We had all known that this war was inevitable. Tensions had been high for a long time between our countries for a long time. They had been threatening us for the longest time and invading our land. Our leader finally snapped and declared war. The whole country was done with their behavior and we were all called to battle.

Most of us gladly accepted the chance to kick some ass, myself included. My country has fought plenty of wars with them before but we thought it was all in the past. Called to war once again, everyone of age enlisted. Being a year too young but tall for my age, I lied about being eighteen to join. I would do anything for my country so I wasn't one of the few that were forced into it.

There are a handful of people who are opposed to the war. They say it's not worth fighting and losing lives. The government is trying to force them into it, but some of them have gone into hiding. Not that I care though. All I know is that I have to fight for my country, no matter what the reason. My father and grandfather were both in the military and died doing it. There's no way I can't at least try to live up to that.

That's exactly why I'm currently on my way to training camp. I sit in a cramped military truck with about ten other trainees. Despite the cold weather outside, it's rather hot and sweaty inside the truck. We're all squashed together, our breathing melding together. The air soon becomes stale throughout the ride but I suppose that's just what we'll have to deal with, probably worse.

Actually, definitely worse. My father had told me stories from the wars he's been in, and they were brutal. Grandfather wasn't the one to tell stories; he felt it wasn't right to frighten me as a child. But Father told me these things as warning. He thought I shouldn't be unaware of these things and that I should be prepared for war when it decided to show its face.

These thoughts fill my head as we drive down some unknown road. The sound of our shallow breathing and the loud rumble of the truck fill the air. Once in a while, we'll hit a rock or a small animal and we're jerked uncomfortably. Many of the other trainees groan and complain, but I know there is far worse to come. There's not much reason to be complaining about a bumpy car ride when we're going into war and risking our lives.

After a long, silent, and hot hour, the truck stops. There's a sigh of relief from most people and a few mutters that the truck ride was going to be the death of them. I roll my eyes inwardly and think to myself. These guys are going to die out there.

We all file out of the truck, lining up just outside of it. The bright sun hits my eyes, making the whole world white for half a second as I get out of the truck. I quickly line up, standing in a silent attention when I do. Some of the others are talking amongst themselves, but a hush soon sweeps over the line as a sergeant walks up.

Nobody moves as the sergeant walks down the row of trainees. He doesn't say a word as he walks past each of us. He merely looks at us and, when he gets through the whole line after what seems like forever, stands in front of us. He glances at each of us once more before finally speaking.

"You are all here to fight for our country, yes? Then I have one thing to ask of you: take everything you experience here seriously. This is no joke." I look at his eyes, realizing why he's saying that. He's a man who has been through wars, brutal ones. His eyes are those of a brave man, a man who's seen pain and death, yet lived survived through it. Eyes like Grandfather's…

When there's nothing said, he grunts. "A quiet bunch." He observes. "We'll work well together." He suddenly turns and starts walking farther into the camp. There are some glances among the other trainees, unsure of what to do. I just watch the sergeant as he looks back at us. "What are you waiting for? Come on." He says simply and starts walking again. Some of us, including myself, immediately follow. A couple others stand there for a moment or two, processing what the sergeant said, before following. The rest of them, now out of earshot of the sergeant, start talking again. They continue on whatever meaningless conversations they were having earlier as if they hadn't heard what the sergeant just said.

I shake my head and keep walking. It's idiots like them that will die out there first. Lost in my thoughts, I don't notice as someone else's footsteps have matched my pace. I glance to my right and realize the sergeant is walking beside me. I feel myself stiffen a bit and the slightest trace of nervousness begins to gnaw at my core.

"Nervous, kid?" He asks. His voice is deep and rumbling, despite his apparent old age. I shrug, the grin my friends knew me for pulling on my lips.

"Good. A little bit of fear never killed anyone. It'll keep ya from being killed, actually." He says. From the tone in his voice and the knowing expression on his face, I know he knows this from experience. He slows to a stop and I fall back into the line of trainees in front of him.

A cold gust of wind blows past us, making my wild blond hair fly around. The wind whistles as it weaves through the line. The grunts of effort and barked orders are carried into my ears from across the camp. The smells of sweat and blood follow in the wind.

"Behind me is where you will all be staying during your time training, Building B-5. I am Sergeant Mikkelsen. I've been assigned to train you fine young men. Go in one by one and tell me your name as you do." Mikkelsen says, the authority in his voice apparent. One side of the line, the opposite of my side, moves faster and soon we're in a single file line to enter the building. Some of the stragglers wedge their way in the middle of the line, pushing me to the back. Normally, I'd be pushing my way to the front, but I do have enough respect for Mikkelsen to stay where I am.

Each person steps up, announcing their names. There are a few who speak quietly, a quiver in their voices, while others speak without respect, saying their names as if they are something to be praised. I've learned to tell a lot about someone by the way they talk. Not everything, of course, some people hide behind their voices and their expressions. But some things are easy to figure out.

I step forward, realizing it's my turn. The rocks and gravel crunch under my large boots as I stand in front of Mikkelsen. He looks me over, inspecting me thoughtfully. "Your name, kid?"

"The name's Matthias. Matthias Køhler." He say, my grin returning.

It is, in my opinion, a name to be proud of.


In case you didn't know, this is an longer version of my story Sounds of Battle, which is kinda a spoiler for this so whether or not you read it is up to you! :P

Oh, and you all have my greatest apologies if I do something wrong in terms of the whole military thing. I honestly don't know a whole lot about the different ranks and stuff, so if you have any helpful advice, it'd be greatly appreciated!

You'll find out who they're fighting against soon enough! If you continue reading, that is.

Thanks for reading! I'll get to work on the next chapter as soon as possible! Reviews are encouraged and appreciated!