May I apologise in advance for the speed that this will be updated: slowly. I'm terrible at remembering to do things, sorry about that. Also, with regards to my other story…I may or may not begin updating that again. If I choose to do so I'll likely re-write the chapters I already have because I detest them u'''
Anyway, without further ado here is the first chapter! I can't say right now if pairing warnings shall be needed for I have not decided whether to include such a thing at the moment. Rest assured if anything crops up in future it won't be anything too racy though _
Room 4, West Wing, First floor. Dormitory Block
The room was a lot smaller than he had expected. They'd only just squeezed in the wrought iron bunk bed against the far wall, making use of the nook it was tucked into to add a rickety table - for coffee and paperwork, it seemed, judging by the stains on its worn surface. Then there was a tall wardrobe that stretched up all the way to the high ceiling, yet was so thin you couldn't fit more than four uniforms on its rail. That was it. No fancy desks, no lavish armchairs, not even a book shelf on its bare walls. He'd expected more.
"And this," said the man who'd lead him here, "Is where you'll sleep. I know, I know, there's not a lot of space but you'll probably spend most of your free time with the other recruits elsewhere." The man smiled at him. He was a fairly tall man with a surprisingly slender build for a soldier of his rank - a Corporal, possibly, that's what two white 'v's meant, right? - But his demeanour was welcoming, trustworthy. The man caught him staring. "Private Jones? Are you all right? You seemed spaced out."
Jones shook himself. He didn't want to make a fool of himself on his first day - he'd waited to long for this. "Oh! Sorry du- Corporal -" he cursed inwardly for letting the colloquialism slip in there "- Everything's so big and new! Probably just shock, I'll get over it soon, sir," he laughed, flashing the slightly smaller man a grin. Corporal Lorinaitis - god that name was difficult to remember, so many 'i's - nodded politely, though he didn't look like he fully believed the new recruit.
"Of course, first day nerves. We all get them! Now, I need to get back over to the East wing, get settled in. West Wing's training is at 1500." The brown haired man saluted and Jones returned the gesture, standing attention to his senior until he gave him permission to relax, "At ease, Private," and began down the metal walk way towards the wing adjacent to them.
Jones stood by the door to his room, watching Lorinaitis march neatly to the first row of rooms, disappearing down the corridor on the left. Sighing, he hoisted his bag of the floor, surveying the room with a grimace. It could be worse, he thought, there could be cockroaches.
He was about to step inside when he heard the Corporal again, "Oh! And Private?"
The Private swivelled to face him. "Yes, sir?"
"I don't advise turning up late to anything else in future. I doubt even a valid excuse will get out you out of punishment again - you're lucky it's your first day," the man called sternly, though his face was wrinkled in friendly concern.
"'Course sir!" he shouted back, shooting Lorinaitis a grateful smile as he turned to enter his room.
Once inside, it seemed even more cramped than before. Opening the wardrobe, he was surprised to see a two uniforms hanging there already, both neatly pressed and crisp. "I'm bunking with someone else?" he murmured to himself. The Corporal had failed to mention that. What else had he failed to mention: "Oh yes, the bed spread spontaneously combusts if you sleep in late and the table will attack you if you spill stuff on it."
He shivered at the thought. "Nah," he reassured himself, "That's stupid – it must be a new recruit too and it just slipped Lorinaitis' mind."
Still, he found himself on edge as he hung up his own uniforms and stuffed his training wear in the empty draw underneath. It wasn't that he was afraid. No way! Alfred F. Jones wasn't afraid of anything. He was just concerned, that's all. Nothing wrong with a little caution in life and nothing wrong with carrying two small vials filled with holy water and salt around your neck either.
He flopped down onto the bottom bunk, blowing his fringe out of his eyes. Yawning, he looked at his watch – waterproof to 100 metres, thank you very much – and saw he had a good hour before he had to be down at training. A good time to catch up on some well needed rest. Kicking off his heavy combat boots, he shifted into a comfortable sleeping position. The mattress was lumpy, but Alfred was so tired from that morning's events that he found himself drifting off, eyes fluttering closed, breathing steady. Until-
"Eh, you know that's my bunk, right?"
Alfred nearly leapt out of his skin, eliciting a – very manly – shriek as he grasped at the vials around his neck. The new presence smirked a little. Alfred was glad to see that it wasn't an evil spirit come to devour his soul, instead there stood a young man – his age by the looks of it – meekly resting against the door. Somehow, this new arrival had entered and closed the door without a single sound and he seemed to revel in his stealth, as he seemed to be fighting back a giggle.
"You're Alfred, right? Private Jones?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Urm, yep! That's me! I guess you're my roommate then," Alfred replied, nodding dumbly, "which I didn't know I had 'til I put my stuff in the closet," he added, muttering darkly.
The man seemed disheartened by this. Alfred hadn't meant to upset him, but the other looked away with a sad hum. Alfred couldn't help but ogle him a little. He was about Alfred's own height with stocky shoulders and a slight slouch. Though he had kind, deep blue eyes – almost violet – the way he held himself suggested that he had some strength in those lanky arms. His hair was blonde, like Alfred's own, but it was wavy and came down past his ears. Upon his nose – very defined, pointy – perched a pair of half-frame glasses, exactly the same as Alfred's own.
"Dude! You look like me! You must be my long lost twin, or something."
The look alike made a face. He didn't appear too thrilled at the prospect of being related to his roommate. Dropping the grin quickly from his face, Alfred twiddled his thumbs. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room.
Finally, Alfred broke the silence. "So," he said, drawing out the vowel, "What's your name then?"
The other perked up a little at the question. "Matthew," he answered, "Matthew Williams. I'm a Private too, though I've already been here a few months."
A few months? Then how could the Corporal have forgotten him? Alfred decided not to ask. Considering the reaction he got before, he didn't want to bring up how Matthew hadn't been mentioned to him. Instead, he grinned. "It's awesome to meet ya, Mattie!"
The blond gave him a pained smile. "'S nice to meet you to, Alfie."
With someone to talk to, the time passed quickly. They were midway through their discussion on which of their flags was better – Matthew was Canadian, much to Alfred's surprise and disappointment – when something had started beeping furiously.
"Oh!" Mattie exclaimed, "That's my alarm, we need to get ready for training." After fiddling with a few buttons on his watch, Matthew upped and began riffling through the wardrobe for some different clothes. Alfred looked at his own timepiece. Ten to three. With a groan, Alfred dragged his feet to the wardrobe, watching over Matthew's shoulder. "What do we wear?" he asked, "Y'know, for training and stuff."
The man laughed lightly. "Ah, there's no real code, eh. Something not too loose though; most people wear tank tops and tuck their trousers into their boots." He pointed to his own pile of clothes. Black trousers were neatly folded at the bottom, on top lay a plain maroon t-shirt and a pair of what looked like swimming goggles.
"What's with that?" Alfred pointed to them, "Do we have to swim through stuff?"
Matthew chuckled. "Nah, the Captain's crap at swimming so we wouldn't do that. They're prescription-" He tapped the edges of his glasses. "Contacts disagree with me, this way my lenses won't break."
Alfred inwardly slapped himself. His glasses! What was he going to do now? He could hardly see without them, and he couldn't risk them breaking: he had no back up.
Meanwhile, Matthew wasn't helping matters. "What's worse, if they shatter, the pieces can imbed themselves in your eye and then-"
"Matt, please," Alfred cut him off, panicking a little, "I don't have contacts or stupid goggles – no offense – what am I going to do?"
"I don't know," the other blond huffed, a little put out at the 'stupid goggle' comment, "Lose your eye sight completely? Look, man, we don't have time. The Captain and the Lieutenant are really strict about being on time, we need to change."
Alfred nodded. He'd be fine. So long as he didn't fall flat on his face.
Junior Officer Assault Course, Outside
After changing hurriedly, they followed a scattering of other recruits down the western staircase, the speed of their decent on the spiral steps making Alfred giddy. He was nervous of what lay ahead. From what Matthew had told him, there would be two officers in charge of the training today, both from the West block on the 3rd floor. They both sounded like they had a stick up their arse, and a fucking long one at that, but Matthew said that was a good thing. Alfred failed to see thing the same way as the Canadian, maybe he'd change his mind when he met them.
When they reached the training ground, however, Alfred's hopes deflated with a whimper.
"He is rather intimidating, isn't he?" Matt whispered to him.
Alfred nodded. The man, their Lieutenant, was huge, stern and probably killed puppies with no remorse. Even from a distance, he appeared to tower over the entire West-Unit, ice blue eyes drilling into them, watching their every move. While he did not frown, his eyes were not kind like Corporal Lorinaitis' – they reminded Alfred of his old chemistry teacher, who'd hated his guts. The Lieutenant's hair was combed back so as none fell across his face; his uniform was neat, clean and hung perfectly and his boots were shined so brilliantly that the sun was bouncing off them and blinding the recruits.
If it hadn't been for his neatly groomed exterior, he would have appeared lumbering with his stocky shoulders and broad chest. However, he stood tall and rod-straight, steps heavy but precise.
"Today," the man began; his voice heavily accented "is very, very important."
Alfred leant over to hiss at Mattie, "Is he European?"
"Not now," Matthew hissed, "Be quiet"
"You may think it is important because it is your first day. This, however, is wrong. It is important because every day here is important. If you believe you can half-arse your training then you are wrong. If you believe you can get off drill because you have a cold then you are wrong. And if you think you can disrespect your superiors by muttering about their nationality while they are talking then you owe me thirty push ups, Private." He glared at Alfred, who paled.
"You heard th-?"
"Thirty. Push-ups," the German growled and Alfred dropped and started them furiously. Lieutenant Happy nodded sternly, and then continued his lecture, prowling up and down the line of new recruits like a hunting predator. So much for a good start.
Despite the Lieutenant's intimidating nature, he was a man of reason and order. The Private's training session was therefore organised, disciplinary and mind-numbingly dull.
They started with a cross country jog. The track looped round the edge of the training ground and dormitory block, behind a one-story building which turned out to be the canteen, passed the armoury and wove into the dense copse to the east of the complex before finishing back at the assault course. It was a long trudge through the thick mud and foliage. Several of the younger recruits fell behind, wheezing heavily.
Matthew was among those having trouble. Combat boots dragging him down, he found himself lagging behind the main body of the group. After a few months he'd expected to have adapted to these strains he placed on his body but his endurance in this area had not improved in the slightest.
The last week's rain hasn't helped either he thought gloomily as he yanked his foot from a deep puddle. He winced at the conspicuous squelching it made then trudged off again in the wake of the others.
Soon finding himself knee-deep again.
Up ahead, Matthew's roommate was fairing far better than he. Alfred, in the youth, had spent a fair amount of time running about his school and neighbourhood so his stamina didn't falter. The mud still got the better of him too, however. He, like the other Privates, found himself sinking lower and lower into the ooze with every step.
The real trouble came when they reached the copse.
The little patch of woodland was a curious thing. From the outside, it appeared a charming and welcoming stretch of greenery amongst the dullness of concrete and machinery. Its outward appearance was unfortunately deceiving. Behind the vibrant layer of leafy vibrancy lay a decaying habitat, devoid of sunlight and nutrients due to the closeness of the trees. As Alfred entered it, he was hit by a wall of cloying stench - mouldy carcasses of dead trees and drooping flowers. He spluttered – it was like walking into a compost heap, albeit a compost heap full of sweaty army recruits.
Aside from the smell, the dead vegetation brought another problem. In the dank and dark, water remained in the soil until it was snatched by nearby roots. But in places the land was so desolate that the earth was saturated, causing mud so gloopy you could sink up to your waist in it.
The entire group slowed at this point; even the Lieutenant was having difficulty clambering over debris and crawling through mud.
Matthew seemed the only one glad by this development (a surprise to everyone). In the few months he'd been training, he'd learnt where the most hazardous spots were; how best to use the scattered logs to his advantage and – most importantly – never to run though puddles. Death traps, the lot of them. Because of this knowledge, he soon caught up with the others and drew level with Alfred, who looked a bit dazed and had one boot wedged in the sludge.
"Having trouble, eh?" he asked, a smug grin plastered on his face.
Alfred shot him a dark look before tugging his foot free. "Shut up, Mattie," he whined, "You're the one who's been having trouble. This is just…an anomaly." Finishing with a curt nod of his head, he set off again. He settled into a comfortable jog, dodging round a pile of rotting wood and making to leap over a wide puddle.
Which is when his boot stuck in the mud and his momentum sent him tumbling face-first into the water.
AN: Still unhappy with ending still unhappy with-
