“This is not a sleeping duty, private” An elbow to the ribs, awoke me. Eyes facing the sky, or more precisely, the grey giants, obscuring it and the sun from us. Floating up there, looking down, like they wanted to cry, yet they didn't.
Moving my head down, I grabbed the half burned cigarette from my mouth, that barely had any fire in it. Right in front, stood a wall made from dirt and wood, stretching far in both sides. Right… I was in the trench. Alongside the wall on my side, there were many soldiers doing the same. Grunting, smoking, talking. Some were even able to play cards.
On the left, from where the jab came from, a red fox sat, also staring at the sky, though now he was side-eyeing me.
“Just a few more hours, stay awake”
“Just let me rest, Gods damn you” I answered with a half awake voice, leaning my head on the wall, taking a drag from the cigarette.
It was a quiet day. A first in the last weeks. The Lunists were launching attacks relentlessly, during the day and night. We've been holding well for now, but it's only a matter of time till this line breaks and we are with it.
“Rest all you want, just don't fall asleep. You don't want to die, while dreaming”
He was one of those. A small number of troops started spreading their weird beliefs, that if one dies in his sleep he'll be stuck there in an endless nightmare, or some tragedy. And that fox next to me seemed to believe that. I didn't though, ignoring the comrades warnings, I closed my eyes to just “rest” again. All I wanted was to use those few calm hours we had. Gehl knows when we'll get another.
It wasn't long though, until I was disturbed again. Not an elbow this time. It was singing. Singing accompanied by rhythmical taps. Firstly I assumed it was rain finally blessing us with its presence, but my face felt dry and the taps were not random at all. They matched the rhythm of the song and as it was getting faster, so did the taps. Until a pain filled hiss broke through and the noise quieted down, before being quickly replaced with laughter.
I couldn't help but look at the commotion.
The group that was playing cards, just before, seemed to have changed the game. That didn't matter. What did matter is that they got louder. Loud enough to make me unable to rest or relax in any way shape or form.
Did I want to be that guy? The one to tell them to shut up so I can sleep? Like it would matter anyway, they'd just tell me to put shit in my ears and kindly fuck off.
Gehl if I care, it's worth a try anyway, so I got up and walked towards the loud crowd. It was hard to make out the faces in there, only the panther stood out, sitting next to a wooden plank, fiddling with a standard issue bayonet. His black fur was matching great with the green uniform he was wearing, like everyone else. Orange eyes were glowing with confidence and satisfaction, after beating his opponent in whatever game they were playing.
Getting closer made me realise that though he was sitting now, if he decided to stand up, his height would greatly surpass mine, by a head at least.
“Could you kindly be a bit more quiet?”
I looked down at the feline, who shot a confident stare back at me.
“What? Are we interrupting your beauty sleep, while being on duty?”
He smirked
“As a matter of fact, you are. So if you could tone it down a little here”
“And what are you going to do if we don't?”
I let out a sigh and looked to the side. Was sure he'd say something like that. There was no power I had over them and this wasn't enough of a reason to start a fight.
“Forget it” With a sigh I swept my hand, giving up. No point continuing this. Don't know what I expected.
“Hey, hey! Now wait a moment. Tell you what, I just lost a playing companion”
He pointed at his partner holding his bloody finger. There was a surprising amount of blood dripping from his small cut, as it was soaking into his fur.
“You win a game with me, we shut up. You lose, you play with me another round, till you win. How's that sound?”
“Deal”
Answer came without a second thought. Why, though? Why did I just agree to play a stupid game? Couldn't tell. Only thing I knew is that now I was sitting in the dirt, with a plank of wood big enough to fit two class IV hands with my rifle bayonet stuck in it, right in front of me.
“You played Mountain Dragon Fillet before, I assume? “
Mountain Dragon Fillet was a well known game in the trenches that I believe was made by dragon hunters from centuries ago. A game of agility and precision. Two or more players would place their hand, fingers spread, on a table or any piece of wood available to them. They'd grab their hunting or trench knives, though rifle bayonets have become an especially common choice in the army. Now you need one extra person, the judge, who would start singing the Mountain Rider's Return. The players start stabbing between their fingers, in a 1, 2, 1, 3, 1, 4, 1, 5 pattern and back, to the rhythm of music, that would steadily increase in speed. The first one to stab themself or go off beat loses. In rare cases when both players were skilled enough to reach the end of the song, a tie breaker would be played, but those… Those were nasty. I had my fair share of experience playing this game. It’s nothing to brag about, but there’s only so much one can do to pass the time.
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We grabbed our knives. We called them ‘Pugnis’, standard issue for any Osnyan troop, feared for its wide, leaf-like blade, able to deliver devastating slashes.
Fingers spread, me and my opponent were ready.
Losing wasn’t an option.
A soldier next to us started singing and we began. Following the current slow beat, we started below the thumb then began the travel. 1, 4, 1, 5 and back 1, 4, 1, 3. Tap, tap, tap, the blades moved fluently with the song as it was speeding up. Listening to the lyrics it wasn’t anything special. Simple story of a dragon rider, coming back to his love far behind the mountains. Their journey is long and tough, but the song never ends. As if stuck in an endless loop, of flying through forests and mountains to reach his beloved.
My focus was on the blade, as it travelled between my fingers, at moments just barely trimming my fur. There was no time to glance at how the opponent was doing until a loud thunk.
Singing stopped and blood splattered on my face. I double checked my fingers, which had no signs of cuts or any sort of damage. It was pristine, meaning it wasn't me that missed.
The jaguar in front of me sat there staring at his blade, that was half deep in the table, chopping his middle finger perfectly in half.
He was smirking. No, he was chuckling. Picking up the disjointed digit, he stared at me, with those piercing yellow eyes and that blood freezing smile.
“Oh well you win some you lose some” Completely laughing off the fact he just maimed himself and just threw the finger far behind his back. It tumbled in the dirt, that was sticking to still wet blood.
That was the moment I noticed a red smoke slowly creeping through the trench towards us as it engulfed everyone on its path, spreading further and further and reaching our table.
Crimson filled my vision, with surroundings all turning into other shades of red. I was ready to begin choking, but I had the gas mask on my face already, that thankfully protected my vulnerable lungs.
The rest wasn't so lucky. Coughing echoed through the trench followed by sounds of brutal combat. And then there were screams. The screams of pure fear and agony. Screaming even when blood started clogging their throats, that got ripped apart, they continued letting out that ear piercing scream.
Taking up their arms, they lunged at each other, using their guns, knives, claws, even teeth, a bloodbath began, shooting stabbing, ripping out the flesh. The metallic scent of blood hit my nose, smelling it even through the mask. Everyone was at each other's throats except for the jaguar that kept staring at me, with blood dripping from his mouth. I couldn't tell if it was his.
He grabbed the knife in his four fingered hand and he asked for another round as he laid his healthy hand on the table.
I didn't have time to answer before the knife began moving. The poor guy that was singing, now was gargling with his throat ripped out, by his closest comrade, looking at us, like we were the devils sitting at the table, deciding his fate.
The jaguar's aim was bad as he kept missing not only the beat but also hitting his fingers. With every stab he sheered a bit of flesh and muscle till the white bone started appearing behind the crimson liquid.
The only thing I could do was reach out and try to stop him, but that was in vain.
Crimson tears began dripping from his eyes, which were now full of… fear.
“I don't want to die... I'm afraid”
I couldn't say a thing, I just kept trying to grab his knife but he felt so far away from me. I could only watch as the knife danced in the blood of his hand, turning into an unrecognisable mess, until he paused. What remained of his hand, with the flesh barely holding together, exposing the bones and joints, was sitting on the table. The muscles hanging by a thread, somehow moved, to point at me .
“Why didn't you help me?” The words were filled with despair, sorrow and… fear. Fear for his life. My heart sank as he stared at me with those bloody yellow eyes.
“Where were you? WHERE WERE YOU?!”
He roared and lunged from the chair at me, bayonet in hand. He screamed till his throat gave in and nothing but a wheeze was coming through. My reflexes were faster than me or him as I reached inside my nightstand and grabbed the revolver, pointing the barrel to the front.
The click of the cocked hammer echoed through the empty room and once I was ready to fire… there was nothing. Nothing but an empty wall in a small bedroom and my rapid breathing. I looked around confused. I was in a room… a bedroom to be exact and it looked so familiar, as if that was my bedroom.I was in my bed. The war was long over. It was just another nightmare.
I exhaled deeply. De-cocking the revolver I put it back in the nightstand and got out of bed. My fur was soaking in cold sweat and my hands were still shaking. Those nightmares are hard to get used to. As I headed out of the room I passed my uniform with medals, framed on the wall, but I couldn’t even glance at it. I still don’t know why I put it there or why I kept cleaning it every day. Probably was supposed to help me in some way, that I should be proud of what I did, or some shit, but I felt like it brought nothing but shame. What I did back there, was no achievement to be glad about.
A dim single light bulb, casted its rays on the empty living room. Dust was floating in the air, building up on empty bottles of expensive liquor, as I hadn’t bothered to clean it in days, maybe weeks. It was nothing big and not at all well furnished. In the middle stood a couch accompanied by a record player in front of it, by the wall stood a single bookshelf, barely holding the many texts stored in it and right by the window stood a lonely chair and a table, upon which two glasses and a bottle of exported whiskey were waiting for me. This wasn’t the first time I woke up this night.
I reached under it, from where I pulled out an old photo. The top left corner was ripped off and the face of the soldier standing there with it. That was me, still in uniform, right when I joined the army at the same time as the jaguar that stood next to me. He was smiling, so eager to join the fight. If only he knew what end was written for him, maybe he’d reconsider. Maybe he’d still be doing whatever the old life had offered.
I placed the photo by the window and poured a drink, one for me and one for him.
“You visited me again, old friend” I could barely hear my whisper, through the sound of the glasses clinking.
My memory of him was fading away. I forgot his name, his life before the war. I couldn’t remember whether his eyes were orange or yellow. Only the photo allowed me to know what he looked like and a single vision of his mangled body in one of the trenches.
The glow from the streets was illuminating the picture as I stared at it, sipping on the liquor.
At this point I barely even knew why he was so important to me, I just knew he was.
I hated myself for forgetting. I was the reason he wasn’t here anymore and I couldn’t even remember his fucking name.
Salty tears dripped in the drink, giving it a tangy flavour. Nonetheless it was a fine whiskey. The smoky aftertaste spread through my throat, while the burning sensation filled my stomach. Damn was it good.
I grabbed the second glass and threw the contents out the window.
“Good night, comrade” A sorrowful smile appeared on my face, before putting the picture back under the table.
I slowly walked back to bed and just crashed on it. Closing my eyes, my mind went blank, slowly drifting away, only hoping to sleep. My body finally relaxed.
“This is not a sleeping duty, private” An elbow to the ribs, made me open my eyes. I was looking at the sky, or more precisely, the grey giants, hiding it and the sun from us…