I could not help but think of the situation I was on my way to as the train I was on board slid through the countryside, through the occupied landscape, with my final destination near a small town whose name I only learned after a quick conversation with one of the privates who could barely keep himself from hurling whatever was in his stomach out of one of the windows, motion sickness.

How long would I be in at the front? Would I be injured? Everyone had heard the stories of the losses which we had suffered, and we all knew that our purpose did not include taking part in chivalrous acts which would leave us decisively victorious, or daring raids behind enemy lines. We were there to replace dead soldiers, most of whom were far more experienced than us.

Still, I could not help looking at the situation with unending optimism and joy as I sat in the passenger cart of the train, where I calmly observed the beautiful weather which followed me for my ride, as if to welcome me. I was barely 20 years old and I was thoroughly unconcerned and looked forward to whatever adventure awaited me. Naturally I had to get used to a slight discomfort which I kept in the back of my mind, but I rested easy with the assumption that fate would keep me safe and secure. It was not a conscious belief in god, but rather a trust to the whims of fate, in the end the two might as well have been inseparable.

At the same time one has to keep in mind that I had never been far away from my home before the war broke out. I had seen most of the province my home town was in and was on the way to new places, I thought to myself that this fact, despite the gravity of the war, was terribly exciting.

One sunny day as we rode the train in the middle of the summer through a recently conquered territory, my good mood became too much to handle for one of the older soldiers. The train stopped for a moment during the day, as it often did, and we all used the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air and the fine weather. I was quickly out of the train cart, and said something along the lines of: The weather is rather wonderful. I may have told a joke as well, in jest. I can hardly recall what I did but the response it garnered from the man I will never forget: »...And with a boy like this, we have to go to war.«

It was a poorly hidden reproach and the remark hurt my feelings a lot. I later realised that my words did not match the severity of the situation, and the response said something about us both. I had my thoughts directed to the place I was in, the weather above us. Every day, I thought, had its own treasures to deliver, as well as its own banalities and plagues. My soldier comrade was diametrically opposed to my line of thinking, and had focused himself on the war effort. That day near the train cart I did and said things without even thinking, I would only later learn that one gets further by worrying about what lies ahead.

We had ridden on the passenger cart for a week. During the day it was a comfortable experience and was thoroughly enjoyable, however it became a lot less spacious once every man needed a spot to sleep. It was clear that the cart we traveled in used to have cabins, small rooms with two large, spacious benches to sit, rest and sleep on. By the look of the train, and how there were definite marks from where the wooden walls walling off the cabins used to be, these had been removed from the cart very recently. They had been replaced with one narrow aisle, and large benches each protruding out from opposite sides of the passenger train.

As I was having a hard time sleeping on the floor which became shockingly cramped during the night, I came up with the brilliant idea of creating a hammock from my triangular tent cloth, which was a part of the gear which I had been issued. I hung it across the aisle by attaching the canvas to the metal racks which were for holding luggage by the small metal rings which the tent was equipped with. I managed to tie it into a spot which would not bother any of the other soldiers who had to get their bags from the racks, and I now slept high enough to not bother any of the men who had to make do with a sitting spot to sleep in. This went well for almost an entire week, after which I realised I had severely overestimated the strength of the metal rings, as they ended up detaching themselves after the train braked in an extraordinarily rough manner.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I ended up falling on several of my fellow soldiers, hitting at least a couple in the head. As they woke up and started shouting insults and mockeries at me, they were interrupted when they realised why the train had stopped, and we all had to step out for a roll call.

Shortly thereafter the sleeping situation completely solved itself, as we now had to board another train. We were told that the rail line we were on went no further, and that we had to get into a cargo train nearby. The only comfort provided in the new train was a bit of hay and straw on the floor of the wagon. The only entrance and exit were two large doors, one on the left and one on the right. It was immediately decided that one door should be kept open so we could get some air. As the train started rolling I noticed that the view had become a lot more homogeneous, large patches of arable land replaced by young birch trees and some forests. We drove for many days and realised that we were in a nation of wide plains. Only rarely did we see houses or towns, but despite the mind numbing nature of the view I wanted to see as much of it as I could, and did my best to not have my seat taken from me.

Most of the time aboard the wagon was spent talking and telling tales from back home. It was topic which could never get worn out -- the memories and life back home. It would keep our mood up for some time.

Contact with the foreigners was a rarity. We had heard from back home that it was a collection of primitive and old fashioned people which we were going to meet. It would not be long before one of the lower ranked officers would try to convince us of this perception. It happened the very first time the wagon stopped om foreign soil. There was no mention of a station, or even a staircase or ramp to step off of, as we went off we realised we had stopped in a wide stretch of land which was close enough to a small village that the train was quickly swarmed with women and children. They had come all the way to sell poultry and carried large amounts of chickens, some even had ducks hanging over their shoulders.

I was a spectator to the wild scene in front of me, but many of my comrades went shopping and the women happily sold off everything they had. They wore large felt boots and were dressed in sheepskin, and the first impressions confirmed our perception of their primitive societies. Communication with them was easy, and we already learned that any issue with translation could be overcome with gestures, drawings on the ground and small bits and pieces of the spoken language. It was not everyone who were interested in our contact with the foreign farmers, which I realised after I was approached by a young officer who tried to interrupt a conversation I had, with a rude speech. In solemn phrases he blamed us of talking to primitive beings, he called them. Everyone who overheard the monologue could tell he was moments away from accusing us of treason, only to be interrupted by an older officer who calmed him down, and explained to him his recklessness. We were soldiers, and the ones who we were paid to fight were uniformed men who were armed. Civilians, however, were people we had to depend on, due to the help we needed from them in our regular day to day work. It may not have been clear during the first days in the large plains but everyone quickly learned, and this would quickly heal most of the harmful and hostile thoughts from even the more enthusiastic and convinced soldiers.

Some, however, were completely unresponsive to any such realisations, they would often be the targets of rude remarks. Luckily for the rest of us, these people did not take the initiative when it came to talking to the locals. As we moved towards the front, we were happy when we at night could find shelter in these -primitive- peoples homes, and we happily accepted to sleep in the same rooms as they did. People are odd when they live in a world distorted by their minds, which naturally a large fraction of my fellow comrades did.