those balls into the goal? Damn. I was good at it. We were really good at it. We are the best duo. Do you guys remember that article? It called me a head that should be golded." Dickson reminisced about his golden past.

Vicka chuckled after hearing that. "Isn't that reporter your girlfriend at that time?"

"Yes. But you know how unbiased reporters are. They are professionals. She would not write it if it wasn't true." Vicka defended.

It made them laugh. Especially to Vicka. It was the best joke he ever heard.

12th day in the frontline, 5th day in trenches;

"Any new today?" Dickson asked with hope. But it was shattered with one word from Clooney, "Nah."

14th day in the frontline, 7th day in trenches;

Dickson did not ask with words anymore. He looked to Clooney when his friend came back from officer post and Clooney would shake his head.

Since he had little hope in Clooney, he swiftly changed his target to Vicka who was writing a journal.

"Care to save your dying friend from boredom."

"I started yesterday."

"It will be enough to entertain me. Please. I beg you. These seven days. I feel like it has been seven months. It is so long to pass a day here."

"Fine." He knew how annoying Dickson could be so Vicka decided to read some lines rather than being annoyed all day. "I will read some lines I have written today."

"Cool."

"In light of the 14th day, the youths who were full of energy and excitement finally accepted their ill fate. The enemies are not coming. And no chance to become war heroes. Their bodies were stuck in those 1-meter-wide hellholes called trenches while their restless mind started to get jealous of their comrades who got to advance early.

The frontline that was full of thrilling actions and exciting stories in the news was, in fact, a sitting club where youths took dumps while staring at each other.

To conclude in one word, it was 'fricking stupid'."