Ch 30: The pen is mightier than the sword, except on the battlefield.

Joshua clutched his shortsword, his hand shaking from the utter shock that is the battlefield. Explosions rocked his entire perception, explosion after explosion came as he cowered behind a tree stump. Sitting in a fetal position, whimpering, he saw droves of soldiers charge forward into Bellumnum fire.

His incoherence was so great that he didn't notice the soldier next to him grabbing his shoulders and yelling, "DAMN IT JOSH CHARGE YOU FUCKING NERD!" As Joshua was pulled out of cover.

"W- in- ho-"

"JOSH DO YOU WANT TO DIE COWERING OR DIE LIKE A HERO BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT GONNA HAVE BETTER CHANCES STANDING STILL!" Joshua could barely hear him.

"T- that's not t- tru-"

"JOSH I WILL PERSONALLY KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS MOVING!" The soldier pushed Joshua forward. The momentum turned it into a run.

He ran into the explosions, the bangs of the battle. He heard rumors that there would be little military resistance at the transport town.

I'M A POET! I WASN'T MADE FOR THIS! NOBODY'S MADE FOR THIS! WHY THE HELL ARE WE ALL CHARGING?! WE COULD ALL JUST RUN! WE ALL WANT TO GO HOME! Joshua felt that he needed to yell his own thoughts in his head.

He charged through the main road of the town, following the crowd. Or what's left of it anyway. Even if explosions didn't hit him, the dust did. The dust stung his eyes and skin, adding to the fact that he could barely breathe with the dust in the air.

This was when he finally saw his enemy: Men and women alike, casting explosions onto the street from their windows. Civilians. And he was ordered to clear them out.

No matter, civilian incapacitation called for capture. That was the only coherent thought he had as he picked up a mace from a dead body on the street. He dropped the sword as a building collapsed onto the crowd of his comrades.

He picked a building, it looked like a general store, and slammed the door open. He saw two people, a woman and a little girl, cowering behind the counter. Faces disheveled, hair messy and sticking to their face.

"BOTH OF YOU! OUT! NOW!" He gestured to the door with his mace. They seemed to get the message, although they probably didn't know his language. He followed them out and made sure they were captured.

He kept on charging after that. Taking a few breaks and capturing some more harmless civilians. He never killed anyone that day, didn't have the need to. And he could never bring himself to charge into the buildings with the resisting civilians.

He started in the morning, but it was in the afternoon when he got injured. An explosion went off next to him, knocking him on his side and leaving him bleeding. Joshua picked himself back up and looked at the various holes and red spots on his uniform. He limped back, running into medics and getting carried by a stretcher.

Finally, on that stretcher, he felt that he could think again. He could think like his poet self. He thought about the battle. And he thought about himself and his thoughts during that battle.

He reached into his uniform and pulled out a blood stained journal. He opened to the page which had the pencil as a bookmark, and wrote:

Losing friends to artillery shells,

At the break of dawn.

Break their will as yours has been broken, we're here alone.

Dream of home.