Glory, At Its Finest
Chapter 1
Hell. How else could anyone describe this torment? Living tightly together in a ditch, where was the glory in that? Where was the glory in being bored, or terrified, or snapping with Shell Shock. Where was it?
Gone, he supposed. There was no glory, there was no honour, there was only fighting for the loved ones back home, and fighting for your friend beside you.
"Jason's gone and got himself back on probation." Edward heard a gruff voice of a familiar soldier from nearby. He lifted his head slightly, before shivering; it was February, and the ground was still frozen solid.
"He's gotta stop dissapear'n, it'll get him killed one a these days." Another voice added in. Edward listened in to their conversation, mostly out of boredom, which was clearly evident on his face.
"'E's too shit-hot to stop, thinks that he can get away with it, drunk bastard." The first voice spat out. "When he finally does get caught, you know who'll have to gun him down? We will. Fuck if I ever have to do that again."
"You're telling me you haven't thought about it?" Edward added in to the soldiers that were across from him. "Just leaving, going back home. You know enlisting in this was the worst mistake of our lives, haven't you ever thought of desertion?" He asked them. His head was low, facing his hands that hung limp in he air, supported by his knees, but his eyes were peering up at them; brilliant green, they were.
"Course," The first soldier spat out, looking offended. "We all have, at one point or another, but thinking about it and doing it are two completely different things. One gets you sympathy, the other gets you gunned down by your own friends. Take your pick." To this, Edward looked back down and shrugged.
"Shut up!" The other soldier, the one with poor grammar and a thick slur cut in. He glared at the two of them. "Keep firing y'or mouths like dat, and we'll all get on probation, you fuckers. Plus, the more tha' die, the more rum we get!" He held up his can of Bully Beef in the air like it was the alcohol he had earlier.
Edward snickered, so did the other soldier. "Then how 'bout we go and kill you, and take your rations, eh, John?" The first soldier asked his drunken comrade. To this the drunken John merely scoffed and continued to eat.
Edward laughed to himself before reaching beside him and grabbing his own food rations. "Eh," The first soldier called to Edward, "What's your name?"
"Edward Masen."
"Mine's Emmet Rohdson. You know, I've never seen you before." He looked Edward over carefully, and Edward did likewise.
Emmet was a large, burly man with well-defined muscles. Edward figured he had to have worked on the farm a lot, perhaps, or did a lot of heavy lifting somewhere else. He had short black hair; as did many of them, shot hair was a requirement – it kept lice off.
"I've seen you, I've just never learned your name." Edward told him, receiving a nod from the other soldier.
"Well, now that you do, don't forget it." Emmet warned playfully. Then, he looked up and to the side, over to where no-man's-land was. "It's been pretty quiet for the most part, I think. Something's got to be happening soon."
"I'd prefer to get shelled than have to prepare for another Zero Hour." Edward told him, and Emmet nodded. Edward looked back down to his can of Bully Beef, and scraped the sides of the can with his spoon, before eating it. When he was done he set it aside and stroked his Lee Enfield lovingly.
"I have patrol soon." Emmet said aloud, almost as if just remembering that he had it at all. "Last time I went, some stupid Hun was there with me, and tried to fight. I won." He sounded so proud, Edward noted, then again, he probably would have felt pretty proud of that too – to kill one of those bastards and live to tell about.
"I hate patrol." Edward sighed, "It's not as bad as the Listening Post though."
"Yeah, but nothing's as bad as being the one to set up more barb-wire."
"I like fixing the duckboards the best." To this, Emmet laughed aloud.
"Fuck yes! That's the easiest one of them all! It's got nothing to do with house chores, has nothing to do with the Huns, and takes next to no time at all! Ha!" His eyes lit up as he spoke, and then, as he finished, they dimmed and he leaned back into the parapet.
Then, as a silence fell between them, another soldier began to walk towards them, and to their surprise sat next down to Edward. He was eating his own Bully Beef, with pale hands that had dirt, sweat and blood caked on, his blond hair was matted and though it was far shaggier than it should be, the soldier didn't seem to care.
"At least we're not troglodytes like the Huns!" He muttered angrily to no one in particular. He had Edward and Emmet's undivided attention, and while Emmet had figured that the blond man knew Edward, Edward couldn't figure out who he was. He still couldn't figure out who had taken a spot next to him in the dugout, but when the blond man looked to the sky with an exasperated expression, his name flew at Edward at an alarming rate; it was Jasper.
"What are you talking about?" He asked Jasper, then man closed his eyes and took a deep breath in before answering.
"Just some propaganda that the German's are saying about us." Jasper breathed out, and then frowned. He steadied his head so that he was looking straight ahead and opened his eyes, showing the sharp blue colour.
Not far off, the ground exploded, and immediately, everyone put their hands on their helmets and ducked down. They were being shelled on.
The trio didn't do anything, they would have to wait it out, hope that they weren't caught by a shrapnel, or, they might wish that they would get his by a shrapnel, and get a ticket to Blightly; a reason to go home, and perhaps stay there.
A/N: Okay, sorry for the delay, my three wonderful reviews, here it is, the second chapter of Glory, At Its Finest. Huns is a slang term for Germans, and if there are any other terms you do not understand I'll be happy to explain them to you. So, review! Please!
