Stalemate - 3. Bogged Down

PRIVATE ELLIOT, 1ST REGIMENT OF THE ARMY OF SARELIN

The elf moved through the trench quickly, trying to stay on the duckboards that kept the base of the trench somewhat dry. He could see the end of the trenchline in the distance, the eastern flank of the elven forces. The straining tune of a set of pipes entered his ears as Elliot neared the edge of the trench, a slow drumbeat giving a steady beat for the elves cutting into the walls of the trench with pick and shovel.

“Where are the pussy cats?”

“They cower down below, cower down below, cower down below!”

“Where are the pussy cats?”

“They cower down below, they miss their mommies’ milk!”

The cheerful call and response filled the trench as the elves dug, filling Elliot’s heart with confidence as he ducked under a tunnel. Making his way away from the outpost trench, the bugler stepped into a large cement pillbox, the petrichor scent of sweet musk filling his nose.

“Fort Naia’s guns are nearly twelve miles away! At best our guns can barely reach nine; it’s why our artillery is hugging the reserves! We cannot rely on our cannons to fight this war!”

The snapping voice brought Elliot up short outside a makeshift door. A lantern hung burning from the dirt roof above him, the quiet hissing of escaping gas making him wonder if he had only imagined the voice of Captain Sylvan. She was supposed to be in the rear; he had delivered a letter to her only days ago.

“That may be so, but your plan to toss vegetables into the trenches is not going to help us reach the city. I was tolerant when you had the farmers build our nests, but this has no practical value!”

Raising a hand, the elf knocked quietly on the metal sheeting, and silence took over the room on the other side. The door opened, and a lieutenant stared down at the musician.

“Who are you?”

“Private Elliot, Lieutenant. Just transferred from the 3rd Ceos to the 1st Mydaran.”

“Ah, the replacement bugler. It was a shame about Corporal Riardin. Tell me, how are you at ducking?” the lieutenant asked sharply as he moved back into the room.

“I… I know how to play… with my head down, Lieutenant,” Elliot stammered.

“Good. The cats around here are good shots. Keep your head down and you might make it through the week. I’m assigning you to the Mydaran Wolves.”

“W… Wolves, Lieutenant?”

His heart pounded in fear at the thought. Was he the bugler, or was he just a midnight snack for beasts that would gladly destroy him? Eyes flicked around the room, a pair of captains watching him closely. Captain Arien and Captain Sylvan.

“Yes, my old command from King’s Crossing,” Captain Sylvan said quietly. “You get to wake up sleeping wolves. I do not envy you your job.”

“I thought Captain Quarian led the werewolves-”

“Private, you were not brought here to ask questions,” Captain Arien snapped at him. “You are dismissed. Lieutenant Ryan, show him to his billet.”

“Yes Captain,” Elliot said, saluting quickly.

“The Wolves billet in the eastern fire line,” Lieutenant Ryan said, leading the bugler out of the room. “Most elves won’t fight beside them, so they’re used to shore up quieter sections of the front.”

Quieter sections? The war had only been going for two weeks. Could there even be a quieter section already? Still, if it meant he wasn’t going to get shot at as much, Elliot considered himself lucky. The bullet that had missed him that morning had been more action than he’d ever wanted to see.

He followed the red haired lieutenant through a communication trench, back to the second trench. Following it east, the two wound their way through a maze of turns, dugouts, and tunnels, passing soldiers working on shoring up the trench walls or trying to catch a bit of sleep after the week of shells exploding.

“Erith, where the fuck is my knot?” a corporal snapped at an elf tucked into a wall.

“Fuck if I know. Ask Philias, he probably took it,” the elf yawned. “Let me sleep, I’m on water duty tonight.”

Elliot frowned at an elf working on some sort of large crossbow with a pouch. Pulling the pouch back and setting a rock into the contraption, the elf let the slingshot go.

Another elf nearby looked through a cardboard periscope over the edge of the trench.

“Short, about ten yards.”

“Keep moving,” Lieutenant Ryan said sharply, pulling Elliot’s attention from the two.

“Yes Lieutenant,” Elliot said, hurrying after the elf.

PRIVATE ADYA

There wasn’t much for him to unpack. A set of spare clothes, a small picture of his family, and the last letter he’d received from home, barely three weeks before.

Adya had read it multiple times, picturing his mother scolding him for leaving home. He had made no secret of what he was doing, and the neko knew his mother approved on some level. But she wouldn’t be his mother if she didn’t worry about her only son.

A Niwo pushed through the tarp covering their little niche in the mud, his face and calico fur smothered with dirt and not a little blood. A torn red cloak covered his body, the hood near brown with mud.

“Hey Doc,” he muttered, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Hey…” Adya replied uncertainly. “That’s… that’s a lot of blood…”

“Don’t worry, not mine. Jasper,” the Niwo said, holding out his hand.

“I can’t,” Adya said quickly, holding his hands up apologetically. “I’ve been working with the plague victims, and I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Sicker than your companion? I heard I was supposed to get two new bunkmates, make this place a little more homey.”

“Private Oktai was… recalled with a cough and swollen lymph nodes…” Adya said uncomfortably. “His infection was not his fault. He’s trying his best; we all are.”

“It is not a criticism, merely a complaint. Perhaps it’s for the better,” Jasper shrugged, dropping onto a bare cot.

“I think you should wash before resting…” Adya said nervously.

The Niwo snorted.

“With what? If I go to the lake, I’ll get shot on sight. We don’t have enough water in the trench for showering.”

“Forgive me if I’m out of line, but isn't it a requirement of the priests of Tareth that they keep their bodies clean?” Adya frowned.

“I’m not a priest. My body is already unclean, and there’s only one way I can restore it,” the calico said quietly. “Washing the dirt from my body won’t change anything.”

His eyes looked over his bunkmate, settling on the white wooden amulet that had a hand painted red manji in the center. Yellow and blue dots sat across from each other, reflecting their positions in the spaces between the arms.

“Luck, health, and warding against evil… Someone really wants you to come home,” Jasper said, the corner of his mouth raising in a slight smirk.

“My mother. She bought this for me when I was a kitten.”

“You’re still a kitten,” Jasper pointed out. “Keep your head down Doc. I’ll bring you the wounded. Don’t go risking your neck out there.”

Stripping off his shirt, the Niwo exposed a soft body devoid of fur. Four identical claw marks ran on either side of his torso. Red, inflamed, the wounds were obvious, as was their cause. Adya flinched back. There was no way those wounds had been given in kindness.

“Don’t mind those, just a memory from King’s Crossing,” Jasper sighed, laying back on his cot. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get some sleep. I have a busy night ahead of me.”

“I’ll… I’ll get some cream for your sides,” Adya said, moving quickly toward the door.

“Don’t bother. They’re fine,” the Niwo shrugged. “Save that for someone who needs it more than me. I’m a dead neko walking anyway.”

Adya’s ears folded, and the Ythin hurried from the small dugout, making his way through the trenches. This was ridiculous; there had to be some way to keep people at least somewhat clean in the trenches. Poor hygiene would only lead to more deaths, and give the plague a much greater chance to spread.

They could not afford any more death.