FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Crossing

---

I was woken up the next morning by Martin. I opened my eyes to see him standing over me, staring down with his characteristiclly indifferent look. I felt embarrassed for being sprawled out across the floor in such an awkward pose: both arms were raised above my head as I laid there on the ground. I was extremely tired - the previous evening's events had my mind occupied all night, and I slept poorly and in little bursts that I would constantly awake from in a sweat, at which point I would continue to overthink everything some more.

“Glad to see you're awake," Martin stated, dropping my clothes onto me. "We have to leave soon - you have fifteen minutes." Thanks for the early wake-up call, I thought. Fifteen minutes was a bit of an assumption on Martin's part, but I had learned to dress myself in just two or three minutes in the military, if I had to. Not in the mood to expend that energy, however, I groggily stepped into a my dark-green infantry pants and slipped my thick white shirt over that, completing the signature look with the tucked-in jacket. Both Forticay and Novka were packing up their things as I was dressing, and Martin had pulled Vage aside to discuss something or another. I worried I was being too trusting with these people. I had been treating them like friends, to try and put them at ease and to get information from them, and as a result they now knew an alarming amount about me, as well. I would have liked to believe that they genuinely were my friends, but I had to acknowledge that I ultimately had no clue who they were or what their motives actually consisted of. Of course, all of them were simply here for the money that the operation paid, but the question was whether they were more devoted to that or to each other...I decided that it would be safe to assume that their interests only consisted of the former, even if I was starting to feel less and less that way, as I got to know them.

I finished getting ready tiredly, scarcely even making the effort to make myself look presentable, merely brushing my teeth in Temlot's washroom. Grabbing my pack and stuffing it full with my other loose belongings, as well as the bag of bread from the day before, I put on my coat and tossed it over my shoulders. After making my way the short distance down the corridor, I emerged into the entryway, where Novka, Forticay, Larissa, and the oh-so-impressionable Mr. Temlot had already gathered, waiting with their packs and backpacks, exchanging few words. Strelna and Henrich were also in the room, by the desk, talking lowly. For some reason, the room looked…Off. I just couldn't figure out why. I remembered what Vage had said about there being no shelling on the front lines the day before. We had later discussed it in private with Novka and Martin before they had gone off to find food the previous night, and we agreed that Strelna and Henrich had likely simply lied because they had made some blunder or something had not gone right which would be embarrassing for them should they tell us of it - it was safe, we agreed (or as safe as crossing the front line could be), to continue to trust these people, but we had to stay on high alert.

I made eye contact with Larissa, who was leaning against the wall in the corner, for a split second, and we both immediately looked away. All morning (my entire fifteen-minute morning) I had been thinking about how I should address what had happened, how to apologize, or if I should even bring it up at all. I didn't want to discuss it now, but she was here, we weren't doing anything, and now we had just acknowledged each other's presence with an accidental glance. I couldn't not say something to her now, having just made eye contact with her - that could be interpreted as rude. I didn't want to give her the impression that I was trying to avoid her, either - that wasn't true at all - I just didn't know how to talk to her about this._ _Why am I overthinking this so much?

I had glanced over at the wall, as if I found something there that interested me, but I soon made the quick decision to go over there and talk to her. The whole sequence of events of me looking to her, then away, then to the wall, then back to her before I finally actually made up my mind to start walking towards her probably made my behavior look even more awkward. I tried my best to smile as I walked over, despite my tiredness - I really frankly was never in the mood to talk to anyone in the mornings, and doing so made me feel frustrated and angry, but I had decided that this was the best course of action, so I would try my hardest to appear animated. She smiled, as well, as she saw me - not her wide, polite smile; just a small little smile as if to say "good morning," the same words I used to greet her, still unsure whether to bring up any of what had happened the previous night or not.

“I see that you were always already prepared for today," she nodded at my uniform. It suddenly occurred to me why everything felt off (besides the many other, obvious, bizarre reasons for why one in my position would feel that today was anything other than ordinary): everyone was in uniform. Everyone - from Novka to Mr. Temlot - had been given a uniform. They looked odd, in the dark-green fashion of soldiers, their black winter hats upon their heads, given that I had only known them all as who they were. For one, Forticay, Temlot, and even Novka looked very unlike soldiers – the former two were too gentlemanly, and the latter was, well, just not type of person to be a soldier. But then again, if Novka were in the infantry as a soldier or an officer, she would probably perform her role extremely well, given her attentiveness to procedure and careful planning. Vage actually fit the look quite well, though this was no surprise: half of it was simply his height. Martin I supposed could have passed for being in the infantry – he had the “I don't give a shit about anything" mentality as it was.

The only person who really did not come off as a soldier – more so than any of the others – not even in the slightest degree, was Larissa. Her light-blue scales, combined with her constantly-friendly expression, for some reason simply did not produce soldier-looking material. Of course, she was far from innocent – hearing her backstory, she had gone through worse than even what some soldiers go through, and was certainly more capable than most soldiers, I would have imagined. And, of course, somewhere in Vaymansphere there was a blue-scaled, female, dragonborn soldier or two fighting for the Federation – I had even met dragonborn in the infantry; not in my division, but from others in taverns during leave, or when divisions would occasionally coordinate for an attack. But for some reason, I just couldn't see her in the role. I supposed it was her signature, polite, kind look that she maintained. Although the longer I knew here, the more I was convinced that this was not simply a display for her…Trade, but her genuine character. She had suffered the burden of a lot of horrible things, and yet she didn't let that destroy her. That was impressive. That was something no soldier could do. That was something I couldn't have possibly done. That's what made her not look like a soldier.

“Oh, yes," I chuckled slightly as I broke myself out of my brief trance and replied to Larissa's joke, holding out the sides of my coat so that she could see my uniform more clearly, despite the fact that I had worn it all of the previous day. “It's pretty basic, but they make these things as tough as they come. I've only had to mend it on a few occasions."

“So you'll the be most prepared for today, then," she tilted her head.

“Uhh," I began, not sure how to respond, when I suddenly felt a gentle push on the shoulder, forcing me to turn, which was followed by a yank on my other sleeve, accompanied by a tearing sound.

“Can't 'av any other officers," Henrick stated matter-of-factly as he held up my sewn lieutenant's badge: two white, vertical lines with a circle in between them. I held out my hands just as he dropped the badge, walking off back to Strelna, who had presumably told him to alert me of my demotion, albeit probably not as aggressively. Henrich, it seemed, was the only one allowed to be in a lieutenant's uniform, presumably because he would be the one leading us across the Front.

“Why do you wear that thing," Larissa asked with curiosity as I carefully put the badge into my front jacket pocket, over my left breast.

“Oh, I, uh," I stammered, trying to fit the badge into the pocket. “It's good-quality clothing. Besides, it gives you some benefits, sometimes, if people see that you're an officer," I explained.

“But do you need it?" I sighed. I supposed it was only fair that I shared something about myself, seeing as she had already given me her whole life's story.

“What doesn't kill you doesn't make you stronger," I stated with a regretful raise of the eyebrows. “I…was really shaken up after I was relieved from service." I cleared my throat quietly. “I couldn't sleep straight, I couldn't keep a job, and I sometimes couldn't even talk to people…And sometimes, somebody would see the lieutenant's badge and think, oh, a veteran, and toss me some food or money or something."

“So you were…?"

“Homeless," I sighed, looking around to make sure that none of the others overheard. Why was I telling her all of this? No one else knew these things about me, and here I was describing my life to this person who I had met less than two days ago? I decided to and quit talking on the subject.

“I know what it's like," she stated.

“No you don't," I replied with a frank and solemn shake of the head, perhaps a bit too fast. “You know what poverty is like, but you don't know the screams – those will never leave, no matter how much money I could possibly make." I was allowing my tiredness to affect my mood – I shouldn't have been so dramatic, but I was groggy, and frustrated at engaging in so much activity so early in the morning. I decided that the conversation was turning too dark, so I tried to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I can't complain too much." I shrugged as if it were nothing. “Bottom line is I'm still here, and alcohol still exists, so as long as those two things stay the same, I'll be fine." I finished this off with a chuckle, but to my dismay (and embarrassment), Larissa's expression was still serious. She wasn't buying my quick dismissal of any of it, which I honestly really respected. In fact, I wasn't sure I'd ever received that kind of response from anyone about anything. It almost made me feel good that she at least suspected that my troubles were legitimate.

“Really," I pressed, more seriously now, though still with a lighthearted smile. “I'm not too bothered by it anymore, even if I had a few dark days in the past." She looked like she wanted to say something on the matter, but changed the subject to someone else, clearly sensing that I was not in the mood to talk about it.

“Your friend there is quite the interesting character," she stated, nodding at Forticay. “Did you know he came back drunk last night?"

“What? Really?" I had fallen right asleep, only to wake up again later for the first of times during the night.

“Yes. I'm surprised you didn't hear – Novka was apparently furious at him. I just found out this morning."

“Huh." I was surprised that I had not not heard anything, as well, given how poorly I had slept. I was beginning to think that Forticay was an alcoholic, or maybe he was just insanely eccentric. Perhaps the line between those two realities is a bit thin, for some people. “Yeah, he is a bit…Unusual. But I've grown quite fond of him," I admitted.

“I think he likes you," Larissa whispered as she leaned in.

“What?"

“I think he likes you," she repeated, even more quietly. Well, that's news. I was about to ask how she arrived at that conclusion, but she answered as if reading my thoughts. “You've seen how energetic he gets as soon as you walk into the room. I just noticed it now." I looked over at Forticay, who was enthusiastically talking to Vage, making dramatic motions with his hands as he detailed what was probably late Geshvonian history or something. “And he was talking about you a lot yesterday morning before you got up…Don't worry, he think's your funny," she said, seeing the mix of surprise and confusion on my face. That second note struck me as somewhat frustrating, as I had never intended to be funny this entire journey save on a few occasions. I also made a mental not not to confide anything with Larissa anymore – clearly she had no interest in keeping secrets. Or maybe she would only tell these things to me? No, that was ridiculous. Why would that be the case? “Oh relax," she assured, once again as if reading my thoughts (or, more-likely, my perplexed expression). “He didn't tell me anything. It's just a suspicion." Surely that couldn't be the case, right? Yet the more I thought about it, the more it made sense – he did seem to behave especially jovial around me lately, and he had shared more about his life with me than anyone else had since I'd left Ervef, save Larissa. But there was no way it could be the case that he had any sorts of feelings for me, no matter how mild; or, even if that were true, surely he harbored no serious feelings of attraction towards me. I then recalled my own feelings from the previous night. Right...

“I don't- Um…Hm," Was all I managed to reply. Larissa giggled.

“I wouldn't worry about it," she smiled. “I didn't say he was planning to kill you. He just seems to be more motivated around you. But I'm sure he's already made the assumption that you don't feel that towards him." I wanted to say more, but Strenla – who was the only one not in an officer's uniform, instead wearing simply a long brown coat over a grey shirt and black pants – spoke up.

“Ok, everyone, lee-son up,"1 she began, taking a few steps away from the wall by the desk. “I vill go over our plon vonce," she stated. “So lee-son closely. You all have fake pah-ses – fake papers and identifications – and be prepared to use them, if 'eet comes to that. However, this shall likely run smoothly. Ve vill take you by cart, to an old trench system used by the Northern Armies back ven they still held territory up 'ear." She paused, looking around, making sure that everyone was paying attention. “Ve vill take you through the old communication trench line, which ran from their forward to rear trenches, and now merely serves as an oon-obzerved passage-vay into their territory. And by 've,' I of course mean Hen-reek." I felt a wave of disappointment wash over the room as she motioned to Henrich.

“'Aight, mates," he began, stepping forward. “So I've done this eight times now, and nothin's ever gone wrong. So don't, screw, this, up." He punctuated his sentence with a downward motion of the finger, as if he were banging it upon a table. “Now, we're gonna' be by the front line – you will hear shelling, and prob'ly gunfire. Please, for the love of God, don't panic – our section of the front should be safe, but this is still a war zone, an' accidents do still 'appen, so just keep that in mind."

“Nahw," he continued, with new vigor, placing his hands behind his back. He looked fitting in his lieutenants uniform, if not for his extreme informality. “The way this works, is that you abide by my rules, at all times. Do what I say, when I say, and you'll be fine. When we're in the wagon, we'll prob'ly cross a checkpoint or two – don't panic: I will 'andle it." He paused, gathering his thoughts. “If you somehow 'urt yourself, and you can no longer continue, you will be left behind, and must wait for me to come back for you. That's it. Just do you part, stay quiet, and please keep you bloody 'eads on and maintain some common sense, will you?" He finished this last part as if he had known us for years as people with no common sense. “The Federation's begun to send integra'ed units into this area, so we should't draw any suspicion by being a diverse group. Any questions? Good. 'Aight then!" He looked to Strelna.

“Gude luck," she stated with a nod and a smile. “And give my regards to Hawthorne." Henrich led us out of the building and onto the street, and we obediently followed behind him with our packs.

“Hey, mate," Forticay began merrily as he walked up next to me, his pack bouncing against his back, though he still had a slight sense of unease about him given our plans for the day. He looked behind him, where Larissa, Vage, and Temlot were walking a distance. “What is up with you two?"

“What? Larissa?" Dammit.

“Yeah, you were talking with her all day yesterday, from what I could tell," he stated, adjusting his pack. Our footsteps crunched in the snow. It was a cold morning, though not as bitter and biting as the previous day. The sky was overcast, but there were no signs that it would snow today. Not that that mattered – snow covered everything in sight by at least an inch or two, and frost covered everything else. “Even when we were playing cards before I left with Novka, you were talking with her far more than me or Vage," he continued. I glanced behind me, turning my whole upper body to look in her direction – she was just talking with Vage.

“Well, look at her," I exclaimed as if it should be obvious to him, deciding to take a direct approach to his question rather than try and dismiss it as misguided.

“But, uh, no, it's not that, is it?" He countered with a chuckle.

“Shhh!"

“See, that! That right there," Forticay exclaimed in a whispery voice. “If you really wanted to get into bed with her you could easily pay for it and none of us could care less. You have the money to do it." I felt embarrassed as I thought of the events of the previous night, which still felt extremely unresolved. “But you clearly haven't done anything like that, have you?" Forticay continued. “And, you clearly don't want her to hear us talking about her right now, so that's significant."

“No it's not, it's just polite," I countered defensively. I worried that I was only sealing Forticay's conviction that I felt some sort of odd connection with Larissa with my response. But maybe this was the right course of action? Perhaps if I humored his theories concerning me and Larissa…Whatever they were, then he would realize that I had no romantic interest in him. Wait, what? I didn't actually buy into the theory that he liked me, did I? To be cautious, I decided instead to instead simply reject whatever his thoughts were concerning me and Larissa. But what if that reinforced his perception of me as potentially interested in him?…I was overthinking everything.

"Polite, maybe, but it doesn't take an expert to determine that your mood has significantly improved since being here," he shrugged lightheartedly as he kicked a small pebble out from the snow, sending it sailing through the air to be buried once more under the frozen white powder. "And this little town isn't exactly my precise definition of tranquility." I sighed, thrusting my hands into my pockets.

"What do you want me to say?" I shrugged. "We're at the front line: I'm uneasy, is all."

"But only with her?"

"Jeez mate, why do you care so much?" I wasn't angry or even frustrated; I mainly just confused – why was he investing so much into this? Forticay appeared mildly taken aback by my rather sharp retort, and suddenly withdrew a little.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I just...You've been open enough with everyone else, I suppose, but with her, you've been nothing but an open book. I wouldn't be surprised if Novka's suspicious of you leaking information...I can't say I wasn't a little concerned myself."

"What, really?"

"No, just kidding. But seriously, I just thought it was odd, was all – honestly just trying to make conversation. You can probably understand that I'm, uh, pretty nervous, I suppose..." I sighed again.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," I offered. "It's rather quiet today. I've gone entire days without sleep because of the artillery alone." This seemed to have the opposite affect on Forticay who, rather than calming down, appeared even slightly more worried than he did before, though he evidently tried to hide it, glancing off to the horizon as we walked.

"You know, it's odd being here," he suddenly stated, his eyes still on the snow-covered hills beyond the buildings around us. "I interacted with people throughout my life who were powerful enough to start wars – some of them even did: just a little signature on a piece of paper...I never thought I'd see one." He turned back to me, giving me a mixed look of curiosity and finality.

"Well, you wont," I assured. "Trust me: this is nothing compared to the Siege of Moslavat," I chuckled. We walked on in silence for a few more moments, admiring the the quaint little buildings, their tiled roofs covered in a thin layer of snow, as we absorbed the tranquil morning atmosphere. The day was still awakening. "It's because she's experienced the war, too," I finally stated. Forticay shot me a confused look before realizing that I was referring to his initial question.

"How so," he asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Her town was raided by Northern infantry," I replied, almost casually, as if I were explaining why I was late for work. "Not to mention a whole bunch of other shit."

"Jeez, I...Wow," Forticay muttered, clearly not entirely sure how to respond to that, and perhaps somewhat embarrassed at having asked.

"So you can imagine why I get along with her," I finally explained. "Obviously, I like spending time with all of you-"

"I get it, I get it: you can relate to her," Forticay finished for me rather abruptly, clearly uncomfortable with the turn that the conversation had taken. I merely shrugged with a raise of the eyebrows and pursed lips.

"More than most, I suppose," I finally acknowledged. "But how come you ask?" I returned to my initial confusion.

"Oh, I'm just...Nervous, is all," Forticay admitted, placing his hands into his pockets and walking more casually. "I've never done anything like this."

“Forticay, come here, I need to check something on your papers," Novka stated.

“Oy," Forticay sighed. “I'm not looking forward to this day," he muttered as he jogged ahead a little. We were making our way outside the town, evident by the fact that the longer we walked, the further and further apart the buildings became. The streets were completely deserted, it being so early in the morning, the day still dimmed slightly compared to what full daylight would soon look like. Only a few moments after Foritcay left, Larissa walked up next to me.

“Hey," she greeted sheepishly. I was about to greet her back, but she continued. “About last night." She made it known with those words that she wanted to linger behind the rest of the group. I glanced around as I slowed my pace, allowing Vage and Temlot to walk harmlessly past us. “I'm sorry," she continued, a considerate and somewhat regretful expression upon her face. “I shouldn't have put you in that situation. We had only just met – frankly, we still barely know each other – it was wrong of me to expect that you-"

“Larissa, it's fine," I interrupted. “I handled that poorly, as well," I conceded. “If I was so indecisive, I should have just left, instead of leading you on."

“No, you were fine," she countered. “I kept pressing you on." She sighed, looking off into the distance for a moment. The road cut through a small copse of pine trees, the dirt at the base of each trunk partially cleared of snow due to its position beneath the branches, which were dusted with powder. I loved seeing snow in trees – I thought it looked really pretty. “I told you the story of my life and then tried to do that with you – it's an old trick, I've done it before when some of the patrons get…stubborn. It makes them feel bad." She paused. “But I want you to know that I wasn't trying to do that with you – I really was just happy to have somebody to talk to who seemed to actually care about it." We walked in silence, the only sounds being the faint whispers of the conversations ahead of us that reached our ears, and the crunching of snow under our feet.

“You're not a bad person," I finally stated, swallowing the embarrassment I felt at making such deep conversation. “You're one of the nicest people I've ever met, and you actually seemed at least somewhat interested in what I've gone through, which is not the case with most people."

“They haven't asked you about the war," she asked as she nodded ahead at the others.

“Only as much as it was relevant to our…Official business." I didn't want to give too much information away. “But no, nobody ever asks. And if they do, it's always about what battles I've fought in, or what generals I've served under – never about what my actual experience was or what people I've lost." We walked on in silence for a few moments, and I once more took in the tranquility of the oddly-quiet morning.

“Do you want to talk about those things," Larissa finally asked, breaking the silence, cautiously, as if she were worried that asking such a question would somehow be rude. I sighed. I actually wasn't sure how to answer that.

“I don't even like to think about those things," I replied. “I block them out." We continued on in silence. We were really far outside of the center of Austlotz, now, and nothing but white, snow-covered fields could be seen in the distance, aside from the horizon, where there came into view faded black plumes of smoke. Larissa was silent. “But, you know," I continued, trying to lighten the mood. “I did meet some people, many of them good, and get to travel the world, at least, or…The continent, I suppose. Though I've never been further south than Southern Tsvak." A boxy cart appeared in the distance, headed for us – it was coming from the front lines. I figured that perhaps it was ours.

“You know, you don't need to do that," Larissa stated.

“Do what?"

“Put a positive spin on everything." I chuckled.

“If I didn't, I'd have succumbed to my demons a long time ago."

“But that's not the reason you haven't," she stated. “I know I haven't seen what you have, but take it from me: covering up the problem with lies about the present just digs a deeper hole for you." I sighed. I was uncomfortable with this conversation

“Sure, the front was bad," I offered. “But there were those days, you know, like yesterday, at the bar, where you were with your friends, you were dirty, you were unshaven, and you were just…A total wreck…And yet, you still manage to end up having the best time in the world, just for a moment, as if nothing at all were wrong…You know what I mean?" Larissa was silent, but she suddenly conceded a slight nod.

“Yes."

"It's like..." I wasn't even sure what I was saying, by that point. "I don't know: what happened happened. I'm here now, and all that stuff's over. If I wanted to relive any of it, I would." As soon as those last words had exited my mouth, I forced myself not to cringe with guilt. I worried that Larissa would interpret that as my essentially asking her to stop pressing me on the matter, which was not at all how I intended to come across. But she didn't seem too concerned; instead, she was staring down the road, looking at the rectangular cart making its way along towards us.

“'Aight, mates," Henrich stated as the cart approached – it was a pretty-typical wagon, drawn by two black horses, side-by-side, with the back covered by green canvas. The driver – a tall, green, lizardfolk man with a long green overcoat and black cap, sat up on the driver's seat behind the dash, holding the reigns. So I guess they bribed a soldier to get us in.

“'Morning, Henrich," the driver greeted plainly.

“'Morning, Oron," Henrich repeated to apparently the only other person in the world that he was nice to. The cart turned around and stopped, and Henrich climbed inside from the back, emerging a few moments later with a wooden rifle clutched in each hand.

“Ok," he began, standing in the frame of the back of the wagon. “These bolt-action rifles are for you, to make it look more convincing. They're not loaded, though, so don' think you can 'old your own with these."

“What about your pistol," Temlot – who still stood out in my memory as a most-peculiar and odd gentleman – asked, pointing to the silver pistol in the black holster on Henrich's belt.

"That, is loaded," he replied, with two short nods. “Just in case…Climb up." Vage was about to enter the cart, but Novka stopped him.

“Wait, these three should go in first," she said as she gestured to Larissa, Temlot, and Forticay. “No offense, but you look nothing like soldiers."

“I take no offense to that," Temlot replied, satisfied, as he hoisted himself into the back of the wagon, taking off his pack to make it easier and pushing himself up against the floor, turning to sit on the end of the cart before crawling inside. We all filed into the wagon after him, me and Martin entering last, sitting across from each other at the opening on the painted green benches to either side of the cart – the two of us, reasonably, would draw the least suspicion, and at least I did know the most about being a soldier, so we had to be the ones who were the most visible. I had wanted to sit next to Larissa – a fact that I did not feel comfortable letting myself admit for some reason – but I supposed that this was the wiser option.

“Ok," Henrich stated, having given each of us a rifles, which we either slung over our shoulders or kept planted between our feet as we sat. “Stay calm, stay quiet, and stay smart," he stated, nearly compassionately, yet with an almost-sneering expression, before he hopped down from the inside of the cart and joined the driver at the front. We jolted to a start, the snow-covered fields visible behind us.

“At least it's a nice view," Temlot remarked as he leaned forward to see past Novka and Martin, both of whom were to his right. I was extremely curious why he was crossing the Front, anyway. I decided to ask, arousing a slightly annoyed look from Novka, crammed next to him, Larissa sitting opposite from Temlot. Whoops.

“Ah, I am headed to a stockholders meeting up in Floydkham, under Northern occupation" he replied with a smile. I certainly didn't expect that. “I'm one of the board members of a salt-mining company that operates both up there and in Agranda."

“You do that despite the war," Forticay, who was sitting directly across from Larissa, next to Temlot, asked, confused.

“It's a lot harder now that the borders have closed, they say," Temlot conceded. “But I'm the main coordinator between the two branches. This is the third time I've visited Floydkham through the Front." That was certainly surprising.

“Have you ever crossed with these people before?" Forticay continued, referring to Henrich and Strelna.

“Yes," he replied. “Once. The last time I traveled in this direction, about half a year ago. Only it was summer then." That was honestly quite a relief – at least we knew that the people we were traveling with were trustworthy, hopefully. As we drove on, the landscape gradually became much more rugged and distorted – shell holes and abandoned machinery began to litter the fields: the charred remains of the inanimate casualties of war that were simply never cleaned. Yet, the cart continued to roll smoothly through the snow. Suddenly, artillery began to rumble in the distance.

“Oh, God," Forticay muttered. The light, distant sound of the artillery fire echoing brought back harsh memories. I began to ruminate about it, once again. My stomach began to turn as thoughts back to those dark days had been triggered. I slowly brought a hand to my belly, careful to make sure that no one saw me do so. In my mind, I saw Albert, whistling as he walked in front of me, his rifle rested horizontally across his shoulders, behind his head, as he strolled along in an overly-casual manner.

“Albert, I've got to stop," I had pleaded. “My foot – it's worse."

“Jeez, mate, I told you to treat that thing," he had stated with a slight shake of the head.

“I've just got to sit down." I had found a place in the mud, there in that ruined village, and sat upon the cement block that sat there against the half-fallen walls of one of the little destroyed buildings. I crossed my right foot over my leg, undoing the laces of my boot and slowly sliding it off, pain shooting up my ankle as I did so.

“Oy, there's a room still standing. I'm gonna' go check it out."

“Sure thing." I winced, inhaling sharply through my teeth in short bursts as I slowly rolled down my sock, skin peeling away as I neared the wound – a blackened, infected, smeared and bloody wear mark from walking for so long and for so many days straight. The bandage had been rubbed off again, and had migrated further down my sock, where it sat pressed against my heel. I gently touched the wound, and winced. We were out of antiseptic. Soon a fever would set in. I reached inside my coat for the roll of bandages, and tore another one off, its white, cleanly essence contrasting dramatically with the jagged, muddy landscape of a shelled village just after the rain. The sun was out now, and it was almost unbearably hot. Sweat dripped down my face as I fitted the bandage around my wound. There was a copse of trees in the distance, their branches full of pine needles slowly swaying with the light breeze that had picked up. “Did that century back there say it was fifteen or twenty kilometers to the next aid post?" CRACK!

My head whipped around. Adrenaline kicked in, and I shoved my foot into my boot as I stumbled over the block, bolting up the low hill around the wall of the house, pistol in hand. I rounded the corner just in time to stare into that empty space, nearly all of the walls having fallen aside from the one that I had had my back to. Albert stood for but a moment, his hand on his chest, the bright-red, runny liquid leaking through his fingers. He gurgled once, and fell onto his back, his arms sprawling out to either side. My head jerked to the khaki-uniformed soldier standing there – a young, grey wolf, with blue eyes, holding his wooden bold-action rifle at his waist, staring at me with the terrified expression of a child who has just been caught doing something they knew they weren't supposed to. His mouth was open in shock and fright, and perhaps, given another second, he would have yelled out; dropped his rifle; surrendered. But I was faster.

CRACK! CRACK! He fell immediately, jerking as the second shot tore through his chest before he had even hit the ground. The two lay there motionless, and sprawled out, the blood pooling more and more across the dusty, red tile, scorched in the sun. I stood, frozen, my feet planted firmly on the ground, my knees bent, anticipating another attacker – there were none. He was alone. I didn't walk up to Albert. I didn't walk up to the enemy soldier who I had just killed. I just stood there, frozen in place…

“Tovef, you all right? You look like death." Forticay was leaning over in his seat, gazing at me. I jerked my head in his direction.

“What? Yeah. I'm fine," I replied, swallowing.

“I wouldn't worry, lad," Temlot assured in a kind and proper tone. “We'll be out of this mess before you know it." I let his unhelpful and uninformed reassurances go unacknowledged as I turned to gaze out at the roadway passing behind us once again. As the day wore on, it got warmer – not warm, of course, it was still absolutely freezing – just warmer, enough for the snow to perhaps soon start to melt a little, though not by much, if it did. We began to pass around the food that Novka, Martin, and (supposedly) Forticay had collected the other day and ate it for breakfast, even offering some to Larissa and Temlot, who took it gratefully. It was nothing more than some biscuits and jam, but that was sufficiently appetizing: breakfast was never a meal that I found I could enjoy on any occasion. The terrain became even more jagged and wreckage-strewn, and here and there would be an abandoned cart, wagon, or broken artillery piece along the side of the road. Suddenly, after rumbling along in relative silence for some time longer, the cart lurched to a stop. For a few seconds, all was still, and confusion lingered for but a moment.

“I suppose this is the checkpoint," Temlot shrugged, placing both of his gloved hands on his ushanka and bringing it further down over his head, either cold or trying to look more soldier-like. All eyes turned to the rear of the wagon. It was hard to believe that there would be a checkpoint here: all around, as far as I could see, the earth was brown, white, and barren, save a few stand-alone and blackened trunks of trees or a crumbled building here and there.

“Gree'ings, lieutenant," a voice could be heard dimly outside.

“Good morning, soldiers," I could hear Henrich reply with surprisingly composure and formality, even suppressing his accent. “How's the day been?"

“Couple 'ah small mor'ars flyin' by earlier, but so far noh'in too bad. Where you off?"

“Headed with a few soldiers to join the rest of the Sixth Company: we're bloody late, been getting the wagon unstuck all morning."

“No problem, a? Just need to take a look." Soon, footsteps could be heard crunching over the snow. A moment later, Henrich emerged, looking surprisingly professional, in the sense that he was maintaining the typical composure of a junior officer surprisingly well. In fact, he seemed to fit right into his uniformed roll. He slowly strolled around the back, glancing up at us for but a second, before a tall, bundled-up corporal rounded around the cart into view, adjusting his gloves before snatching his canteen from his belt.

He was wearing the standard Federation uniform that we all wore – dark-green, with a black ushanka, only he also wore a heavy, long green private's overcoat, that went a good ways past the knees, which he left unbuttoned. To my surprise, he was a wolf – grey with white underneath his muzzle and eyes, probably somewhere in his mid twenties. His companion – an even younger-looking, jet-black wolf who nonetheless still had some small patches of dark-grey fur in the same places – followed closely behind, his long overcoat buttoned all the way and a cigarette hanging loosely out of his mouth. He stood by the side of the road, hands in his coat pockets, and said nothing. They must be from the thirty-fourth, I thought.

“'Aight," the corporal, whose voice matched the one we had heard before, began before taking a swig from his metal canteen. “'Op on out, 'en," he stated with a motion of his fingers, gesturing for us to get out of the wagon. I could feel everyone tense up.

“Corporal, please, we're in a bit of a hurry," Henrich stated with surprising patience, taking a step closer so that he was more between the corporal and the cart. The corporal evidently was not expecting this, and seemed to think for a moment before responding.

“Papers," he stated. His bushy grey tail wagged slightly, indicating his taking the whole affair with a lack of seriousness. Good. The private continued to stand to the side, hands in his pockets, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“Oh, come on," Henrich begged, throwing his arms up slightly. “We have to catch up with the rest of the Sixth Company."

“Fine, just you," the corporal said plainly after another swig from the canteen, wiping his mouth with his arm as he pointed to me. I could feel all eyes turn to me for a short moment. I looked to Henrich for confirmation.

“Go on, soldier," he said with a nod. The corporal screwed the cap back onto his canteen before placing it back onto his belt and shoving his hands into his pockets as I fumbled for the fake papers that Novka and Martin had perfected the previous day.

“Problem is that there's a loh' a' disorder goin' on in the front line," the corporal explained as he snatched my papers from my outstretched hand, leafing through the pages. “Apparently a loh' 'a convoys get separa'ed and things sometimes leak through where they ought not to and whatnot…But we've never seen anythin' like that, in the entire, what, five days that we've been stationed here?" He said this last part as he turned to his companion, who merely shrugged, not saying a word, still smoking his cigarette. The corporal sighed.

“What's your name, soldier?"

“Ernst Allsworth," I replied with my fake name.

“Looks good to me," he stated as he handed the booklet back to me. I pocketed it. Henrich looked ready to walk back to the driver's seat, but the corporal was not quite done with him yet. “Papers, lieutenant," he held out his gloved paw. Henrich gave him an annoyed stare before reaching into his back pants pocket with a sigh and drawing out his own papers. The corporal began to leaf through those, the exact same as he had with mine. “If yer' 'eaded for the Sixth Company, that mean yer' goin' over to Kromlot's trenches? That's the only Sixth Company around 'ere, a? Bloody 'ell they've been through."

“'Ole regiment was shelled to 'ell yesterday," the other soldier, who had until now been silent at the side of the road, finally stated, though without taking his hands from his pockets, somehow managing to keep his cigarette in his mouth. I looked to Vage – he gave a slight shrug. Perhaps there really had been heavy shelling on the front line the day earlier. In any case, it did little to put my mind at ease. Henrich looked like he was beginning to lose patience with the chatty corporal, and I worried that his temper might burst, but he maintained his resilience and was surprisingly coolheaded throughout the whole exchange. Suddenly, however, the corporal saw something that made him pause, and stared at a particular place on the page. I could feel the tension in the cart as everyone tried their best not to stare at the corporal as he seemed to scan The pages of Henrich's documents with an air of suspicion. I searched Henrich for any signs of nervousness, but none appeared. Maybe this happens all the time, I thought. Then I saw him unfold his arms, placing his hands upon his belt, the fingers of his right hand hovering just over his…Pistol, held in its black holster. I held my breath. Was it just these two soldiers at the checkpoint? Surely they weren't the only ones around. But then again, even if they weren't, as casually as they were handling the whole affair, it wouldn't be too spectacular of a feat for Henrich to be able to finish off anybody else who was around, assuming he was a decent shot.

“'Ang on a minute," the corporal stated as he held the open booklet even closer to his face. I saw Henrich swallow. “Yer' papers expired three weeks ago," he stated with a sniffle. I watched as Henrich flipped the band that secured the pistol inside the holster up, and inhaled involuntarily, bracing myself for what would come next. “Be sure to geh' 'em renewed at the registrar's office when you get back, a?" He finished as he snapped the booklet closed and slapped it against Henrich's chest. I could practically feel the relief radiate from everyone on board the cart as I calmly allowed myself to breathe again. Another second's delay, and both of those soldiers would now be dead.

“Are you 'eded to the front lines for the advance," he suddenly asked.

“Sorry?"

“Oh, you don't know," the corporal nodded understandingly as he glanced back to his companion, who merely stood exactly the same as before, reacting in no discernible way at all. “No surprise – 'igh command's been keepin' it a bloody secret for months, we've been told."

“Sorry, soldier, an advance?" Henrich seemed confused, and more than a little concerned.

“Yes, lieutenant: Rosworth's been plannin' it for a while, now, apparently. Not sure when – sometime soon. Figured there'd be more traffic 'ear, but from what we can tell, most of the troops are comin' in through the stations at Timberlay and East Fountaine ." I recalled how our train was diverted two days earlier. The soldier who had made the announcement that we would be stopping had claimed it was to replenish the numbers left from high casualties, but it could easily have been a last-minute diversion to get soldiers to the front as secretly as possible for an advance, if that actually was the case.

“Anyway, yer' good to go," he finished with a quick nod. “An' stay away from the meh'ical outposts – they'll steal yer' bloody wagon to cart the wounded." He and his companion walked back to the front of the wagon, presumably to remove whatever barrier was in our way

“Noted, corporal, thank you," Henrich stated with the slight trace of relief in his voice, or perhaps I merely imagined that part. He spared us a slow glance, consisting of a look of both relief and annoyance, and followed after the corporal. A few moments later we could hear him climbing back onto the front of the cart. The driver had not said a word throughout the entire exchange. I looked around the wagon: everyone appeared either relieved or still quite frightened.

“My gosh," Martin whispered under his breath, breathing a little more freely, now.

“That was bloody close," I heard Temlot whisper.

“Quiet," Novka snapped sharply. I looked to Larissa: she was staring straight ahead, with the same nervous relief that I felt: we had cleared this obstacle, but it would be far from the last one. She suddenly looked over towards the end of the wagon, and caught me looking at her. She smiled – a light sort of concessional smile, as if to say, “we made it." Moments later, we heard the corporal shout something as the sound of a chain being dragged across the ground rattled faintly, and we jolted forward again. As we passed the checkpoint and it passed into view behind us, we saw that it was nothing more than a chain strung between two fenceposts, which the corporal was in the process of resecuring. The other soldier just stood there, in the same position and posture as before, hands in his pockets, smoking his cigarette, and a third wolf – light-brown and white, in the exact same uniform as the others – sat on a small wooden chair outside a medium-sized green canvas tent that apparently served as their shelter, some wisps of grey smoke rising from a small fire burning next to it, with what looked like a kettle on top. As we drove of and the corporal finished resecuring the chain, all three simply stared at us with blank or amused expressions, almost-eerily, alone in that dreary, barren, endless landscape, as if they expected that they were the last ones to see us alive. Had we been actual soldiers, that could very well have been the case, but thankfully, we were not heading to that front line experience.

“Adrius would be having the time of his life if he were with us," Martin muttered with raised eyebrows.

“Is he that attracted to danger," I asked, trying somewhat to dissipate the tension of the earlier moment. Martin seemed to think for a moment.

“I would say that he is," Martin Replied. I nodded thoughtfully.

“Seems like he'd be a bit of a pain to work for." Martin sighed, clearly thinking about how to respond to that remark.

“I find that he can be extremely vulgar, obtuse, and obnoxious," he finally sated. “But he is also kind, caring, and extremely clever…When you're in a room with him, he'll treat you like his best friend. Once you're out of his sight, he won't care."

“How did you even end up working for him?" I was genuinely curious.

“I am the head servant to the Count of Lestbanhoff, in the noble palace," he affirmed. “And to that place, I am infinitely loyal. Adrius simply happens to be the sitting count, so currently, my loyalty extends to him. Should he die before I do, and be replaced by another, that person would be my new boss, so to speak."

“It seems like you inherited a difficult position," Forticay chuckled quietly, clearly even more nervous about being on the front lines and trying to make any light he could of the situation.

“It certainly has its…Bad parts," Martin stated as he involuntarily put a hand to his face, the right side still covered by the white cloth mask. “But it comes with a lot of advantages, including political sway, land, lordship titles, political benefits, and personal association – or dare I say it, friendship – with the count, and therefore all the benefits that derive from that."

“But it also gets you sent to places like this," Vage murmured, his arms folded. Martin did not reply, and all was silent for a moment.

“How did you get that scar," Fortocay finally asked with a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

“Perhaps we shouldn't be so vocal about ourselves when there are other guests in the cart," Novka stated scoldingly as she nodded towards the front of the wagon, at Temlot and Larissa.

“What? They're fine," Forticay dismissed with a wave of the hand. “We're all technically criminals by being on here, anyway, so they can't tell anybody. Isn't that right?" This last sentence he said as he turned to them with an extremely-serious expression upon his face, arousing confusion from Larissa and evident unease from Temlot. “I'm just kidding," Forticay suddenly chuckled. “Is it hot in here?"

“Right…" Martin nodded slowly. “Anyway, I suppose there's no reason to hide it." He removed his ushanka and took off his mask again, revealing his scarred features. “A year ago, Adrius sent me to the house of the Baronet of Klotzberg – not a very-large town, but he had a surprisingly-large personal guard. He had been in land disputes with the Baron of Ahdrian, whom Lestbanhoff has traditionally been loyal to. I was sent to resolve those disputes…The decided instead to have me arrested, tortured, and held as ransom."

“And that- that's from…" I stammered, pointing at the place on my face which mirrored that of Martin's.

“The torture," he replied with a nod. “Hot iron blades, really nasty things, frankly." He raised his eyebrows, almost as if he were amused. “But Adrius wouldn't send me if he didn't think I was capable in a bad situation. In less than a week, I had escaped from his holding cell, during the night, and got my revenge."

“How?"

“Let's just say that the Baronet of Klotzberg used to have both of his eyes." We let that sink in.

“And he didn't make a big deal about it," I asked.

“How could he," Martin shrugged. “He had captured an official diplomat from a city located in the same country as his – we both would have been immediately arrested."

“What about the land dispute?"

“Oh, that was taken care of by the unexpected death of the Baronet's son," Martin stated plainly.

“Sorry?"

“Strange occurrence," he shrugged. “Only a day after I escaped, too…There's a persistent problem with highwaymen on the roads around the upper Northern Flatlands." That was the end of the conversation. I was beginning to rethink Martin a little. Whereas I thought he had been someone who literally could not care less about what happened, going into each situation he was thrust into head-first as if he knew he couldn't avoid it and simply wanted to get it over with, his behavior actually seemed to have some sort of legitimate motivation behind it, even if it was merely loyalty to the sovereign count. I interpreted his mannerism now more as, “fuck with me and I'll fuck you up." I looked over at the front of the wagon – no one seemed to give a through to Martin's little story, aside from Temlot, who looked absolutely horrified, but he didn't say anything. A few moments later, the cart rattled to a stop. We hopped out, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, melting snow and slush covering the mud and dirt all around us. Henrich counted out some paper money and handed it to the driver.

“You'll get the other 'alf when I get back." The driver nodded. “Meet me at Jones' Point North." The driver rattled off in his cart, with the rifles, leaving the rest of us stranded on the road in our uniforms. “Ok, so 'ere's exactly how it's gonna' work," Henrich began with a sudden sternness in his voice. “You will follow me to a place on the front lines a few kilome'ers from 'ere. We'll make our way across the field, and then exit into a Northern trench that's been to'ally abandoned for the last 'ear and a 'alf. We'll walk along that for a while, and when I say so, we'll enter into a tunnel dug into the side of it. The Northern Armies 'av tunneled everywhere under the ba'elfield, but they seem to have forgotten about this particular maze of corridors completely. It's dark in there, and there are active traps and mine-shafts. I have one la'ern, so stay with the light at all times. If we lose you in there, we're not coming back for you." He paused for emphasis.

“Once we exit the tunnels," he continued. “We will be temporarily exposed to fire from both sides. Now it shouldn't be bad in this sector, but either way, jus' follow my lead, and nobo'y will get 'urt. Run when I tell you to run, get down when I tell you to get down, stop when I tell you to stop. You will see corpses, and you just 'aff to ignore it. If you see a wounded soldier, no matter 'ow much they plead for 'elp, forget 'em - they usually die anyway. After we cross the places where the tunnel is blown open and exposed, we'll enter into the next intact segment, where we'll travel until we cross the bo'er. The same dangers will be present there as before, and you won't actually be transferred to another guide until we exit the tunnels for the final time. When that 'appens, we should be inside a small, crumbled stone building, and I can only assume that your new guide or guides will brief you from there. Any questions?" Forticay slowly raised his hand until it was as high as his head, and everyone looked at him as if he were the weirdest person ever. He lowered his hand swiftly and asked his question.

“Suppose that we're, uh, spotted by soldiers from either side, what happens then," he asked.

“Well, if you do what I say, that won' 'appen," Henrich stated. “But if by some odd chance it does, we're done for - we surrender. Our story is that we're refugees from Ressex, trying to cross under military disguise, and we'll 'ope for the best from there. But both Ressex and the Northern Armies love calling refugees military deser'ers and tossing them into their ranks, so just try not to get caught in the first place." Forticay looked even more nervous after hearing that remark.

“Is there any chance we can fight our way out?" I interjected.

“I wouldn't," Henrich replied. “The 'ole front line is sca'ered with squads and platoons of soldiers roaming the shredded landscape. If ya' shoo' a rifle or a patrol goes missing, it won't take long for response teams to be sent out in search of the problem."

“But shouldn't we be gone by then," Forticay asked. “I thought that this whole ordeal shouldn't take more than a few hours."

“If we're lucky," Henrich corrected. “If we're not - if there's a single cave in, a single soldier camped in our way, or even too much mud - this 'ole operation may be greatly extended or even canceled for another day."

“What?" Vage exclaimed.

“But that won't 'appen," the guide affirmed. “It's a cloudy day, cold but not too cold, and the snow is light. The front lines here have been mostly quiet recently…All the conditions are almost too perfect. So don' mess this up," he quickly added. “Are there any further questions?" No one spoke up. “Ok, follow me, with 'aste." We walked away from the road, Henrich leading the way, through the wide, dirt, snow-covered fields, ragged with destruction. There were copses of coniferous trees in the distance, but it would take long to reach them, as every few feet the ground was indented with another shell hole. “Stay 'idden as much as you can," Henrich whispered harshly back at us as he walked swiftly while crouched over. “We're technically in dispu'ed territory. Mind the shell holes - I've heard that soldiers sometimes drown in the wa'er." That brought back miserable memories.

We continued speed walking while crouched over, occasionally ducking into shell holes whenever the sounds of rustling or of dirt shifting could be heard. It was probably only small animals, but no one wanted to tempt fate. Temlot, who was stooped in front of Novka, at the front of the group behind Henrich, would often look down at the ends of his pants, where the dirt mud was turning them and his slick black boots to brown, clearly displeased with the dirtiness of the situation.

“In 'ere," Henrich stated as he climbed swiftly into a shell hole. The rest of us all made our way inside the medium-sized crater, which was just larger than a regular-sized cart. In the middle of the shell hole, just as with all the others, rested a large collection of muddy water, but this one had a metal rod sticking out of the center by about a meter. I assumed it to be a piece of debris, as many of the shell holes had metallic things inside of them resting and implanted at odd angles. However, Henrich reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small metal tube-like stick, evidently faded and scratched from use. It was small enough to fit almost entirely within his hand, and had an opening in its center, which he placed onto the rod in the crater so that the stick was horizontal to it. He turned it very slowly, and continued to twist it until it could be turned no further. He looked up in the direction that it now pointed. “This way," he instructed, and crawled out of the shell hole. I was honestly quite impressed with the method he used: evidently, these little markers were established for quite a ways across the Front. Strelna's ferrying operation was far more organized than I had ever suspected. We stumbled into shell holes like that several more times, and Henrich would always insert his little tool onto the rods that would show him the direction that we were to take that brought us deeper and deeper into the disorienting front line. Finally, the long muddy flat came to an end, and there was now a barren, surprisingly-intact dirt road that needed to be crossed before the coniferous trees just before us could be reached.

“Sprint across one at a time," Henrich instructed sternly. “An' stay down as much as possible." He then proceeded to run across the road while stooped over, and dove behind a large fallen tree. Temlot went second, and tripped halfway across the road, falling onto his hands and knees, presumably somewhat frustrated at having made a fool out of himself as he grunted and brushed himself off, making it the rest of the way. Henrich just looked annoyed. Forticay went next, and made it without incident. Then we watched as Vage crossed, and then Novka, and Martin. When the latter of these made it to the log, he placed one hand onto it and hoisted himself over, the dead leaves of the late autumn barely crunching under his feet. I had to go next, so, recalling my experiences from the military, I ran awkwardly over the road with my arms outstretched a little at my sides. I made it to the log and also managed to arouse an annoyed look from Henrich: evidently my professional display was a bit over-the-top. Last came Larissa, evidently uneasy, but surprisingly determined. As she crossed the road, her head shot from side to side for fear that someone would see her. After she had made it behind the log, Henrich reached into a little burrow carved out underneath it and pulled out a small, little metal dumbbell-shaped object. Novka gave him a questioning look, but he continued onward through the small copse. The rest of us followed without a word, making our way quietly but calmly through the shade of the stubby little coniferous trees.

The end of the copse once more gave way to a vast, wide-open landscape of nothing but brown, grey, and scorched mud and shell holes under a blanket of white. Only here, the scene was even more war-scarred than before: wire twisted itself around the landscape, and wrecked carts and shattered artillery pieces polluted the scene. Crumbled grey buildings mocked the destruction, and the whole awful sight stretched as far as the eye could see in front of us. Though not a soul could be seen, we all surely were aware that there were thousands of soldiers somewhere in those hellish mounds. I felt something horrible well up inside of me, but managed to suppress it.

“Come on," Henrich ushered as he placed the dumbbell he was carrying over a barbed-wire fence in front of us, forcing the wire in that section to the ground. We began to swiftly step over it. I was breathing faster – I felt like I was back, back in that horrible place. I focused and tried to stay calm as I made my way closer and closer to the wire that Henrich's weighty device held down behind the others. A strong sense of dread and anxiety swiftly overtook me, and I began to worry that I was fighting a losing battle with myself. Suddenly, I felt Larissa put a hand on my arm, her fingers grasping my bicep firmly – it must have been obvious that I was starting to panick. I looked back at her, distracted and open-mouthed, and somehow her serious, calm gaze was enough to calm me down before it was my turn. I managed to gather my courage and step over the wire, Larissa following. Henrich carefully picked up the dumbbell and placed it into a well-camouflaged hole next to the wire. “Don't get lost in 'ere," he stated. “You'll never make it out." He guided us into the mass of mud and wrekage, leading us between mounds of snow-covered dirt and around and through shell holes. At one point, we reached a particularly deep crater that required Henrich to enter first so that he could assist the rest of us down as we climbed in ourselves. We had to navigate through many of these, and I continued not to allow myself to be thrust back into that godforsaken world that I had once so-closely known.

Every so often, a soft rumble would be heard in the distance, and explosions would sound somewhere. Every other shell hole we passed through, it seemed, had a corpse somewhere in it. Most of them were rotted, partially buried, while others were surprisingly preserved and often completely exposed. They were mostly lizardfolk – the Federation's forces – but here and there were other species, and even some of the enemy's troops – their distinct, dark-brown uniforms indicating their allegiance with the Northern Territories. I spotted the corpse of one soldier in particular whose back was to the ground and whose neck had been broken so badly that her head was turned nearly all the way around. One of her eye sockets was empty and poking out from the mud, and her mouth was open. Only her cheek still had some flesh remaining intact. We finally made it to a shell hole that was disrupted by another, smaller one, and that one by another, and another, all cutting into each other to form some sort of path. The path then narrowed to become two persons wide, and soggy wood was now at our feet: this was the trench that Henrich and Strelna had spoken of.

As we walked, I could have determined that it used to be a trench of the Northern Armies even without Henrich even telling us so. The places along the walls of the trench where enclaves in the mud were dug out to make space for soldiers to place their feet as they stood on watch were facing South. As far as supplies inside the trench, there was the occasional mud-covered machine gun near the surface, or the half-buried sword or rifle. There were also occasional empty cans, ration tins, and canteens polluting the floor or stuck to the walls that had once held food and water, and I even spotted a soldier's brown round cap sticking out of the side of the trench at one point, bent and dirty. There were occasional dugouts carved into the walls to either side of us, though primarily on the North side. In the entrances to most of them, the gas curtain - browned and tattered from exposure - still hung in shreds, enshrouding the contents that it guarded in mystery. Not that I cared, of course: I shuddered to think of what I would see inside, anyway. The gas curtain to one of the dugouts, however, had completely fallen away, and I was able to glimpse inside to see that it had been mostly emptied, and was collapsed in at the center, its support beams and buttressed broken and splintered. It had no corpses in it, so it must've already evacuated by the time it had collapsed or been shelled. This place had clearly once been at the center of the action at one point, but that was long ago; now, it was an abandoned graveyard. We were like living intruders wandering through the place of the dead, a place that was still forming itself and counting its new guests.

“Were you stationed in a place like this?" Larissa suddenly whispered to me from behind, presumably trying to distract me from my thoughts.

“No," I whispered back. “This is much worse. Here, get in front of me – I'll take-up the rear." I stared back down the trench as Larissa passed by me, taking a quick gaze at the walls of dirt and half-exposed and broken objects, blanketed in snow. I shuddered and pressed onward, now behind all of the others. Finally, Henrich stopped at what appeared to just be more of the trench, but he pulled back a gas curtain on the wall that was so splattered with mud it looked like a part of the wall itself. He reached under a wooden board at his feet and pulled out a lantern. Lighting it with a match, he twisted the burner until it emitted a strong glow.

“Stay sharp," he turned, waving the match through the air to put the flame out before casually dropping it, and then proceeded to step past the curtain. “You do not want to get lost in here." As soon as Henrich walked in, I felt an odd chill come about me. I felt cold, and the tunnel before me gave off a sense of death and decay. I did not want to go in there, but something inside me forced me to. Watching the others shuffle in single-file, I allowed myself to briefly indulge similar memories from the war, when the shells would be coming down, and the wooden beams were shaking as dirt was falling from the ceiling, and I would be wondering if we would still be alive the following morning. It was now my turn to enter – braving myself, I stepped into the tunnel. Once inside, it was dark, and narrow. Even with the lantern not too far ahead of me, I could see almost nothing. I relied on the fact that those in front of me were still there to keep moving forward. All around, the walls gave off a cold, damp feeling. I shivered, trying hard not to picture in my mind images of the rotting corpses of soldiers half-buried inside the tunnel walls. I reached out to reassure myself, and felt only rough dirt under my gloved hand, then a wooden beam, then a rope - no corpses. Though it had only been a few moments, right then it felt like an eternity.

“Don't stray too far to the left for the next few steps," Henrich warned from somewhere in the faint glow ahead. “You'll be in for quite a fall." I heard what must've been a small stone being kicked off the edge of a drop, as it made several dull, faint clicking noises and could not be heard hitting the ground.2 Every now and then we would make a turn, or climb a short ladder. As the time wore on, however, the glow from the front of the group began to fade, receding more and more, and my mind transported my body further and further away from the present moment, until I was left in total darkness. I knew that the light was still there, of course, and that there were still people around me, but my fear started to mount, and my intrusive thoughts kept entering my head. This was a dark, dangerous place. How many people had died here? I would die here…I lost my footing and stumbled, falling onto damp yet hard mud.

“Are you alright," Larissa asked as she reached down to help me up. Though I could not see her, I felt for her hand and grabbed it.

“Yes," I replied. “Thanks." Her grasp around my hand was firm, and she hoisted me to my feet with impressive strength. We pressed on a little further.

“'Ear we are," Henrich stated from the front of the group. “Now wha'ever ya' do, don't, make, a sound." We rounded another turn, and there suddenly appeared before us a wooden door with streaks of white light shining through the spaces in between the planks. He approached and gently opened it, pushing it slowly as the white light from outside streamed into the tunnel, illuminating its dirt walls and evenly-spaced wooden buttresses. Outside, the day was still overcast, and dirty, jagged mounds mud and unevenly-dispersed craters lingered everywhere, covered thinly by the melting snow. I stepped out to see that we were not so far into the lines that it was nothing but this ghastly sight in all directions, at least. Next to the door was a crumbled stone wall, just tall enough to crouch behind, extending in the direction that we were walking. Being the last to exit the tunnel, I turned to close the door, examining it as I did so: it was also so covered with mud that it was difficult to discern. I supposed that this could have been done on purpose, to hide the tunnel from either the Federated or Northern Armies, but given the chaos and distraction of the front line, it could have easily just been a helpful coincidence. We made our way along the wall, which in places was nothing more than piled concrete rubble, likely from whatever building beside us had long-ago ceased to exist. Suddenly, however, a noise was heard that made everyone's blood run cold - it was the sound of shouting.

“Adjust," could be heard shouted in the distance.

“Careful, now."

“On my command."

“Ready? Fire." A loud boom suddenly filled the air, and the shouting ensued again.

“Reload, swiftly lads." It was coming from far beyond the other side of the concrete barrier. My heart leapt in my throat and My breathing began rapidly accelerating. I calmed myself immediately after being thrown into fight-or-flight, and turned to see the others crouched against the wall and debris, looking unanimously and equally shocked. Henrich turned to us and mouthed the words “stay down" very sternly before turning and, crouched over, swiftly walked along the wall. The rest of us followed, and we finally came to a place where the wall was completely crumbled away for less than a meter before righting itself a little further on. It was clear that we would have to cross past this gap if we wanted to ultimately make it to the other side of the Front. It was a pretty small space, but to me, it looked like a few meters. Henrich paused and swiftly sprinted across before crouching on the other side, where he held up a hand to signal the others not to go yet. The voices of the soldiers were still audible.

“Ready? Fire." At the next loud boom, Temlot sprinted across, but I was fading away. The deafening sound of the artillery set my heart racing. I pressed myself against the concrete wall, breathing rapidly, my chest heaving outward and recoiling inward with each expansion and contraction of the lungs. Bad memories came flooding back. I was back. I was back! Oh, God, I was back! Gunfire and machine-guns rattled and exploded around me. The shouts were deafening, breaking into my mind like floodgates…

“Mate, you've got the keep the line open!"

“Hold the charge!"

“Keep movin' lad!"

“Medic! Medic!"

“Shoot her! Shoot her now!"

“Oh God. Croker! Croker!"3

“Somebody take care of that man over…"

“Get down: machine gunner!"

“Help! Somebody help!"

“Blow those fucking bastards to bleeding Atterdam!"

“Fix bayonets!"

“Hey," a soft, quiet voice suddenly broke through. Larissa was staring me straight in the face, her hands gripping both my upper arms, gently, but firmly. She was staring me dead in the eyes with a straight, serious look. “It's ok: you're going to be all right." I realized that I had slumped lower down against the concrete, my feet planted fast to the ground, practically as if I were in a wall-squat: my knees were bent at almost ninety degrees – every muscle in my body was tense. I began to calm down, and relax, but a muffled, indiscernible shout from one of the soldiers manning the gun threatened to send me back to that dark place again. My breathing again intensified, and my muscles stiffened once more. I let out a sudden short, quivery sob, and a tear swiftly trailed its way down my face.

“Hey, hey," Larissa, who had begun to loosen her grip, repeated again as she once more firmly grabbed my upper arms, speaking in the same stern but calming tone. “Tovef, look at me." I had turned my gaze to the ground, but I slowly raised my head and brought my teary eyes to hers, where I was met with the same steady, calm gaze that I had grown oddly accustomed to seeing on her. I forced myself to take deeper breaths, battling another quick, whispery sob, and managed to slow my thoughts and my breathing even more. My muscles relaxed, and I allowed myself to sink the rest of the way to the ground, one arm now resting over my stomach, while the other lay limp on the ground at my side. I took long, drawn-out breaths, puckering my lips a little to exaggerate them. Larissa loosened her grip. “You're not there any more," she calmly reminded. I swallowed, calmly pushing back some more tears. “You're here, with us." I nodded, finally slowly breaking my gaze and turning to the others, who were all staring at me with various expressions of concern.

Martin and Novka both appeared scared out of their minds that I would give us away to the nearby soldiers, seemingly (and justifiably) far more concerned that I should somehow spoil the mission than for my own personal condition. Forticay looked absolutely horrified, as if he had never seen such trauma in a person, his tail relatively limp and low-hanging behind him. Vage, surprisingly, seemed concerned in a caring, sympathetic sort of way – this expression was shared by Temlot, who also seemed a bit terrified, given the circumstances and likely the types of things he had heard us talking about earlier…The only person who seemed completely indifferent – even annoyed, in fact – was, of course, Henrich, who merely glared at me with slight shakes of the head as he mumbled something (I thought I read the words “fuckin' idiot"). Novka looked down at me, raising her eyebrows with a look that seemed to say, “are we good to continue?" I swallowed, and nodded. Henrich took this sign as good enough and led the group forward. I swallowed again and looked up: Larissa was extending her hand down to me. I looked at it for a moment before grasping it, and she lifted me swiftly to my feet, once again with surprising strength.

“Thank you," I whispered. And, careful to crawl past the gap in the concrete, made my way behind the others, Larissa now behind me once more. I had barely made it before the sound of the artillery gun firing boomed again, at which point I paused, brought my hands to my head, but did not touch it, shook a little, and then stifled the feeling back down and continued following the rest of the group. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my bottle of pills, shakily pouring one into my hand and shoving it into my mouth as my stomach continued to burn with a nauseating feeling. Meanwhile, Henrich led us up a hill beside the wall and then, at the top, where it only reached about one foot in height, he got down and dragged himself lower into a ditch that led away from where we were currently standing. He may have been an ass, but he really knew what he was doing out here. I was honestly quite impressed with how well he navigated what to anyone else would look like a desolate wasteland, confusing and disorienting in its chaotic similarity. But then again, if he had led crossings like this before, it was no surprise that he was was so capable of it. He probably wasn't the only person work for Strelna doing this, either, I imagined.

Temlot reached the side of the hill next, and his green uniform became even dirtier as he slid down it, a gravelly, scraping sound being produced by his green military pants rubbing against the dirt, rocks, and snow. The rest of us made our clothing just as filthy by doing the same. We all made it down the rut and into a large ditch, which opened into the horrid landscape. Henrich walked a few feet away from it to a place on the ground and reached under the mud, pulling open a very small hatch, no larger than a serving platter.

“It'll be a tight fit," he whispered, and then saw my face as my breathing began to accelerate again. “Don't worry: you'll get out on the other side." I dusted off my pants before crawling inside behind the others, squeezing myself through the trapdoor opening and down the ladder. We navigated for some time through dark tunnels that were very similar to those that we had traversed before. Thankfully, nothing on the surface disturbed us, which probably would have placed me in a state of total shock. We exited only after a while, through another trap door that Herich opened from inside. I welcomed the familiar sight of white light as I climbed up the final ladder. We suddenly found ourselves in a crumbled building, missing its roof, with an empty doorway at one end. The floor was tiled in large, red squares, and the walls were of light-colored bricks, their mortar decaying and crumbling away, leaving deep, linear grooves between them. Perhaps this place had been a religious building or warehouse of some sort – now, it sat completely empty, it's large red tiles sheeted with a thin blanket of snow and ice. Inside, there were already two people waiting - one, a man who wore a long sleeve black sweater and black infantry pants, and another, a woman with long blond hair who dressed in a similar attire. The woman looked serious, almost like a female version of Martin, and the man had peach fuzz above his upper lip that indicated he was just starting to grow a moustache.

“Nice to see you," the man stated without emotion.

“I don' see you smilin'," Henrich replied, and then looked to me and the others. “This is where I leave you. These people," he gestured to the other two guides before us. “Are with one of the North-Ressex crime groups. They'll get you to the nearest village where it'll be safe for you to leave on your own." He made his way back to the trapdoor, hoisting it open and climbing inside. Before he could descend in past his waist, he paused, sparing one glance back up at us. “Wherever you're goin', good luck," he stated almost genuinely, climbing the rest of the way down the ladder, lantern in hand, closing the trapdoor in unceremonious departure. I turned back to our new guides, who were eyeing us suspiciously. But they must have assumed that if Henrich had gotten us this far, then we wouldn't be any trouble.

“Listen up," the man began sternly. He had a mild Northern accent. “We have to sprint along a road to get to the town; if a wagon passes by, slow to a walk. We are in Northern territory now, just behind the forward front lines. We don't need to look like fugitives, just refugees. I hope that you brought a change of clothes like you were supposed to – you don't want to get shot as Federation infantry. Leave the uniforms here." That was it. The woman said nothing. We changed swiftly, no one seeming to care that it was in front of all others, merely desperate to expose ourselves to the cold for as short a time as possible. Still, though, I couldn't help but glance at Larissa as she changed, lowering her pants down her legs, taking effort to pull her tail back out through the tight hole in the fabric in the back, and kicking them away, grabbing instead a new, black pair from her pack. I quickly glanced away, worrying that I was being rude, and, having finished changing, stuffed my uniform – which of course I owned – back into my pack, opting instead for my heavy grey shirt and brown pants, though I kept the ushanka on – I was not too worried about standing out: I would probably just look like somebody who had simply scavenged part of a Federal infantry uniform. I glanced around and saw that Vage was stuffing his uniform into his pack, as well, probably to resell it later. “Let's move," the guide said when we were done. Without pausing for questions, they led us through the empty doorway and out of the building. We emerged onto a wide dirt road, to either side of which were shell holes, fallen trees, and wreckage, all covered with snow. We jogged swiftly next to a ditch by the side of the road, thankfully encountering no carts along the way, arriving at our destination surprisingly fast. When we reached the village, it was just past midday – the journey here had taken hours. The cart ride alone had seemed to last forever. The sky was still cloudy and now threatened us with rain. As for the village, it fared no better than Austlotz – in fact, it was even worse. It was composed of many stone and wooden buildings that were crumbled completely or were missing walls, their interiors exposed. All around, small groups of sad and pathetic-looking civilians, bundled tightly in worn winter clothing, trudged along the dirt road carrying bags or suitcases, and here and there packing their things onto small carts – as much as would fit into the two or three trunks they owned. No one paid us any attention.

“Afternoon raids may be starting soon," the guide explained as we walked through the village, now at a reasonable pace. “That's what they're packing for - the Federation has been expected to advance any moment for the past three weeks, now." So it seemed that the corporal at the checkpoint that we had crossed through earlier was not alone in his assertion. All around us, the refugees continued loading their precious few goods and belongings into carts and riding away. Others simply puttered around helplessly, their hands in their coat pockets, clearly not thinking it worth while to move, or not having anything to save in the first place. It was all very calm and depressing. A sudden crack rang out softly in the distance – a gunshot, somewhere. It made Forticay jump slightly, but he continued walking with the group, despite evidently being extremely nervous – this type of environment was far out of his element. A cart pulled by four black and brown horses that was full of wounded soldiers, bandaged and in tattered brown uniforms, rapidly approached from behind us and drove off in the direction opposite the front. Most of them seemed conscious: they sat up or held hands to their bandaged wounds as they sped on, simply gazing around at everything with looks of indifference.

“Welcome to the Northern Army," the guide muttered as a small column of troops walked past in a disorganized manner, all of them human, their rifles slung over the shoulders of their dark-brown uniforms, side caps pulled down over their heads. They looked downtrodden and disheveled, as if they had visited hell and were now returning back to it. We kept our heads down as they walked passed, heading in the direction of the Front. “You can walk to the next town from here," our guide continued. “It'll be Yestloblast. There, they'll have a train station...Good luck." And that was it, the guides left, waking off to who-knew-where. We were left alone, in an endless expanse of struggle and desperation, on the other side of a war.

---

Footnotes:

1. Again I attempted to demonstrate Strelna's Slavic accent through spelling, to what I fear are mixed results. This is a surprisingly difficult accent to convey on paper, at least as far as English goes.

2. In actuality, if this scene were to be more accurate to the Great War layout that I based the front line in this story upon, our protagonists would not only have had to watch out for mine-shafts – which could potentially be numerous – but also rodents, flooded portions of the tunnel, possible asphyxiation, easily-provoked cave-ins, and, assuming that there were any left in place, possible booby-traps. Unfortunately, I felt that the chapter was running on too long to contribute these elements to the story, despite the realism they would have provided, not to mention that it would have distracted from the main plot at hand (although to be frank, I have never been an ardent follower of Chekhov's Gun).

3. A small nod to perhaps the most notable scene in the autobiographical Great War novel Plumes, by Lawrence Stallings, which inspired this flashback scene, as well as other small parts in this book.