[https://keynotes99.tumblr.com/image/167294976326][https://78.media.tumblr.com/10577827802b8da8e7b5720ff3a04f58/tumblr_oz4yz7nPlz1wvarm2o1_1280.jpg]
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“It’s too warm.”
“Deal with it. I just used the last of the fuel to ignite the fire.”
1918. Passchendaele, Belgium.
It was the peak of the First World War where the Allied Armies and the Central Powers are battling each other head on across the lands, the air, and the sea. The tanks of their iron forged nation, the wings of their pride, and the fangs of their navy wrecked at each other on all fronts for the ultimate battle for world domination.
… But the core of the story isn’t the major super powers trying to argue who is right and wrong. It was about a certain young man hugging his weapon by a small fire in a ditch he carved out. He was trapped in territory known as No Man Lands. The distant howls of shells and the scream of men bravely jumping over their trenches to invade the enemy could be heard many miles away.
So far away, yet every thunder of the artillery would make this young man shake. The Thompson submachine gun in his tight arms shivered even harder.
“Uwaaa. P-papa. You’re squeezing me too tight. My body is going to break.”
“D-don’t make it sound like I’m taking advantage of you. You're just a magic gun, r-right?”
Yes, the soldier who was separated from his Allied Unit was talking to the Submachine Gun in his arms. No, he didn’t go insane from shellshock. Maybe it was due to the fact there was an audible voice echoing in the cold air. It belonged to a young female, but there was no one else by himself. Not to mention, the dead center of No Man’s Land was no place for an innocent little girl. Only innocent young men who had dreams and hopes of becoming a recognized hero were present. Only the men who came all the way from Canada, Britain, America, to fight a war that is not on their home soil.
In order to ensure the war never approaches on their home soil.
The young man sat in the ditch he made with the shovel he broke. He hugged the small Thompson Machine Gun in his arms. On closer inspection, one could tell there were some mystical markings across the sides of this weapon. There were lines of light that glowed, pulsing like the illumination of one’s heart beat on a monitor (many ears in the future).
“Papa, you’re shaking too much. Y-you should stay in the fire with me.”
“You and I both know there isn’t enough heat to satisify both of our bodies. Besides, I need you in full functioning state. What happens if the Jerries suddenly come over with an armored platoon. You have to be fit for combat and shape-shift into the heavy weapons you turned into before if we need to get out of this stupid war.”
“B-but Papa, t-turning into a long stick that lets out smoke the other end is emberassing. People will think I’m rude.”
“Passing gas while shooting a rocket propelled grenade is the best thing a man needs, so stop complaining.”
“Uuuh. I want to go back home and read a book. It would be so peaceful there…”
“This is war. Deal with it.”
The soldier was illiterate. He flunked school as young as he could remember. But it didn’t stop him from entering Conscription and being drafted into the Canadian Expeditionary Forces. Canadians wanted to prove their mettle for the British and the World, but this soldier had other purposes and goals in his heart.
“… Papa… Why did you join this war? Isn’t it scary?”
“Yeah.”
“So-so short? D-don’t you have s-some sort of long winded reason of joining a battle on f-foreign soil and f-fighting people you don’t know.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“No.”
“Kuusuu! P-Papa is so mean!”
“I’m not your old man… I’m not even married to that girl yet.”
“Th-that girl?”
“Sh*t.”
The winter of the foreign land of Passchendale was cold. The soldier tucked himself up, but he still made sure the Thompson Submachine gun he found in his journey had all the heat she could get to be ready to shoot whatever mystical abilities it had to protect himself. He wanted to spit, to bolster his confidence, but he feared opening his mouth would freeze his teeth together if he did that. So, he just cussed.
“Papa! I-I’m too young to hear that! Don’t swear!”
“...Maggie.”
“Wh-what? What?”
“Maggie, that’s her name.”
“Who?”
“This girl from my home town that I left behind.”
“….. Is she… nice?”
“No. She’s a h*ll cow.”
“…”
The soldier sighed. Being only eight, he didn’t have much in the way of manners or moral. He only spoke his mind, hence why he was still a Private after his achievements in Vimy Ridge or even launching the Somme Offensive with the Canadian Armored Corp. His attitude would get him no where… despite knowing that, he still continues to walk with his own two feet.
“What was… she like? Mama Maggie?”
“Like I said she was a h*ll cow. Always nagging me how I need to be more responsible with myself, get a job, stop drinking, clean up after my sh*t, yaddy-yada-yada.”
“… Pfft. The last part sounds like she sees you as a baby. Tee-hee.”
“Hmm. It seems frost got into your chambers, I should dismember you and see if anything else is clogged.”
“Nyaah! No! Papa! Don’t strip me! Don’t strip meeeee!”
The Thompson Submachine gun could be heard screeching like a girl captured in the woods by a rogue. Even though it was just a rifle, it still shook around in the soldier’s hold as if struggling to free her body from his grip.
“… Sh*t. My arms frozen.”
“Guh!? P-Papa! Th-this is dangerous, you should get closer into the fire!”
“… Can’t. The mud on my pants are solid, I can’t even move my knee… let alone feel them.”
The soldier had been covered in head to toe in stone cold mud. When a field gets hammered by year after year of artillery shell and endless rain, it tends to saturate the earth to the point of becoming a field wide swamp. Men trip and never come back out. Men slip and they fall into the line of bullets. Men stand still and they risk having to remove their legs to prevent the infection from getting into their heart.
It was that rough. But it was a fight they can’t turn away. Lest they wish for their friends, family, or children to see the same horrors they are enduring.
“Papa! Wake up! Don’t sleep! Didn’t you say you left the army so you can find a way home!”
“Yeah. My sergeant was right… I am a coward.”
“No! You’re a good man! You left all the way home so you can protect the people you love! You found me frozen on the stone and you still rescued me!”
“I was using you because you had ridiculous fire power… to think you were just a sword in that block of concrete and I pulled you out as a last resort…”
“Papa! Stay with me! We can go home together! Didn’t you say before, Canada was a beautiful country, maybe even prettier than the Holy Island of Albion wh-where I was born! You-you promised you would take me home with you and-and play in the maple leaves! I-I don't even know how they look like!”
“… That b*tch.”
“Wh-who?”
“That cow must be waiting for me… nagging at me how much of a reckless fool I was, how I was an idiot to lie about my age and join a fight that wasn’t mine. She might even throw a milk bottle the second she sees me.”
“But Mama Maggie will hug you and cry if she sees you again, right? Papa!”
“… Yeah… She would… That cow was never honest with her feelings…”
“It’s no good, I can’t turn into anything useful other than a weapon! I can’t pull you close to the fire! So please, Papa, don’t sacrifice yourself to save me! Think about yourself! Think about Mama back home!”
“Hey… Excalibur… if you ever see this chick with hair as red as an orange tree with messy freckles on her nose… tell her… she’s a cow… and I’ll still marry her… ha…ha…h…… ……………… …………...”
“... Papa?”
“………………… ……………… ……………… …………… ……..”
“P-Papa. Don’t joke with me… please… say something.”
“………………………… …………………………… …………………………… …………………….”
“… P…Papa… you said you wouldn’t leave me alone…… You promised….. kuuu….PAPAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
…The morning after. November 11, 1918. The conflict between the Allies and Central Powers have declared a total ceasefire. The latter had lost their wager in the conflict and are now to sign Peace Treaty to every nation under the Allied Banner. The First World War was officially over.
A recovery team from the Canadian Expeditionary Forces were dispatched, to search and collect soldiers who have been scattered across the endless battlefield with orders to return home in victory. Among their roster, they discovered one soldier who was frozen over in dead mud and ice from the freezing night. A fire lit by tank fuel was snuffed out from the snow and a broken shovel was half-buried next to him.
Trapped in the body’s solid arms… was not a Thompson Submachine gun, but a sword with mystical runes carved into the side of the blade. A small weeping voice could be heard, like the sounds of a heart broken maiden. Ice melt and trailed down the silver edges like tears. Hung around the body’s neck was the name engraved on his frost-covered dog tags.
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Private Norman L. Douglas
8th Battalion, 90th Winnipeg Rifles
Canadian Expeditionary Forces
*First Honor Trainee*
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“…Good bye, Papa… I won't forget you.”
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[http://www.getdown.ca/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/remembrance-day.jpg]
[LEST WE FORGET]