The Front
Author's Note: I obviously do not own the right to "Gundam Wing". This is simply an original story set in its universe.
Rated R for strong war violence and pervasive strong language
This is the accounts of the men of Baker company, 118th OZ Battalion
Partial Battalion and Company Roster
Simon Kersey – Lieutenant Colonel, Commander, 118th Battalion
Andrew Walker – Sergeant Major, Principle NCO assistant, 118th Battalion
Baker Co., 118th Battalion:
Tomas Stadler – Captain, Commander, Baker Co.
Walter Hill – 1st Lieutenant, Commander, 1st Platoon
Chester Zemecks – 1st Lieutenant, Commander, 2nd Platoon
Mikhail Savin – 1st Lieutenant, Commander, 3rd Platoon
Jonathan Krawczyk – 1st Lieutenant, Commander, 4th Platoon
"Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."
-Wilfred Owen
Shipping Out?
As he stared the blade rotated in circles, seeming perpetual. As he focused harder he could pick out each individual prong as it made its endless loop. Such focusing was worsening his drunken headache, which only served to make the feeling of nausea in his stomach rise. None of it was worth looking at an insignificant desk fan, yet he, as he sat feeling sorry for himself, had nothing better to do anyway.
Yes, the feeling of utter abandonment was a rather unpleasant one, which added to a feeling of sadness and overall hopelessness. The letter he had read earlier from his estranged wife had pushed him over the edge for tonight. She had told him that she would no longer wait. She told him that there was no point in writing to his daughter anymore since she insisted he barely knew her. Most of all, she told him she wanted their marriage to end.
He knew inside his heart that he loved his daughter dearly, but at the same time thought his wife might have been right. In his line of work he barely got to see her, and growing up without a father…he knew what that felt like. His father abandoned him as child, not caring less about what he created, only later to have his mother die. He knew what being without parents was about.
This war…how long had it been going on now? Twelve, thirteen years now? He really did not know, and certainly did not care anymore. All he knew was that he could not remember what his life was like before it started. It was like a hazy blur, a fog which was slowly drifting away into nothingness. He could not remember his wife, or even the man he was before it started. It was driving him to the point of insanity. He had been with Oz long before it flared up, and for all of those years he had had no promotion, only a couple of lousy decorations that meant nothing. He could not even remember what the names of the goddamn medals were.
He took a long sip from the bottle of vodka in his hand, while he held his nine millimeter Beretta service sidearm in the other. So this is what it has all come down to? He thought miserably to himself. Sitting here in his quarters alone, thinking of whether to put the weapon in his mouth or to his temple. He felt utterly deserted and depressed. He thought he might as well start digging his own grave.
He had to admit the thought of ending his own life made him sick to his stomach. Perhaps that is why he decided to become so fucking drunk. It should be easy, but it was not. He had fired weapons before, and had been in many dangerous situations. Why was this so difficult? He raised his extremely shaky hand and looked down upon the weapon, looking at its design, its curves. There was one special bullet in the chamber with his name on it. All he had to do was pull the trigger. He raised the firearm to his right temple, but had trouble keeping it steady. His arm was wobbling worse than anything, and the feeling in the pit of stomach grew worse. His eyes watered as he struggled to take the final step. For the love of Christ squeeze the fucking trigger, he told himself. He hesitated and hesitated until he heard a voice outside his room. He lowered the weapon, his whole body convulsing horribly. No. No. He could not do it. His daughter could never know he died like this. There was still time. This pushed him over the edge and he ran to the tiny bathroom inside his quarters and heaved over the toilet, vomiting violently. He said there for a while, lying on the floor crying, before he got up and flopped down on his bed, drifting off to sleep.
His eyes opened to the mundane colored ceiling, with all its dents and imperfections. He blinked a few times, feeling terribly groggy. He raised his head slightly and felt the pain of a headache. Outside the curtains he could tell it was morning, and the autumn sun shone into his room. The natural light hurt his eyes and he squinted as he sat up. To the right of his bed was an empty bottle of vodka lying on the floor. To the left of it on the bedside table was his sidearm sitting by the fan. He could not remember what he doing last night, other than the obvious evidence supporting the fact that he was drinking.
Before he had a chance for any of it to soak in he heard a knock at the door.
"Who the hell is it?" He said in a groggy, dry voice.
"It's Savin, Captain" Came the muffled reply. Suddenly the door swept open and a tall, dark haired man in OZ combat fatigues stood in the entryway.
"Jesus Christ Miki, close the goddamn door!" The Captain said as he tried to shield his eyes from the light.
"Oh shit, sorry." Savin closed the door behind him and stepped inside the room. Savin gave one look at the Captain and frowned.
"Jesus, you look really fucking hungover." The Captain gave Savin a look of disbelief.
"You're a bona fide genius my friend". He said sarcastically. Savin shrugged. Just pointed out the obvious.
"Rough night?"
"The worst. I think I was actually gonna do it last night" He replied somberly. Savin blinked and shook his head fervently as he realized what he was referring to.
"Come on, Tom. Don't even fucking joke about that. I know you too well for you to do something stupid like that."
"Sometimes, Miki…You know my wife wants to leave me?"
"Shit…sorry to hear that. You have your daughter though." Savin said hopefully. Tom shook his head sadly.
"No…she told me not to bother writing. Thinks I'm too fucked up to be around her anymore."
"Your wife doesn't know what she's missing." Savin commented thoughtfully. Tom just shook his head and gave a pained laugh.
"Yeah…what the hell am I gonna do? 50 years old and they won't let me retire. Push it to 55 why don't they."
"That's because you're too important. You're still in good shape and you know most of these men…both in Baker and the battalion. They don't want you doing some pussy desk job yet."
"I'm not that good."
"Yeah, tell that to the colonel. He thinks you're great."
"If I'm so good I should be a fucking lieutenant colonel right now." Tom said with annoyance lacing his voice."
Savin shook his finger up and down like he was making a point. "I agree with you there."
"Cause he's never liked me. The Sergeant Major though hates my fucking guts." Tom lamented. Savin scoffed and gave a flick of his hand.
"Walker hates the ground he walks on."
"Yeah, guy's got a rod up his ass the size of the Empire State Building." Tom said shaking his head. There was a moment of silence between them until Savin broke it with an unpleasant revelation.
"I know you're not gonna like it seeing the mood you're in and all but Kersey says we're movin' out." Hearing this almost made Tom's aching head want to explode.
"When'd he say that?" Tom said in a stupor of disbelief. Savin laughed and spoke.
"Yesterday, you were there you know."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tom insisted.
"Okay, now I really know how goddamn drunk you were last night."
Tom sighed and flopped back down on his bed. This thought certainly did not help his mood in the slightest. He did not want to move again, much less have to go back to any kind of war. This was his idea his own personal hell.
"Where we going?" Tom asked.
"North I hear. Regiment's ordered our Battalion first. Those fucking Alliance soldiers are pushing their way into British Columbia."
"Did we evacuate the area?"
"Yeah, most of the northern cities were evacuated before the Alliance could take control…but they probably control them now."
"Why in the hell is the Alliance invading Canada anyway?" Tom asked in genuine bewilderment. Savin shrugged.
"Who knows. They know OZ controls the the North American Alliance, so they wanted to piss us off or something. Probably want the states too. That's why we gotta stop their advance I guess."
"More killing…"
"Yeah…more killing."
"Fuck." Tom said, rubbing his eyes. "Think if I told the Colonel that I can't perform my duty he'd let me go?" Tom asked.
Savin chuckled. "No, I don't think so."
"Yeah, he'd probably send Walker to kick me in the balls." Tom said thoughtfully. This made Savin laugh.
"Looks like you got your shit together."
"I doubt for very much longer." Tom said doubtfully.
"We'll see." Savin said lighting a cigarette.
"Got one of those for me?" Tom asked. Savin handed him a cigarette and lit it for him. Tom took a long puff from it, drawing the toxic smoke into his lungs.
"I was enjoying the Okanagan too." Tom said regretfully. He sighed and sat on his bed with Miki Savin, thinking of what was to come.