Chapter 2: The Loss of a Father (EDITED)
<13:38:04 - Time Skip, Approx. 6 Months>
Matthew POV
Every week father sends us letters of what's going on at the front. Saying he managed to got the position of a quartermaster. He supervises the use of food and ammunition, he also says that its the safest job there!
I'm not entirely sure why they would need a quartermaster at the front lines, but I believe father, he's never given us a reason not to after all.
School is going fine, I mean, as well as it can go when the kids laugh at my lack of socialization, why do I even have to stay here? Everyone is just too stupid to waste words on. Or maybe, I'm the stupid one for not knowing what to say, but whatever.
All the teachers say that I'm their best student, but I bet they say that to every kid who gets decent grades and doesn't make their life hard. [At least that's how it is for me ;) ]
My brother is also quite proud of me, for some reason.
*
Father POV
Ok, another letter sent, as I walk out of the bunker, which isn't really a bunker, just a foxhole with a roof with a sign reading, "Sector 13's Front Trench, Footman Bunker Number 2." Our company's center of command. Anyways, the landscape around me looks the same as usual, craters from artillery, magma from incendiary barrages, wastes of our "Land Cruisers" and their burning waste, dead wilderness from gas attacks, some other things that I don't know of or know how to describe, and the most prominent scene of them all, the sight and smell of rotting death.
Walking to my small group of men that I am in charge of, about 15 soldiers, we had about 60 when we came here 3 months ago. I walk up to them and clear my throat, "Soldiers of the 4th Platoon of the 3rd Company of Autumnport, we have been charged by the greater powers of our holy trade union to assault the enemy, may our great Alexsandre Autumnose on the our side." I say, before sitting down once more, holy trading union my ass, I just wanna see my kids!
This was met with an uproar, everyone knows that its rare for anybody to ever show up back after a charge has been called, and its even more rare for them to remain their previous selves.
Time for me to write one last letter for my children...
*
<13:49:53 - Timeskip, 1 Day>
The fellow comrades of the charge put on their helmets, load their rifles, fixed they're bayonets and hear the deafening boom of the artillery barrage.
The impact will be in roughly 40 seconds, then may courage and luck be on our side as we attempt to breach the lines, like so many have tried before.
When I hear the explosions I put the whistle in my mouth and check my watch, '14:35, Time to go.'
Blowing and hearing the high-pitched shriek, every one leaps over the trench, I'm the last to leave.
*
Fuck! I didn't have the time to send the letters, the only way I can possibly send it to them is to catch a glimpse of the territory and write it down, then send one of my soldiers back, to report the status... and sneak the letter back to my children.
I urge my soldiers to keep pushing, past the dirt and gas in the air, past the foxholes, past the burning magma, into the cover of a destroyed 'Land Cruiser,'
Seeing nothing, our platoon [more like squad, but whatever] keep pushing, when suddenly, we hear the machine guns fire, as a result, we begin hugging the dirt, like our life depended on it... cause it did.
Looking around I look for cover, spotting a large ditch, probably caused by a tunnel explosion, I call the remaining soldiers of my platoon to go there.
Running there, we don't even look around, suddenly I hear soldier yelling before suddenly stopping, thinking that it was enemy soldiers I raise my gun, looking around, seeing none but missing men, I ask one of my comrades.
He reports that there are pit traps. [The fastest way to hell as the Temerians put it.]
I start looking at the ground, but I'm still running, so if there were any more, chances are, I'd probably still step on them.
Finally reaching the hole, I look closely to where the muzzle flashes are, the landscape there is all grey, like someone took an old picture without the distortion. I begin scribbling down my findings, I also notice the absence of activity... odd. Where are they?
Shrugging, its not my problem, I just need to write my report and file it to the headquarters and hopefully they accept it. Handing my letter to the comrade on my side, I tell him run back to base, we'll cover him. I also hand him the letter, my identification, and tell him to send this 'home.'
He nods in understanding, and I call the rest of my platoon, 8 remaining soldiers, to fix their bayonets, we're covering our comrade.
Nodding grimly, they prepare for a charge...
Once I blow the whistle we yell are war cry one more time... and get gunned down...
Hopefully it was enough...
*
Third Person POV
The soldier somehow manages to get home and reports to the commanders hut, telling them to send this to his messengers residence, he nods in affirmation, salutes, and exits. Marching to the tent and hands it to the head messenger of their set of trenches before saluting and leaving the building...
*
<14:12:13 - Timeskip, Approx. 2 Weeks>
Matthew POV
Getting home from school with my sisters in a heated argument of what's the best season in the year, sometimes I wish I could just shut them up... but big brother wouldn't approve of my methods...
I open the mailbox and take it home, seeing my brother doing the dishes, I leave the mail on the table for him to read later
*
<14:27:13 - Timeskip, 2 Hours>
Alexander POV
As I'm reading the letters I hear my sisters arguing about whats the best season in the year, sometimes I wish I could just shut them up... but my little brother wouldn't approve with my methods...
As I open the last letter, I see its contents, a tag of identification and 2 medals, one showing the wearers position, Lieutenant, another a medal proving he died heroically, and a letter, from our father, its pretty clear what happened to him...
As I read the letter to my siblings, they seem to have mixed emotions, my little brother was doing his best not to shed any tears in front of us, probably knowing that he is dead, while my STUPID sisters were now discussing what fathers stance on the best season of the year.
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