Author's Note: I love ANZAC's biscuits. Undoubtedly, they are my most favourite bikkies! Better than triple choc chip chocolate cookies. Far better. And it is also a fact: Australia has the BEST mangoes. My favourite come from the Northern Territory, they're tropical mangoes, the ones with the big, bright red blush and have a strong, beautiful smell. I'm going to go to Coles and buy some.
This will be Seph/Gen later on.
This story is based on the relationship that had been built between the ANZAC and the Ottoman. Though enemies, they were also friends. When they weren't fighting they were doing trades, established 'enemy' penpals and even helped bury each other's dead.
Warning: Allusions to sexual acts and Strine! Loads of strine. You should probably Google 'Strine' first.
Chapter I
He was on the other side. 'Johnny Turk' they called him. Genesis was one to disbelieve. He was perturbed in the least by him and more sceptical of his origins. Then again his scepticism was stretched far wide and his mates were quite the same on that level.
A handshake had done it, and a piece of paper signed by both Turk and ANZAC and soon the diggers watched Johnny Turk and his mates shovelling out some earth to have the dead rest in well-deserved peace. Then it was their time. Clearing over the parapet, Genesis looked up to the sky, blue eyes squinting at the early afternoon sun. Large black birds that looked to him like crows were circling the area for carrion. The land was barren, only spindly, dry shrubs and fallen Ottoman troops with sparse khaki hindered the emptiness.
He heard the numbers come via bush telegraph, "Mate, it was hmm, about thirteen thousand of them men are crook and I think it was three thousand that carked it. Don't know how many are still alive out there. Can't be too many though. It's been what, four days now, nearly five since we fought. We've got one-sixty out there. Hope my cobber's alright. He hasn't been ticked off at roll call, you see. He's gotta be out there, mate, if not then he must've gone walkabout!"
Surely enough, he saw the same man carry his friend back into the dugout smiling at his turn of fortune to find his mate okay. Though for the Turks, joy failed to reach them. They dug under the sun, sweat rolling off their dark skin in thick droplets and amongst them all, leaning on his shovel, he stood out painfully from his comrades. Skin stark white, hair long and silver, straight nose, firm jaw line–
"Get digging you bludger!"
A shovel was chucked his way and he quickly snatched it up before it fell back against the parapet. Looking to his side he saw Angeal ironically leaning against the sandbags with his own shovel by him and eyed what had captured his mate's attention.
"You're eyeing Jacko again." he said tediously.
"Or Johnny Turk as they're also called." Genesis replied nudging Angeal and pointed to a digger waving his arms not too far away.
"Turks." muttered Angeal, watching where he trod as he grabbed his shovel and followed his friend.
"I'm uncertain of his racial background myself."
"I never meant to question it."
"Well, what else could he be? I refuse to believe that he is a Turk, yet where are my leads? I could take it from his physical appearance–"
"Genesis," interrupted Angeal, "Please, just stop. We're not here to make friends."
"I know that, but I can't help to think that–"
"Then don't think." Angeal's eyes bore into Genesis' with brotherly concern and the redhead could not help, but offer a frail smile and no words.
They reached the waving soldier who appeared to be a rather distraught looking Zack, his large eyes that always seemed to brim with childish curiosity had lost their vibrant glow and instead of the happy chap they knew him as, he blended well with the morbidity around them.
"Hey," he said once the two stood before him.
Rubbing nervously at his burnt neck, he looked about, kicked at the earth that was dyed red from the battle. Inhaling deeply, he stepped aside revealing behind him a young boy, having clearly lied to his elders regarding his age, blonde and bloodied, face down in the dust.
"Could you help me bury my mate?"
Angeal looked to Genesis who only nodded once and Zack lead them around the figure to where another soldier dug. He gave a nod in acknowledgement, but despite his request, Zack had not stayed around for very long, and went to help some wounded troops back into the dugout.
"Zack doesn't want to see, you know," said the other digger who stopped and looked at the pair beside him, "Name's Kunsel. I'm from the top end."
"Genesis. He's Angeal. We're from Victoria." said Genesis, shaking his hand and then they went back to digging.
"Victoria aye? I've been to Melbourne. Flash place."
"I'm from Melbourne," he tilted his head to his companion, "He's from Woop Woop."
Kunsel smiled, "So am I. Nothing beats the bloody bush to me, mate."
Soil shifted, and although it was only a shallow grave, it was suitable enough. Angeal took up the task of carefully laying the boy to rest in the earth, then joined the other two in laying soil over him. Slowly, the khaki disappeared and the men gave their mate a salute and turned away.
"Who was he?" Angeal asked, having never seen the young boy before, "He couldn't have been more than sixteen."
Kunsel shook his head, "He aint, mate. He turned sixteen just before he signed up. Stole his brother's records and everything since the guy had kangaroos loose in the top paddock. His name's Cloud Strife, well, his real name anyway."
Their Captain stood at the parapet, watching his men take the wounded into the trenches for treatment and others burying the dead. Walking by, the trio gave a respectful salute, which their superior returned with a quirk of a smile torn between grief for the losses and pride for the success. As they passed he called them and they turned on their heels and came at his request.
"Men, what I am to ask of you is something...something very big. Braced yourself, boys?"
Angeal spoke up, "Nothin's too hard for a fair dinkum, Aussie, sir."
Smiling at his optimism and national pride, the other two appeared on par with their friend, "We're an honourable bunch," he said, "Good army with good morals fighting for a good nation," he pointed to a single Turk struggling to dig a resting place for his friend, "Think we could show them how honourable and fair dinkum Aussie we are?"
A silence overcame them, no one saying a word to taint the sensation that swept through them. Something undefinable – realisation, understanding or guilt? Looking at their Lieutenant Colonel, his face was finely lined with experience and it glowed with wisdom. None wanted or even thought to deny, instead they tightened their grips on their shovels, gave him a final salute and went their separate ways to bring peace to their enemies.
It was not long until Genesis came across an Ottoman, the Turks having slowly advanced towards the ANZAC's side with uneasiness as their much larger army was crippled by one far less than half its size. He bent over him, cast a shadow over the man's face who then groaned and opened his eyes. He startled the digger, who in turn startled him – khaki having not been the colour uniform he was hoping to see. He tried to get up and futilely reach for the gun that was not by his side and tried to speak in his native tongue, but his throat was dry and he only rasped. How he managed to survive, Genesis had no clue.
"It's okay," he said, trying to calm him down, but the Turk's breathing escalated.
With a chew of his lip, he remembered the biscuits he hid in his breast pocket last night in case Angeal decided to pinch them when he wasn't looking. Taking out a golden brown biscuit, ANZAC biscuits they called them, he handed it to the Turk. Gingerly he took it with a shaky hand, then sniffed the biscuit and took a small bite at the end.
"You like it?" asked Genesis, knowing that the Turk would not know what he was saying, but he seemed to understand as a small tug came to the corner of his chapped lips and he took another bite, larger this time, before pocketing it for future need.
Genesis gave his own weak smile and to the Turk it was warm and welcoming. Out of his pocket he pulled out the other three biscuits and handed them to him, who then took them with an odd expression on his face and put them with the other. He pointed down to his leg and shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, showing Genesis why the man could not simply get up and aid himself. He was shot through his knee and thigh and a bayonet had sliced through his right bicep leaving him without chance of heading back on his own.
Bending down to his knees, and in true ANZAC spirit, he outstretched his arms over him and the Turk's eyes glistened with a broadening smile that split his lip.
"Come on," said Genesis, "I'll take you back to your friends. The other Ottomans."
With care, he wound the injured enemy's arm around his neck and slowly hoisted him up and allowed him to rest against him for a moment to find his balance right on one leg. A brief nod and slowly they made their way to the Ottoman side. He could feel their eyes on him, all bewildered and disbelieving finding it odd that an enemy would help one of their wounded men. The Turk that he aided was weeping with great gratitude and his hand on his shoulder grasped the khaki uniform the other taking his hand, squeezing it out of overwhelming gratefulness to have someone take him to salvation.
No one had come to help Genesis, only stopped their activities and watched, even some of his mates in the dugout, by word of mouth had they heard, poked their heads out to have a look.
Reaching the parapet of the Turks, the injured fellow was greeted by a gathering of his comrades, but instead of leaping into their arms, he clasped Genesis' face between his hands and kissed him. He was shocked to feel another man's lips to his own, however he ignored his western ideals and allowed the action, patting the man reassuringly on the back. His tears smeared onto his face and at the end of the kiss, the redhead was held tightly with a nose in his hair and quiet sobs in his ear.
"It's alright, mate." he said, the Turk slowly pulling away.
He rasped a few words in his own language and patted the pocket in where he kept the biscuits the ANZAC had given him. Genesis could only smile and watch his friends carry him off to be treated.
He felt good, proud of himself and he was excited to write to his mother and tell her all about today, how he lived up to his Australian honour. That would make her overly joyous indeed. With his contentedness on his face he turned, but stopped midway.
Genesis found himself locked in his painful gaze. Jacko held his immediate interest, had him consumed in the fire of his curiosity. There was a dreadful chill in his hardened look, one that disturbed him, one that made his conscience scream for him to fear him, to loathe him, to abandon his morals and shoot him.
He drew himself closer to him, as if his inquisitive interest of him manipulated Genesis' very movements. It was wrong, for his own sake and for his country. Angeal had been very right, they were here to fight, not to befriend their enemies, but Genesis was not like he. He could not abandon what caught his interest, what kept him awake in the later hours of the night, that which plagued his dreams that he was glad to fall asleep to. It was unhealthy, damaging.
It was obsession.
He neared, only a few yards more, Johnny Turk still eyeing him intently.
"Oi! Bluey! Get over here!"
Genesis stopped and turned around, finding Kunsel waving at him, "I'm coming!" he yelled and turned back, but found him walking away.
Sighing, the redhead swung his shovel onto his shoulder and began helping his mate bury the Ottomans while their enemies stood around them, obviously changed men for having held emotional ground for those who had died for their empire.
When the sun only became a glowing sliver on the horizon, both sides retreated 'home', the ground now level and bare. Settling into the small alcove that was his, Genesis closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, letting it out in a gratifying sigh.
"Hey."
Cracking an eye open, he found Kunsel leaning against the wall before him that was only four and a bit feet from Genesis dumping some equipment. Genesis smiled his response then saw the two rifles and backpacks he dragged with him.
"Are you moving in?" he asked, bending his knees to give Kunsel more room to sit down, their boots still touched.
He nodded, "Yeah, too crowded in the centre. And I was with the New Zealanders."
"Oh?" said Genesis, quirking a brow.
"Yeah. And they say our accent is bad! Them Sheepshaggers! Strewth! You should hear them yabbering, it makes you wanna shoot their gobs off! Good blokes though."
Genesis laughed, "You larrikin."
"That I am, Gen," he said and took a swig from his water bottle with a slight grimace, "How I wish this fluid were amber."
Soon after, Angeal came to join them, holding in his hands their rations. Throwing them to his friends, he sat down and next to Kunsel sat Zack who held his own pack. Hacking at the packaging with a pocketknife, Genesis pulled out the contents. It wasn't much, though what was he to expect? Settling on some crackers with a tin of bully he saw the man in front looking displeased at his own tin.
"Y'know. Every time I get my tin of bully I think to myself, 'Oh goodie! Some good ol' Aussie beef' 'cause I'm True Blue you see."
Zack rolled his eyes, "Forgive him. He's patriotic."
"I have every bloody right to be, Zackary," countered Kunsel, then went back to his tin, "Then it came to me when I first ate some. Is this bloody beef or am I eatin' camel?"
The lot laughed at his sincerity and they all found themselves nodding their heads in agreement, even the bunch not far from them chuckled and shouted words of agreement. Angeal looked at everyone and clapped his hands together, "Well mates, enjoy."
"I bet the bloody French are eatin' caviar and foie grás," muttered Kunsel, poking at his food, "Ah well. This is still exotic. Not flash, but exotic cuisine."
Zack thumped his friend heartily on the back, "Couldn't have said it better myself, cobber."
The four talked, though mainly Kunsel did the talking. He spoke of crocodiles and kangaroos, koalas in his gum tree and possums ransacking his kitchen, to his mother's great displeasure. For Genesis, it was nice hearing tales from those who lived in the country. He was never interested in meeting people who came from Sydney – it was the same story that he himself had lived while in Melbourne. It never held anything organic and lively like the lives of the boys from the outback and the bush.
Kunsel's family were apparently mango farmers in a quiet town off Darwin. Sometimes Genesis wished that he lived the simple childhood, how lovely would it be to own an orchard where you nurtured the trees and were free to eat what you cultivated. As Kunsel talked, he envisioned himself in his position. Lazy summer afternoon with temperatures soaring above thirty four degrees and he sat under a mango tree akubra hat on his head, eating a mango that he plucked from just above him, sweet juice filling his mouth and he's peeling back that yellow skin with a big, bright red blush.
Then Angeal shared his story about horses and sheep herding and his kelpie, Max. He sheared sheep and his mother spun some wool into yarn where she made jumpers for the winter and a variety of colourful crafts were always seen in every expanse of the house, the rest of the wool was sold to the industry and ready for exporting.
The darkness fell and ten at night had come. With some shuffling about, they curled up as best they could, Genesis laying his winter coat over himself and using his backpack as a pillow, he had his nose in Kunsel's hair, and they all got some shuteye.
He dreamt of a Turk and mango trees.
Dawn came, and they all rose slowly. Kunsel groaning and cursing at the sun before muttering to Genesis, "Shove over love. Need some room to get my arse up."
The redhead was not a morning person and only sidled away just enough for his friend to get up.
"Thanks mate." he said pushing himself to his feet and stretching, his body all crook with the cramped space in the dugout.
It needed some getting used to.
He heard voices down the left getting louder and someone was heading towards him with a group of people trailing behind.
"Hey Aussie!" he said to Kunsel, voice a thick kiwi accent, "You moved to where Genesis is right?"
With an uncertain frown on his face he replied, "Yeah...Why do you ask?"
From behind him he handed over a packet of cigarettes. The brand unfamiliar to Kunsel, he looked from the New Zealander to the packet and back to the man again.
"Where'd you find this, mate?" he asked, perplexed.
"It fell."
"It fell?" he parroted, "What do ya mean 'it fell'?"
"Just that! I woke up and before I know it I'm hit by a packet of cigarettes!"
Kunsel snorted, "Think the Turks ran out of ammo and are now chucking their bloody ciggies?"
He laughed, "Hell! I wish!"
"This is in French, aye?" he asked, pointing to the handwritten script on the carton.
His chum nodded, "Yeah. We were bringing it to Genesis to translate. No idea what it says, otherwise we would have smoked them all and kept them to ourselves."
"Smart choice."
Turning around, he nudged Genesis with his foot, "Oi! Get up!"
His friend grumbled and Angeal grasped his shoulders and shook him with great force.
"I'm up! I'm up!" he yelled, sitting up abruptly and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
"Good," Kunsel said, thrusting the cigarette packet into his hands, "Translate it. It's French."
Looking from his mate to the packet, he chuckled at the words.
"What? What does it say?"
"This French is all wrong!" he cried.
"But not wrong enough for you to not be able to translate it, right?" asked Zack, leaning in to see what it said despite his inability to read it.
The redhead shook his head, "Not entirely. I can manage."
Angeal frowned, "What does it say?"
Everyone leaned in and knelt around Genesis as he read the poorly written French, "'Take these our heroic enemies and bring us some milk.'"
"So what do you say men?" spoke Angeal, "Do we send them some milk?"
Kunsel nodded, "Too right! If they're given us these we should return the favour and give 'em some milk! How about you lot?"
"Nah mate. It could be a trap."
"What? Cigarette's mate! That's a hard luxury to just sacrifice!"
"Still. This is their soil. They can get supplies easily."
Genesis got to his feet and contemplated for a moment. He thought back to the man he helped and the sincere Turkish words he spoke that he did not know the meaning of. Without another thought, he quickly climbed up and stood at the parapet.
"Genesis!" shouted Angeal, "What are you bloody doing up there?"
He put a finger to his lips, signalling to keep quiet, the quarrel in the dugout too subsided, and they all watched him.
Genesis' eyes scanned the Ottoman line and he was met with the sight of a Turkish soldier carrying on his back the man he had helped the previous day. He waved at him with both arms, and Genesis could see the smile on his face despite the distance, so he waved back. After a few moments of shared silence filled with human understanding, the Ottoman pointed to his wounds, then his dugout and Genesis knew what he meant, nodded, and they bid their last farewells.
Watching the Turk head back down, he caught a flash of silver and saw him sitting on the sandbags, rifle in hand. His Jacko seemed to recognise him and gave Genesis a salute before moving back into the trenches. He stared dumbly at the empty space ahead of him, trying to piece together what had happened, but Angeal called his name and snapped him out of his reverie.
Looking to his mates he smiled, "We'll give them some milk."
So...tell me what ya think! ;)