Title : "Things They Carried Over A Disproportionally Small Gap"
Chapter 1 : Gilbert Shoots Himself In The Foot
A/N : so heres' the deal. Story's set in WW1, oh boy,
Genre : "War," Sci-Fi, Friendship, Human AU
Fog blurred the tips of the pine trees in the forest looming behind them. Ludwig didn't bother fighting the ebbing weariness, he just stood there waiting. Gilbert on the other hand was shivering like he had a frog in his jacket.
"Really makes you feel small." Antonio stood up next to Gilbert, who startled and looked at him.
Ludwig took a deep breath through his nose, and pulled a chocolate cigar out of his jacket.
"Oh—Sorry Gil." Antonio said.
There wasn't really much the boys could do to seem soldierly. The other side was shooting at them like they were encased in maple syrup, and the boys' trench was unloaded. The fog was making it hard to get anything done. Ludwig unwrapped his cigar and gnawed on it.
"You did that on purpose." Gilbert told Antonio.
"Yeah, uh-huh, I did." Antonio replied.
"Quiet down." Ludwig grunted at the two, peaking at no-man's land.
"I can't see." Gilbert whined.
"Neither can they." Ludwig warned, as though it would be easier for the French to shoot into the tench and actually hit someone just by God's hand than it would be by marksmanship.
"I bet you could hit someone through this." Ludwig told Gilbert.
"Course I could, I could hit someone with my eyes closed." Gilbert said. "With one hand. What are you gonna bet, your house?"
"I dunno. Sure."
"Haha!" Gilbert glanced at Antonio, then grabbed his 1887, and loaded it. "I'm probably the best sn—" Gilbert squeaked and they could hear his heart change gears.
"For God's sake..." Ludwig mumbled.
Gilbert glanced at him. The sniper could hear footsteps from no man's land and shivered astutely.
"Gilbert. Hello. Hello." Ludwig said. "How do you put up with him?"
"Shh. Gilbert." Antonio squeezed Gilbert's shoulders and stared into his soul.
"I'm not kidding, though." Gilbert said.
A pair of solder jumped into the trench and everyone nearby startled, except Gilbert, who was right.
"Sir!" The two cried, saluting and glancing around. The captain was on his way over, from on the far end of the trench, picking through soldiers sitting and writing, standing and smoking, shooting, or arguing.
The intruders were both short and fat and wearing brand new German uniforms, which didn't match the rest of the trench. Their helmets were too big, covering their eyes. Curls of hair peaked out around their ears. All in all, they looked like they'd just been drafted yesterday, and decided to skip the customary three months of training.
Gilbert pointed his gun at them, and Antonio pouted because dude, how come they get to have long hair and no training? And Ludwig was looking at the tall one like he was seeing a ghost.
The captain, flanked by the lieutenant, stepped over Antonio's backpack and glared at the two invaders, with his bayard handgun on safety. Ludwig frowned at him from the corner of his eye. If Ludwig was in charge these two would be buried already.
"What's going on here?" The lieutenant told them.
"We're here, sirs." Said the shorter one.
"We got lost." The taller one added.
"Gershwin sent us."
"We got lost."
"Lost? We got captured, sir."
"Yes, we got captured, sir."
"The French—"
"—they got us, sir."
"Enough." The captain said, aiming the bayard at the dark haired one's face. Reaching it out to move his helmet back with the short barrel.
The dude was an Italian. Well I mean he was a German but he had a Roman crookedness in his nose that might have gone back through his line to the beginning of the common era.
"Right." The captain said.
Antonio was peachy keen about new friends. Ludwig was pickley sour about these raggedy choral chatterboxes. Gilbert was plum distracted, looking for the sun through the fog.
"Well fine. We need reinforcements." The Captain grunted. The three boys glanced at him.
"We'll see some action soon." The lieutenant said. The boys blanched.
"Follow me, tall guy." The captain said, and he and the lieutenant turned back and waded up to the end of the trench, along with Feliciano. On the way over, the three got several stares, all fixed on the soldier but all meant for the captain.
Gilbert took a step back and got the nose of his rifle closer to the remaining soldier's chin.
"Scusi, scusi, no problemo." Lovino babbled.
"You can bet your ass there's a problemo." Gilbert set the barrel on guy's cheekbone. He face became fawn-like for a moment.
Then, "Eat my ass." Lovino swatted at the gun.
"Say that again."
"Gilbert." Ludwig said.
"I don't have the time for this." The soldier yowled.
"Whatever, fuck you." Gilbert told him, putting the 1887's barrel back on the edge of the trench.
"This is a disaster." Ludwig sighed. Lovino laughed at him.
"Time to make good on your bet, lil' ol' Ludwig." Gilbert poked his eyes over the edge of the trench and aimed his rifle anywhere. Ludwig sighed at the nickname, but wouldn't correct somebody like Gilbe—hell wait a second.
"Gilbert wait, what are you doing."
"Fire." Gilbert announced. And he fired. It whizzed through the fog. The four boys were silent.
The shot was returned.
"Cool so I guess we'll never know if I hit anybody." Gilbert said. "Probably not but it sure was fun, good game, Ludwig."
"Gilbert."
"What? What!" Gilbert said. "I'm bored, there's never anything to do around here."