AJ:I'm glad you pick up on those little references.

And you make a good point there. The solutions to our problems are often in front of us the entire time, but we ignore them, thinking there must be a more proper solution.

An Eldian's Journal

The Soul of War

Chapter 45: Medical Training

With hair drenched in sweat and trapped in the metal shell of a helmet, the military men that attended the graduation, including me, headed back to our respective barracks. The moment I removed the helmet, a layer of warmth escaped like my hair were jail cells that held it against its will. I spent the duration of that walking time itching my scalp, and I grew alarmed when I looked down at my hand to see strings of hair. I guess my stress was getting to me. Or maybe it was just the lack of vitamins.

When arriving at the barracks, I instantly shoved off every piece of my uniform, and every other cadet did the same. My skin ached for a cold shower. It yearned for it immensely, but Kaslow's entrance blocked that option off.

"Alright, you Eldian swine!" Kaslow yelled. The cadets and I rushed into our positions by each of our beds, and he continued. "You're officially a part of the military now. How does it feel?" He waddled over to Kurt. "How does it feel, Eldian circus monkey?"

"It feels amazing, sir!"

Kaslow glared and reminded my friend of a fact for the millionth time. A storm summoned from his mouth. "For the millionth time, monkey! You call me 'sarge' or 'sergeant'! 'Sir' is for useless people!" Kaslow looked to the entrance as if searching for the wall-keeper. He then looked back at my poor friend.

The yelling pulled another response from Kurt. "It feels amazing, sarge!"

"It better feel amazing, cadet! On a scale of dining hall food to mom's cooking, how scrumptious was this victory?"

"Delectable, sarge! I haven't tasted anything better than this!"

"You will never taste anything better than this, not even when your sorry ass gets a girlfriend!" Kaslow stepped away but returned to Kurt after a few steps. "Will you forget me when…rather if you get a girlfriend?" His voice softened.

Kurt went silent.

"What was that, cadet?" Kaslow ramped up again, "You answered so loudly I couldn't quite hear you!"

"I'll never forget about you, sarge!" A bit of saliva ejected due to the velocity of Kurt's words. "You were my first love!"

"That's right, dammit!" He looked at everybody. "Don't you forget it! I was all of you guys' first love!" He cleared his throat and returned to the door. "I am almost sad to know that I won't be able to terrorize you as often." He released a mocking sigh. "But don't worry, on your first battle, I'll be right there."

He put his hands into a salute, "Bye privates. You are no longer the mangy cadets I first saw here three months ago. You are mangy privates now." He chortled before saying, "Those of you going into specialized training, it begins the day after tomorrow. I'll give instructions for the regular ones later."

Kaslow closed the door, and all the cadets broke into a conversation as usual while removing their new uniforms. I was about to relax until Kaslow opened the door again. All the other cadets froze, and they held their clothes in their hands along with words frozen in their mouths.

Kaslow pointed a finger at me and called me over. I got off my bed and walked to the entrance.

"Heinrich, let's go to my office. We need to talk for five minutes." Kaslow's voice was low and bereft of mockery. I nodded hesitantly, and we walked over to the crowd of military officers' offices.

Kaslow's office was surprisingly clean, but I didn't have much time to observe since the fat man cut to the chase. He sat in a slightly hunched-over position, and I sat in a dusty chair that squeaked as if it was angry that an Eldian had to sit on it. He put his hands together and set them on his desk.

"Heinrich, what has that Husenburgerdorf been telling you?" He finally got the wall-keeper's name correct.

"I was passing by his office one day…."

"Hold that thought." Kaslow rushed to the door and made sure it was shut, and then he checked shelves for his phonograph. You would be surprised by the eavesdropping capability of these things. If someone connects a particular set of equipment to them, they can listen to conversations from a separate room.

Kaslow returned to the desk, and I continued, making sure to avoid the 'looking for paper' part. "I was passing by his office one day, and he was drunk and lying on the floor. I think he had whiskey. I could barely understand what he was saying because of that."

"Thanks for telling me that," he said sarcastically. "Now I know where all the whiskey's been going. Us officers are having somewhat of a shortage. Or maybe some of your slimy bunkmates stole some."

I stayed silent while I remembered that the wall-keeper forced me to drink it too. There was another reason too. I calculated how much I should tell Kaslow, for this situation got increasingly tangled as the weeks passed.

The wall-keeper had taken Mr. Kruger's journal from me because supposedly stolen documents were in the pages. I only had his words as evidence for that. Either way, if Kaslow knew about that journal, what would he do to Mr. Kruger? I didn't want the old guy to get thrown out of a blimp.

"Why'd you stop talking?" He inquired sharply.

"I was trying to remember what happened next."

"Yea, whatever. Just keep talking, or I'm going to assume you're hiding something."

I had to play a mental game of chess with Kaslow. I could not mention that journal at all costs. There was too much at stake, even my parents possibly becoming casualties in the mix. So, I took a white lie stance. "Sergeant, what worries me about him, is that he helps me out so much."

***A CHESS MOVE***

Misleading

I tried to paint the wall-keeper as a great man.

Kaslow's face twinged as I kept talking. "I approached him one day about my rifle skills, and he told me then to go see the psychologist. But I didn't listen to him. And then he gave me advice about my rifle skills."

"I believe you." He laughed to himself as if he had never thought he would say that before. "He sticks his neck out for you guys occasionally. That sounds like him."

"He does?" My manipulation led to a land of truths.

His eyes grew tense again, and he raised his voice, "I'm the one asking questions here!" He quieted and said. "After I shot Milo in a leg, he started questioning me about how I can't waste resources." He paused for a few seconds as if he couldn't think of any more questions. He left me with, "Hmph if he stabs you in the back, with or without an actual knife, you tell me first so I can have him court-martialed."

For a second there, I thought Kaslow wanted to defend me.

He continued, "Don't get any ideas. I don't give a rat's ass about you. I just don't need a traitor in this camp. They spread." Glanced at a window and then back at me. "That's enough. My ears hurt. You're free to leave now."

I said an empty thank you and stood up, feeling relieved that I drew attention away from the journal.

Kaslow stapled a warning statement on my back as I turned around. "I'm a strategist, Heinrich. I can recognize when someone is trying to use a strategy on me."

I gulped, and my stance shuddered.

*** KASLOW'S CHECKMATE***

"Are you trying to make me think he's an Eldian restorationist?"

The surprise from that question brimmed in my throat. I swiftly swallowed it, "No, sir."

"You're trying to make him seem friendly so that I can grow even more suspicious, thereby incriminate him."

"With all due respect, sarge. That is not my intention. And him being 'nice' is not grounds for making him an Eldian restorationist."

"But he says nice things for you. That's already worthy of investigation."

"If someone was an Eldian restorationist, I think they'd be extra cruel to hide their cover." I tried to narrow my slight panic into logic. "The psychologist was nice as well. I don't know if that makes him an Eldian Restorationist."

Kaslow let out a hearty bit of laughter that edged on maniacal, as usual, and I nearly felt sorry for his vocal cords. They had to be controlled by such a loathsome brain. His sounds contained themselves and formed words again. "Hmph, stalemate. I'll keep tabs on him." He motioned me to the door. "You may not talk this freely to me again without my permission." His words coated themselves with a fine layer of intimidation as I closed the door behind me.

On my walk back to the barracks, I remembered the psychologist's thoughts on Marleyans as a whole, mainly the complexes. I could see Kaslow hold his superiority complex so dear, using it as a crutch to hold himself up but also crush an Eldian. Kaslow was a by-the-book example of what it means to be a Marleyan military official—overbearing, shameless, and even a dash cynicism.

The following day, the boys and I visited the mail tent to help the mail soldier finish off his stacks of newspapers.

Instead of perching legs on the table, the mail soldier huddled over a mailing file, likely accounting for some packages. He greeted us with a slight hunch in his back. Before that day, I didn't see him stand too often, so his shorter-than-expected stature lowered my fear of talking with him. My fear of Kaslow remained the same…

The solder walked to a table in the back and revealed a few towers of newspapers. "It's a lot," he said before making a dismissive shrug. Kurt and Viktor must have stared at each other in fear behind me while I stared at the mass production of something I had contributed creatively to. No matter what would happen to my draft, my story would be archived in the dirt-cheap leaves of paper.

The mail soldier gave the boys and me some directions. He wanted us to stand separately throughout the training camp to maximize reach. He then told us to 'screw off,' but he grabbed my shoulder when I attempted that, and Viktor and Kurt waited at the tent entrance.

"Heinrich," the soldier's voice sounded so relaxed yet stressed. "Have you written the next part of your little story yet?"

"Not yet," I hadn't even begun to think about what to write next. "When do I need to have it written by?"

"In a few days," he said casually.

"A few days! It took a month to do this properly."

"Yea?" He made a fake smile before it turned flat immediately. "Make it in three days."

"What?!"

The soldier then pushed me out towards the entrance and placed a stack of papers in my hands. "You guys better come back with your hands empty." The boys and I nodded and headed out into our only rest day with dead trees in our hands. The newspaper ink spelled out different words, but it always spelled out 'propaganda,' just in ample ways. It's quite an overweight word, for it grows fat from how many humans it lies to; thus, our arms got somewhat fatigued.

Viktor surveyed the people walking about before asking me, "Before I head to my spot, do you have any secret techniques to get people to want these things?"

"Umm…" I had no clue, "Back in the internment zone, I just used to scream 'Extra, Extra.'"

Kurt chimed in, "'Extra, Extra' what?"

"It's just a saying."

"I get it's a saying, but an expression needs to have a meaning, right? What are you giving the customers extra of?"

Viktor answered for me, "Heinrich's not giving anyone extra anything. He's just giving himself extra embarrassment." He chuckled and, before stepping away, said, "I'll just figure it out on my own."

Viktor ran off, and I was left with Kurt, a man who took language too literally. He spent a few seconds with me, trying to figure out where his selling spot was located. We played an intricate game of waving fingers in the air, trying to make sense of direction. I almost poked him in the eye.

Kurt left, and I stayed outside the tent. I stuffed half the paper stack under my armpit and set the rest on the ground. I took just one copy and rolled it up to carry with my right hand.

It was time to wave.

"Extra! Extra!"

A few soldiers threw a glance my way but reeled it back in as if they didn't want to engage. I looked in another direction to see if anyone there would be kinder. I was only shoved cold looks as always.

I tried adding, "Come get a new edition of the Trench and Camp!"

I only received the old, musty editions of bored and uninterested glances. I had reached that point where my arms would go into autopilot, and my mind drifted into miscellaneous subjects.

That day's assorted thoughts happened to revolve around an assortment of fictionality. I had to figure out what would be next in Erich's story. Don't worry. I won't write out the whole part I did end up coming with as a chapter of this journal. That would be too cumbersome.

Anyway, how would Erich recuperate from the loss of two friends? I tussled with this question, bending it, stretching it, and even folding it like a piece of dough, and finally throwing in some yeast before baking.

Ultimately, it made sense that the remaining Eldian soldiers from the battlefield returned to whatever base they originally started from. The commander received a medal to commemorate his slaying of a titan and provided him another set of Eldians to order around freely.

On the other hand, Erich was immediately taken to a medical center to get his vitals checked and see if his organs were functioning as they should. Nurses piled around him with their instruments, pointy tools, and eclectic words making a mess.

"Hello-"

My thoughts were cut off by a man with glasses waving at my face, "Heinrich, are you there?"

I returned to my training camp. "Y-yes. Sorry about that, sir. I was—"

"Daydreaming? It happens to the best of us."

I nodded.

"Anyway, I'd like a newspaper," he said.

I contemplated whether I should mention my story as I watched him flip through the pages with a glass-covered eye. He landed on my story and said, "this is new. I wonder who thought this was a good idea."

I said quietly. "I thought it was a good idea, sir. I wrote it."

He closed the pages and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Really?"

"Yes, sir. That's the very first bit of it. I'm trying to think of what to do next."

"Hmph, I don't mean to brag, but I too am an author."

"Really?" I hadn't expected that.

"Indeed, I've written numerous research papers. But I'm sure they're not quite as interesting as what you've probably written here." He flipped back to my story and stared at it for a second, "How about we make a deal, you read one of my papers on PTSD and I'll read what you have going on here?"

I finally had a reader. I didn't know what PTSD was, but I thought it was a splendid acronym and exclaimed, "Yes! That would be great!"

He nodded, and his thinning hair waved at me in the wind. He then itched his side pocket as if looking for something.

It was a coin. The psychologist set it in my uniform pocket while I searched for something to say. "Sir, the paper is free."

"I know it is, but your struggles aren't. They always pay a toll, and all I can do to help out until our next appointment is a simple coin, and be a new reader." The psychologist rolled up his paper and pointed at me while saying goodbye.

That simple interaction lifted me from the ground and pasted me in the clouds. I stayed glued there until the adhesive progressively weakened, and I floated back down to reality.

Someone believed in me, whether that was simply his job to be, but it didn't matter.

XXX

The boys and I failed to sell all our stacks, but thankfully the mail soldier didn't scowl at us as one would expect. Apparently, our result was what he expected.

"This will still take time," he said while shoving the remaining papers on a shelf in the back. The previous edition newspapers sat longingly, waiting to be embraced by human fingers despite how cruel they could be. They fluttered slightly from the soldier's movements. We left afterward with anticipation of the medical training.

The boys and I slept in until 7:30 AM for our training the following day. Those who ran this specialized training understood that learning doesn't happen at 5:30 in the morning like Kaslow lived by religiously.

On our walk to the classroom, Viktor hypothesized what the class would be like, "Maybe we won't have a sergeant screeching at us for hours on end."

Kurt replied, "I highly doubt it. If it isn't a screaming sergeant, it'll probably just be someone else screaming."

"Goddammit, Kurt. Would it kill you to have some positivity once in a while? It's morning." Viktor pointed at the soldier in the sky who happened to be in the middle of his morning pushups, "Why can't you be like the sun, and smile for once?"

"I'm just using common sense."

"Common sense isn't a smile." Viktor tried grabbing Kurt's face, but Kurt swatted it away and attempted a smile. The sides of his mouth slid too far.

"Turn that shit off. I haven't eaten yet, and I think I'm already going to gag."

"You can't turn a smile off."

7:55 AM bickering is the best kind of bickering.

When we arrived at the classroom, we found the typical desk arrangement with benches crowding the room and cadets, making them even more crowded. One desk stood separate from the others, and it was here that sat our next greatest enemy.

A nurse who taught things.

I tried not to stare at the woman as the boys and I searched for a place to sit. We found a place at the back of the poorly ventilated room. I'm sure I was taking in the breath of some fool in the front that didn't brush his teeth.

As I was about to sit, the nurse barked. "Come to the front! No one sits in the back of my class."

Kurt, Viktor, and I got startled and looked at each other, "Yes, ma'am." We scurried to a middle row, and some fellow classmates snickered.

That hint of dialogue from the nurse reminded me of my mother in that she looked like a peeved middle-aged mom that got removed from her home, was taught basic medical techniques, and thrown to the wolves. The irony is that she was more of a wolf than an average soldier.

In actuality, she reminded me of the nurse Viktor stole alcohol from, probably because they were the same person. She just couldn't recognize us.

When the clock struck eight, the nurse grabbed a drumstick and positioned herself at the end of the chalkboard. "Alright, rugrats!" She smacked the stick to the board, "welcome to a three-week course to become certified combat medics. Today, we'll be going over a general structure of the class and what topics we are going to learn."

Viktor interrupted, "Excuse me, ma'am. Are we not going to do introductions?" He tried to ask sincerely. "I just want to make sure my attendance is recorded correctly."

The nurse scowled as if she used tape to keep her features permanently molded in a specific way to scare cadets. Viktor's mouth pursed as if he knew he had already made a mistake.

The nurse waved in a girl through the front door while talking. "Alright, private. If you're so keen on introducing yourself, why don't you stand up and tell us your name?"

"My name is Viktor Dassler. I am fifteen years old." Viktor stood up awkwardly due to the lack of legroom.

"Alright, Viktor. My name is Nurse Layla." Her scowl loosened. I didn't expect someone so crude to have a sweet name like Layla. "Looks like you're one of three young ones in this room."

All the university-aged privates and older turned in their seats and watched us make fools of ourselves. A young nurse came up to the more senior nurse with a paper cone.

The nurse Layla snapped her fingers and pointed at Viktor as if ordering the young nurse like a dog.

"You have a pencil with you, Viktor?" Layla asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." The younger nurse set the paper cone in front of Viktor, and Layla ordered. "Write a few letters on that paper for me." Viktor nodded and pulled out his pencil. He wrote the letters on the cone as the older nurse spelled them out.

D. U. N. C. E.

"Good." She smiled but immediately transitioned to a scowl again. She pointed at Viktor with her drumstick. "Now, sit in the back corner with that on!"

Viktor held his head low as if finally understanding his punishment. Kurt whispered as the fighter brushed behind him, "Keep your mouth shut next time."

Viktor placed the cone on his head and slogged to a stool in the back of the classroom. He moved the seat slightly, and the screeches accompanying it filled the room, shoving away the silence.

***A RHYME***

A school-aged boy sat slumped on a stool, receiving a school punishment far away from school.

An excellent teaching tool is to make one feel like a fool.

"Whoever speaks up next without asking is going to be our test dummy for activities. Got it?!" Layla wailed.

Everyone turned back towards the board and nodded.

"Good." Layla picked up a piece of chalk and began writing out an outline of class objectives while complaining simultaneously. "The only reason I'm teaching you all is that the camp is short-staffed. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

She tapped the chalked next to her first point, "In this first week, we will be going over basic protocol. This includes sign recognition, laws that you can't cross, laws that protect you, etcetera. There will also be a portion that teaches traps that the enemies set up specifically for you guys." She snapped her fingers, and the younger nurse pulled out a crate of books from an open closet.

The younger nurse buzzed around the classroom, handing out books. Of course, I got a partially chewed-out book. The culprit must have been a rat, or maybe even a desperate soldier thinking that eating knowledge could help increase it. That would be quite an oxymoron.

I had to share the book, and Viktor didn't get one at all. I flipped the pages of dense material as nurse Layla continued her instructing. The remainder of that day's class consisted of describing the syllabus and outlining the material for that week.

At the end of the lecture, the boys and I gathered together outside the classroom. Viktor tossed away his "DUNSE" cap and chased after us.

I asked, "How are we all supposed to read when there's only one book?"

Viktor replied, panting with hands on his knees. "It's obvious. Break the book into three parts."

I replied. "Viktor, this isn't a cookie that you break into separate pieces."

"I don't mean it literally," he said, irritated.

"Then what do you mean?"

"We each read a part so together we know the whole book."

I sat on the thought for a while and handed a patronizing compliment. "Wow, you actually said something meaningful for once, Viktor."

Kurt added, "Don't get used to it."

When we got home, excuse me, when we got back to the barracks, we saw the cadets doing something rather peculiar. Their beds grew stark of cheap belongings. The barracks felt slimmer, as if not having to bear the weight of so many personal belongings.

Instead, the bags grew fatter. One would assume our shitty bunkmates were moving out. That's for sure what the boys and I thought.

The assumption proved accurate for the ever-entertaining Milo threw a verbal jab. "I won't have to see you shit-stains for a long time. I finally get to go home." Some other cadets put their fists in the air as if agreeing with the sentiments.

"Why did no one tell us we get a break?" I looked at my friends.

Milo answered for me, "Because you three don't get a furlow. You have special training."

Viktor murmured. "That's not fair."

"It is fair. You're trying to over-achieve and do extra work when you aren't even required to." Milo zipped his bag shut and laid down on his bed.

My decent mood laid down on the ground and went to sleep as a more irritated mood replaced it. Kurt, Viktor, and I walked to our beds and sat on the edge of the cardboard mattresses.

Kurt asked, "Anyway, who's going to read the first few chapters?"

"I have the story to write," I said, disgruntled.

"I have to," Viktor looked around the barracks as if trying to come up with an excuse, "take a dump." He ran to the door and left.

Kurt's nostrils flared, and he murmured, "The crippled one has to suffer first, huh?" He laid flat and did his best to hold the book without the pages falling out from the binding.

I pulled out a few pieces of paper and got to writing. I spent a few minutes shaking the pen to get the ink to work, but it looked like it had dried out, so I dusted off my thievery skills. I went to Viktor's bag and searched for a pencil, which I did find, but I also came across some used tissue papers.

I felt a sudden need to wash my hands, but I simply returned to my bed and continued writing.

A page into the draft, the narrator came to my bed. He looked at my eyes, but his gaze repeatedly dropped to my paper. His stubby bread no longer hugged his face; it was clean-shaven and naked, and he looked like he de-aged a few years.

I asked without hesitation, "You want to steal this from me as well, don't you?"

"I won't lie to you. I do want to. I want to take it home and make this story ten times better than you."

"Yet, you aren't going to take this from me, are you?"

"I won't. Because no matter what you write, everyone in this room will think it's mine. So you're doing the work for me."

The narrator walked back to his bunk. His odd threat wasn't surprising but still radiated enough to make me ponder how worthwhile this writing would be if I didn't even get credit for it. Either way, the mail soldier paid me, even if it was a few coins.

When nighttime had finally arrived, my bunkmates stood in a line to the door like worker ants with their heavy leaves. Kaslow was checking off a notepad with each devil that passed. Milo made sure to scoff at us on his way out, and others did as well.

Kaslow stayed at the doorway till every bunkmate passed. He crossed his arms after the procession finished and leaned against the door.

"Look's like it'll just be you three here until your combat medic training is over." He paused as if waiting for a response. When he didn't get any, he continued. "When they get back, you three will be medics and there will only be a little while before your first battle."

"If you don't mind me asking, sergeant, what will the battle be?" Kurt asked, closing the book. I heard Viktor gulp, likely from the thought of battle.

"That is a secret! I can't share that with lowly privates like you. Besides, I don't know fully what we are going to do." The conversation fell quiet before he picked it up again. "But I can tell you what you are going to do in the few-day interval before the battle. Would you like to know?"

"Yes, sarge." Kurt replied.

"We will go to the nearest city, and have a wonderful day. Or at least, I will." he made a dirty chuckle. "We are on the tip of Marley, so this city is under Marleyan rule. We captured it from the mid-east swine so you will get to taste their cuisine, but many aristocrats live there so you won't be surrounded by the scummy mid-east civilians. You will find more domesticated ones there."

Kaslow's sickening talk of the mid-easterners made me uncomfortable, but thankfully, he changed the subject. "On the morning of that day, we are going to have a performance to boost morale, and I want you, Kurt to perform in it."

Kurt pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you! Who else is named Kurt? Anyway, you're going to ride a unicycle with a clown hat so my higher-ups can laugh at you after all their stressful planning. You'll be a true Eldian circus monkey like I told you were on day 1."

Kurt didn't even question the embarrassing nature of the plan but instead considered the logistical aspects of the endeavor. "I don't know how to ride a unicycle, however."

"We will get one."

"And I don't have a clown wig."

"We will get one."

"I don't have a unicycle either."

Kaslow shouted, "Shut up!" He waved his arms to accentuate his point. "Shut up!" He then moved on to Viktor and me. "You two were great drama stars when we had the special examination at the village a while back. I'm almost tempted to give you a play script and have you act it out. But we don't have a budget for that."

'Kaslow the party planner' was definitely a title I hadn't expected. 'Kaslow the Vile,' or 'Kaslow the Prince of Tyranny' would be better-suited names along with 'Kaslow the Sexually Frustrated.' It appeared that staring at nurses got too stale for him.

After more routine berating, Kaslow left the boys and me to ourselves. The silence shattered my ears, for there was no longer the chittering of squirrel-like cadets but only the breathing of over-achieving devils.

The following week passed by decently. The quietness of the barracks was jarring, but consuming the required readings played a great distraction. The nurse's abrasive teaching techniques kept us focused in class, for we always feared the threat of wearing the 'DUNCE' cap. Fortunately, I avoided the cap for most of the week, but I did something that deserved it on Friday.

Nurse Layla asked questions off the top of her head, trying to test our understanding of the material. Around five questions, she asked a private in front of the class, "Private, tell me one of the formal laws of war pertaining to combat medics."

He delivered without hesitation, "None shall fire at a soldier wearing a red cross on their helmet and a red cross armband."

"Private Steiner," the nurse paused as if preparing tension before a tricky question. "What is one method our enemies use to take advantage of medics, and soldiers in general, to mistakenly inject titan serum into a wounded soldier?"

"Masking it in a vile commonly used to deliver medicine." Simple enough.

"Yes," a fleeting sense of confidence brushed over me before she asked another question. "What is this medicine?"

I didn't know. The book had a few missing pages, but I didn't make much trouble about it since I didn't think Layla would actually reference that. Anyway, she did reference it, and when I didn't have an answer, the boys leaned towards me quizzically, and the nurse scowled, as expected. I froze.

The younger assistant nurse handed me a 'DUNCE' cap, and I knew my duty. Nurse Layla didn't even have to tell me anything. I just went to the corner of the room and bathed in embarrassment along with two other shamed privates.

Nurse Layla provided the correct answer, but in my embarrassment and in my friends' embarrassment, none of us actually remembered the right answer. I only picked up, "If they are not allowed to fire at you, they find ways to get around that law. This is one of them."

That definitely didn't come to bite us later…

XXX

***WEEK 2***

The second week did not require much reading, to my fortune. It consisted of more regular tasks one would associate with medics: first-aid practices.

Nurse Layla shouted while waving her drumstick, "We are already in the second week. In the next couple of days, you all will practice using tourniquets, bandages, and how to administer plasma." She paused. "I want to make something clear. Your job isn't to be a surgeon or make diagnoses. Your job is to stabilize a wounded person and take them to a medical tent so that the surgeons can perform surgeries. Got it?!"

Everyone nodded.

"Good." She looked down at her desk and moved papers around as if looking for something. After some unsavory language, she pulled out a rolled-up rubber strip. "Who wants to be our first patient?"

Silence.

Viktor lowered his head as if trying to appear more compact and unnoticeable.

Layla nurse pointed, "Thanks for volunteering, Viktor."

Viktor raised his head and replied sarcastically, "It's my pleasure." He walked to the front of the room, and Layla moved her chair to a presentable position and told Viktor to stand on top of it.

When Viktor stood on top, she began providing instructions. "If Private Viktor happened to be bleeding below the knee, we would need to stop blood flow to the wound." She took the long rubber strip and wrapped it around Viktor's middle thigh while listing the specifics of how to do it.

Viktor watched his leg but made occasional glances at Kurt and me. His lips moved with an exaggerated pouting face as if he was trying to tell us something. He must have been saying, "help me." But Kurt and I enjoyed watching that man get embarrassed.

"If blood flow is restricted for too long,..." The nurse wandered off with her voice, and Viktor attempted to wiggle his toes, but his leg restriction didn't seem to quite allow it. The nurse returned, "I don't think you want to know." She removed the tourniquet, and I shivered at the thought of Viktor's leg shriveling up like a grape.

Layla ordered the younger nurse to get a box of tourniquets from the closet. The box happened to be filled with thin ropes, belts, and thin rubber straps. The girl kept her head down and sped over to a closet without making a sound.

Layla must have noticed everyone's bewilderment at the assortment of items. "You can make a tourniquet with nearly everything. You can't be picky on the battlefield." The younger nurse then passed one 'tourniquet' to each person; I ultimately got a withered belt with a dulled-out metal buckle.

Layla marched us all out of the classroom to get some practice outside. If someone laid on the room floor with a fake injury instead of going out, some rat would probably jump out of a closet, fart in someone's face, and make an actual injury.

I practiced on Kurt outside while Viktor watched with his arms crossed. In the middle of adjusting the belt, nurse Layla shared an observation. "Hmph, you look like you've done this before."

I thought back to when I rescued Milo with a first aid kit and tourniquet. I lied, "I haven't, ma'am. The process just seems quite logical to me."

"To everyone else here, it seems like they're trying to amputate limbs."

She turned her head away instantly as if she noticed someone doing the process wrong. She squawked, "Hey, you aren't supposed to wrap the tourniquet around someone's neck if they have a headache!" She scurried away while humiliating the clueless cadet, basically choking his friend.

"Anyway," Viktor sighed as if seeing some idiot mess up a training activity was a routine event, "you're going to be our tourniquet person, Heinrich. You seem to be good with bandages and all those things." He looked at Kurt, "you can be our strategy person."

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but Viktor shushed him. "I know what you're going to say. You're gonna say I'm the group's stupid person."

Kurt replied. "Well, I wasn't going to say that. But you insulted yourself so my work here is done."

Viktor groaned and shoved a pebble into Kurt's hair —a wordless comeback.

***WEEK 3***

Week two passed by embarrassment-free, partly due to my wondrous abilities with first aid tools. I turned in my story chapters on schedule, and the mail soldier paid me a few coins every time, so with each scribble of the stolen pencil, the story's future filmed itself in my mind. The editing, the film cutting, grew more aggressive, and I had a film to paint with watercolor-like words.

I want to talk about Week 3 the most since this week was the most memorable.

Nurse Layla yelled at the beginning of class, "This is the final week, you all! Are you going to miss this training?" She asked in an almost approachable voice.

No replies were made except for the chirps of crickets, and it wasn't even nighttime yet.

She looked back at the board, "Yea, that's what my children sounded like before I got shipped out here." I didn't expect that sentimentality from her but she brushed past the depressing comment and began writing on the board again. "This week will be about using stretchers, navigating the battlefield while combat is going on around you, and lastly, empathy training." She stood still with the chalk as if absorbing that last point properly.

Empathy training.

"All of you devils will be the last faces some of the wounded soldiers will ever see in your first battle. And because of that, you have to send them off well. That will be the last day of training." Who would have thought that a mean nurse would be the one to teach empathy? I didn't.

She moved back to the topic of stretchers. "Stretchers make for a great target, so if an enemy shoots an injured person being carried, all the morphine and materials spent will go to waste…So, choose who to save wisely. This is a game of numbers. Stay as rational as possible…."

This lecturing continued until we were ordered outside to practice our stretcher carrying skills. Believe it or not, carrying an almost dead person with the help of another person is more challenging than you think.

Nurse Layla sorted us into groups of three. I stayed with my friends, thankfully.

Layla described the simple procedure for us to follow. There were two different kinds of trios: (A) One group would be the combat medics, and the remainder (B) would be regular soldiers in the midst of combat. One person per group of three would need to lie down on a stretcher, while the two teammates leftover would carry opposite ends of the stretcher.

My trio was one of the "A" groups.

On the small field we were using, the "B" groups would be dispersed randomly on the area while the "A" groups stood on one side. Their goal was to make it across the field and push through fellow Eldian soldiers.

After Layla provided the instructions, the boys and I argued over who should take what position.

Viktor suggested, "Kurt, you lie down on the stretcher since… don't make me say it."

"No, you lie down on the stretcher. I can carry."

"It is more effective if Heinrich and I are the ones to carry. It just makes sense."

"No," Kurt stayed adamant. His freckles focused in. "I can do this."

Viktor caved into Kurt's stubbornness and laid down on the stretcher. He made some useless comments, as always. "This feels like a hammock."

I added. "You should take a shower later. You don't know how many people died on that." Viktor's eyes went still with that thought, and Kurt got into a position where his back was facing my front.

The nurse blew the whistle, and the group "B" people started jogging around without an obvious direction. I ordered, "now!" and Kurt and I picked up the stretcher carrying Viktor. Other group "A" people began running into the mess.

"Can you guys, hurry up. I'm dying here." Viktor moved his arms around his stomach as if trying to express blood pouring out from his body like a volcano.

"Hold on," I said. "We need to think of a plan."

"What plan?" Kurt said. "These group B people aren't following a plan." After a few more seconds, Kurt said, "screw it," and began running forward without warning me. He almost yanked the stretcher from my hands.

We ran into the crowd of buzzing soldiers, and our fellow combat medics were already halfway into the field. I tried my best to not run fast to keep the stretcher stable, but Kurt kept trying to speed up. It was almost like I was competing against him over control of the stretcher.

After a few soldiers buzzed past us and we entered into the thick part of the disorder, Viktor began swatting away people that approached with his arms. Kurt and I were too focused on weeding through the buzzing of people around us. It was like the air was being sliced all around us.

Viktor's swatting failed, and a lanky, giraffe-like man approached us from the left with his broomstick limbs. His long strides threw me off guard, and he crashed into me. My body tripped him, and he landed ass-first onto Viktor.

The giraffe man got up immediately and revealed Viktor's new face. It was flat, likely from the weight of another person and simply feeling violated by acquainting himself with the netherregions of a stranger. Kurt and I didn't dwell on this and re-orientated ourselves.

Ultimately, we finished this activity second to last of group A people.

Viktor got off the stretcher and started spitting to get a bad taste from his mouth, whereas Kurt sat on the ground, trying to gather his breath again. I was surprised that his lungs didn't give out during the activity itself, but we didn't run too fast anyway, so it made sense. I was simply glad we finished it at all.

Nurse Layla stormed towards us. He dropped her complaints of Viktor first. "Private Viktor, you're supposed to be dead. What was with those arm attacks? You didn't follow the activity properly." Viktor made a sheepish grin while rubbing the back of his head.

She then looked at Kurt and me. "You two did decently enough. But the timing is too slow. Every second counts with your job." We nodded, and Layla went to other cadets before giving new directions for group A members to switch roles with group B members.

To say the least, playing the role of disordered soldiers was more fun.

Walking back to the barracks that day, I contemplated only having one week left of training. I was looking forward to that fun day. Viktor, on the other hand, kept whining about the activity. "Never have I ever smelled a worse ass than that before."

Kurt grimaced in disgust. "You've smelled ass before? What kind of freak does that?"

"Me apparently."

I laughed, but it ended with the weight of thought that I would go into battle properly in a matter of weeks. I still hadn't written a letter back to my parents…

The last day of training was the worst feeling I had in that month. Not only was it the last day of medical combat training but my final bit of education for quite a while. The feeling sat like a pit in my stomach and usurped all energy that I could muster. Kurt and Viktor reflected these sentiments even without directly telling me. I could see it on Viktor's jaw and on Kurt's freckles.

Nurse Layla started out quiet, "This is the last day I'm going to see you all…unless one of you gets injured and goes to the medical tent. I will be there to yell at you." She sat down at her desk. "Sentiment training has finally arrived. You're going to learn how to comfort people in the most vulnerable time of their lives."

Layla put the chalk on the board and wrote the first lie of many, "The first one is 'you're going to be fine.' You must say this to every injured person you deal with, even if it's a lie. Do you know why that it is?"

No one answered, and she continued. "When the body is torn, your mind is as well. Soothing the person's mind can increase the likelihood of recovery. We don't have scientific backing on this yet, but we do it anyway."

She looked back to her board and wrote down the rest of the points, crafted to not necessarily bring the truth but instead increase the likelihood of someone pulling through.

The only thing I dreaded that morning was the uncertainty if she would make us practice this on a classmate. The genuine possibility that any one of my bunkmates and my friends could get killed in the upcoming battle was far from comfortable.

She made us practice. "You are all going to practice it now." Her voice was mellow but still articulate. Any abrasiveness we were accustomed to did not show. "Pair up with the person on your right. We will do this one at a time starting from the pairs at the front."

Viktor was on my right.

The awkwardness of telling acquaintances and friends sappy things clogged the room, but Layla interrupted once in a while as if we were in a stage-acting class. We had to feign sympathy and emotion with a script written by the underdog writers that are nurses and doctors.

Kurt's pair finished. The asthmatic boy tilted his head to me and said quietly with fake tears in his voice, "you're next."

I looked at the boy who liked to fight, "Viktor…." I couldn't get my lips to move sympathetically. They were frozen. "You're going to be fine."

At first, Viktor's words sounded unnatural, but he was a better actor than me, and they flattened out nicely into erratic, dying man language. "I'm not going to make it. Was I…at least useful?"

"Yes, I'm sure your parents-" I paused. "And your sister would be proud of you." A fat pause followed, and Viktor's lips curled slowly and painfully as he closed his eyes. All I could hear for the next few seconds were a few gusts of wind knocking on the doors, breaking into the fantasy.