A/N:
I really liked the idea of doing a WWII Fanfiction and I don't really know why.
Anyway, I don't own this (yada, yada) and would love to get some love on this.
I would love for anyone with a large knowledge of WWII to PM me, because I need someone to help me keep my facts straight.
Chapters will be longer after this.
On December 8, 1941, America enters the war.
Logan Mitchell is sitting at his kitchen table, going over his homework with little though of anything else, when the announcement breaks through the speakers of the radio. He drops his pencil and looks at the thing, big and bulky, and sighs.
After Pearl Harbor, it was only a matter of time.
"Well, Logan, how does it feel to be at war?" His father, who's also sitting at the kitchen table, looks over his paper at Logan. Logan shrugs, picking his pencil back up.
"I suppose we'll have to start rationing." Logan murmurs, "And maybe some of my friends will enlist."
Most of Logan's friends are seventeen, but all of them are turning eighteen soon enough. Even Logan himself is counting down to his eighteenth birthday, though not so he can throw it all away by joining the army.
"I'm sure Carlos will." Logan's father nods, looking weary. All of his friends have been drafted, though he was allowed the relief of staying home due to an accident a few years prior that left him with a bad leg. He only avoids contempt for this injury and its safety because he earned it working in one of the many factories scattered around the country.
That's not all the war left him with, as he now hates anything to do with fighting.
"I'm sure." Logan agrees, trying not to let the twinge of fear at the words show on his face. He doesn't want to work his father into a frenzy with his own doubts about Carlos' safety, especially not with how high strung his mother has been lately. Neither of his parents are equipped for the taxing effects of war. Logan himself isn't much better, choosing to calmly ignore any and all signs and warnings.
"Are you thinking about-"His father starts, stops, and goes back to reading the paper. Logan looks at the paper, blaring news about war time rationing and factories in need of workers. He knows what his father was going to ask, and he knows his answer; no. He doesn't want to join the fighting, but he knows he might have to if the war lasts another three or four years.
"The war won't last much longer, will it?" He asks, trying to appear casual. His father flips a page of the newspaper and sighs.
"Not if our boys do their job." He replies simply as Logan's mother steps into the kitchen, looking troubled. She studies them as if she's never seen them before or, more likely, she's never going to see them again.
"You're not talking about joining up, Logan?" She accuses and he looks at her, smiling softly at her concern.
"No, not me. We were talking about Carlos."
The worry doesn't completely leave her face, but she looks a bit less so as she takes a seat, "Poor Carlos."
"Let the boy have the benefit of the doubt, Joanna." Logan's father speaks up from behind the paper, "He's always been a little impulsive, but he'll do fine in a war."
"Carlos wants to be a pilot." Logan supplies, "Maybe that's less dangerous than being on the ground."
"War is dangerous no matter where you are." His mother snaps.
"I never said it wasn't, just that it might not be as bad." Logan defends, wishing she wouldn't look so distressed.
It's like he's already dead, he thinks to himself, and we're on our way to his funeral.
Logan's father switches off the radio then, letting a restless silence fill the room. No one says anything because they all know it will just go back to war, and then none of them will be able to sleep at night. Logan lets his mind wander to school and the upcoming test he has in History, which shouldn't be had with how much he's studied. His mother starts dinner, banging pots and pans as if the noise will rid them all of their dark thoughts.
Logan can't help but compare the sound of the banging pots to bombs and grenades. It makes him sick to think about how slim Carlos' chances are; that is, if he even gets to go. The only real comfort in the matter is that Carlos' father is going to be deployed soon, if the radio announcement is any indication. With Carlo's father gone, there will be only little kids and girls, making Carlos head of the household.
"Carlos might not even go to war." Logan, feeling comforted by this fact, decides to share it with his parents. His mother makes a soft sound from her position by the stove, a sign that he should continue, and his father puts down the paper.
"Why wouldn't he?"
"Well, if his father goes, he'll have to stay home and get a job." Logan explains, "He won't leave his mother and his family."
"He's impulsive," His mother argues, "You said so yourself."
"He's also got a sense of responsibility. I tell you, Joanna, give the boy a little credit." Logan's father pushes his chair back, standing and surveying the room almost critically.
"Tired of the war already?" Logan teases and his father smiles wryly, ruffling his hair like he did when Logan was a kid.
"I was tired of the war long before it started." He sighs, "And I'll be even more tired of it long before it's done."
"Well, maybe it'll be over soon." Logan suggests, "You said so yourself; if our boys do their job, it can't last long."
"Promise me you won't go joining up, even if Carlos does." Logan's father turns somber, removing his hand from his son's hair and dropping it by his side, "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
"I promise, Dad." Logan agrees, taken aback by his father's tone.
"Good, because you have a future ahead of you, and we can't afford to lose you. I don't want to lose you. These boys, they'll try to tell you that you've taken the easy way or the coward's way, but you don't want to let them get to you."
"Yes, I know." Logan frowns as his father nods and leaves the room, shutting himself in his study with little indication of when he might reappear. Logan's mother sniffs in the corner, like she's been crying, and Logan looks at her.
"Are you all right?"
"You listen to your father." She ignores the question, "You listen to him."
Logan doesn't answer, just gathers his books and papers and decides he'll feel better in his own room. He stops to kiss his mother on the cheek, promising to stay out of the war, no matter what. She smiles and pats him on the cheek and tells him to be down for supper, and with that he disappears into the solidarity of his room, and the utter chaos of his mind.