ikanisfish: Indeed, the time during this pandemic has flowed by so fast. I guess that's because every day is more similar than when compared to before the pandemic.

In regards to this story, I recently skimmed over its initial chapters, and it's astonishing how far I've come. My understanding of writing then and now feels so different. It's like a night and day difference, in my head at least.

irosokuyammamoto: I honestly wasn't expecting you to show up to this story again lol. I assumed you lost interest in this or got really busy with your current fic since you're uploading more frequently. Anyway, hope you keep reading when you get a chance :)

As a general note to no one in particular, I looked over a few of my older chapters, and to be honest, I was quite embarrassed by my writing. Although, I am confident I did the best I could with the skill level that I had at the time of writing each chapter. Nonetheless, if someone else had written this story exactly the same, I probably would not have read it.

This makes me respect fanfic readers in general. You guys have to read through weak stuff until you find something decent.

An Eldian's Journal

The Tale of 1000 Men

Chapter 47: Time Pass

The training camp diminished into the size of Milo's brain as a fleet of Eldians, and I rode away in trucks and military vehicles. The nerves involved in knowing you would soon be placed as the repairman of an injured soldier's leaky valves were beyond stressful. The combat medic role may have been slightly safer than your average infantry, but that didn't take away the general anxiety of the position.

To reduce the stress, I tried thinking of the Psychologist's advice, but his techniques were easier said than done for some reason. Knowing the advice during the rifle exam proved fruitful, but I can't say the same while I sat in the back of a mangy bus.

Oh well, that's just what it be sometimes.

Viktor and Kurt duplicated my thoughts, not with their words but non-verbal cues. Their body language may not have had an alphabet to depict themselves, but the body signs were louder than Kaslow on an angry day.

Viktor looked out the window like a jailed bird, and Kurt's face quaked like a quivering glass of water on an unsteady table. I wondered what my stressed look was like, but my annoying brain compensated for the expression by sending little soldiers around my body that told me to jump out of the bus.

Don't worry. I didn't do that. That would have made writing this journal a teeny bit more complicated.

After the bus driver started playing some radio music with pretentious violins and fat tubas frolicking like overly-coordinated ballet dancers, Viktor struck up some conversation. He stopped looking out the window and asked Kurt and me, "What do you think the boat ride will be like?"

"I think it will make you sick," I replied.

"Yeah?" Viktor sat down properly, "after eating that horrible dining room food, I think my stomach is trained for this."

"You think so?" Kurt asked slow.

Viktor smiled, acting almost cocky. "I know so."

Kurt punched Viktor in the stomach, and Viktor spat out the air from his lungs, shooting some saliva at me. It dotted my pants around the knee.

"I wasn't expecting that," Viktor strainingly said.

Kurt shrugged. "Expect the unexpected. I guess your stomach isn't as strong as you thought."

Milo got up from the seat behind and slapped Kurt in the nape. Kurt reflexively swatted the hand away while grimacing. Milo then rested his chin on the top edge of the seat, almost content with mischief. "Expect the unexpected."

The road must have hit a bump since I raised a few centimeters from my seat. The same few centimeters pushed Milo's jaw onto his tongue, and he yelped in pain.

Kaslow yelled from the front, "expect the unexpected, indeed."

After an hour or two of unpleasantries and sightseeing, the rumbling buses and the accompanying vehicles slowed to a stop. We stayed in place as Kaslow gave us orders on what the rest of the journey would be like, and I tried my best to listen despite the ships waiting like cars along a street.

These ships moaned like cows. The road-like sea holding them shimmered in the evening sun, constructed spectacularly by the green hands of tectonic plates and landmasses. The sunlight was a rolled-up blanket that unraveled onto it, and seagulls came around to lay their markings.

We all got out of the buses and vehicles with our belongings. The boys and I followed our directions, and when finished, we used our thirty-minute break to look out into the sea properly.

The docks disrupted the sea since it shoved into the water like a disruptive child reaching for some candy. The boats were fat and smoked cigars like the pompous noble men I saw once before. They huffed dark smoke into the air, and I was reminded of my time outside a coal house with some ice-cream worshippers.

Viktor cracked his knuckles and lifted his index finger slow but deliberately. He pointed at the body of water and asked, "what do you think is across the sea?" He turned, looking at us with calm eyes. The deep, dark brown iris pulled me in.

Kurt retorted, "People that want to spill food on us by accident." I nodded in affirmation.

Viktor rolled his eyes as if expecting a serious answer. Nonetheless, no one laughed. We were simply in awe of the sight before us. What else is there to do when every bit of your eyes is consumed by a new stimulus?

After a timeless moment of awe, everyone packed into the ships for another voyage with sweaty men and deceptive food. Only this time, the floor underneath us would wobble instead of bumping along as you'd expect on a road, and thankfully, there weren't any stupid streetwalkers that decided to run in the middle of traffic. Annoying boats with annoying soldiers were the water equivalents of that.

Halfway through that segment of the trip, the evening overpowered the day, and the soldier in the sky rolled up his sunlight blanket to go to bed. Unfortunately, my stomach didn't want to go to bed. It whined like a constipated cadet after eating a bean casserole, which, ironically, was one of the things I ate that day.

This whining transformed into nausea, and I rocked back and forth in my seat, unsure of what to do. I needed to vomit badly.

Viktor said with punctuated words, "Don't. You. Dare." He must have read my face. He then grabbed my head with one hand on my chin and one on my hair. Kurt asked him why he was treating me like a sandwich, and Viktor replied, "I'm trying to stop him from throwing up."

'Trying' was a perfect word for this situation. Viktor tried, but he failed.

Like a leaky car with oil, vomit sputtered from my lips, and my abdomen convulsed. Every cadet near me backed away in disgust, and Viktor let go of me and started knocking on the window as if a murderous alien jumped out of my stomach.

A few minutes of mocking ensued until another cadet threw up as well. I'm glad I wasn't alone. A poor custodian came by with an already vomit-colored mop and saved me from inhaling my mess even further.

After the custodian left, Kurt shared a gift with me. "Have this," he held out a cookie he got from earlier. "It's to replenish your stomach."

Viktor wasn't a fan of altruism, so he broke into this one-way gift exchange and stole half the cookie. His defense was, "I'm taking half for my troubles."

Ah yes, troubles.

We were going to face a lot of those.

XXX

The world outside was pitch black except for specks of light that flickered and outlined the ships when arriving at the foreign destination. I couldn't see much detail, but in all honesty, the more discrete, the better. After all, we were in enemy territory, and I was glad we didn't encounter a city right off the bat either.

Kaslow and other sergeants ordered us outside. I almost wanted to hug the land since I missed the stability, but this fleeting feeling got covered up by knowing I was no longer in Marley. The boys were happy too by the stable land, but their excitement fizzled out.

Military audios whirred and beeped for the next few minutes. The ship captains must have reported their arrival to a nearby Marleyan camp, or they could have just complained about Kaslow being in the bathroom for too long.

While we waited for fellow Marleyan vehicles from the nearby camp to greet us, people carried out all necessary equipment from the ships' hulls. The boys and I stayed relatively quiet the whole time, likely still absorbing the weight of being in a new country and noticing we would soon help to elongate the colonial desires of an empire that favored subjugating others.

A feeling irked me along with that thought. Not a longing for a guitar, not my encounter with a prostitute, not even my memories of discrimination.

I just wanted my mama and papa.

Sending those letters to my parents sparked gratitude in me. I began to appreciate their simple ways and found humor in how we all harped on each other. Ironically, having that sense of respect for them kept me warm after my negative thought. As this feeling flooded me, I stood closer to my friends since they were the only anchor I had at that moment. I, too, felt gratitude for them. I felt like I was hoisted up by this feeling, for it kept me up high.

New military vehicles pulled up, and their lights punched me, distracting me from my thinking. I recognized the beige, Marleyan uniforms on the drivers. They walked out and helped pack the supplies. The recruits and I aided until it was time to head to the new camp.

Our nighttime travel to the new camp was as silent as you would expect from transporting weapons. The truck a few recruits and I were on grumbled almost like a grudge-holding cabbage seller. This sound woke Viktor repeatedly while he slept sitting up. Kurt and I stared at our boots and occasionally looked out the back of the truck, almost paranoid for a surprise attack. This sound woke Viktor repeatedly while he slept sitting up.

Kurt and I knew we had arrived at the training camp when we noticed a Marleyan squatting near a tree, likely taking a shit. The trees grew in numbers like they formed a perimeter. The ground was still dry dirt, similar to the previous training camp, even with the trees around. My mouth felt just as dry.

After Kurt slapped Viktor awake, we all got out of our vehicles and observed the new camp. I must emphasize that it wasn't really "new," it was just new to us since we had never seen that specific one before.

Clotheslines surrounded the trucks like statues with old clothes drying out on them. Giant pots were lying around, and they looked large enough to cook in. I guess that was quite a downgrade from the dining room kitchenware. I'm afraid to say there were no longer "rocks masquerading as bread" but instead "rocks acting as rocks."

After tightening his belt, Kaslow took a deep sigh, and he snapped everyone out of their dismal sight-seeing experience. "Alright, subordinate mutts. Welcome to camp Barnsil. This is where you all are going to experience your first battle."

As Kaslow shouted indecently, a bald man with hair on the sides of his head like a silver carpet peeked out from a tent and walked out. Other military officials followed him without a drop of tiredness on their crinkled faces. I guess the radio signals went to these people.

Kaslow got distracted from his shouting and greeted the officials. All the beer-bellied men gathered together, likely talking about how to get us flat-bellied boys killed as soon as possible. Handshakes were thrown around, and smoke-ridden breath got handed around too.

At the end of the conversation, the bald man addressed the regular soldiers and I with a greeting and a detailed explanation of the night's agenda. He ended with, "I'm glad to have you soldiers on this mission. The battle will start two days from now, however, it is against weak numbers, which is why we have recruits straight from training join."

'Wait, what. That soon?' I wondered. 'I could get killed as soon as two days?' Whispers from fellow recruits reciprocated my reaction. It spread like a fire, yet some cadets clapped for the official. They must have wanted their chance to fight for "honor" as soon as they could get it.

A sleepy Viktor didn't register what was going on and clapped in confusion. I stopped his hands, and he stared at me groggy-eyed.

The crowd of soldiers and I disbanded to get to our necessary places. A soldier from camp Barnsil gathered the recruits from my barracks, leading us to a new set of trenches integrated with the camp.

I hoped I wouldn't have to face a stupid rat again.

The serpent-like path of trenches grew more detailed as we approached. It started as a wide path that narrowed and descended into the ground. Sandbags outlined the edges.

The soldier leading us explained the general situation after turning on a flashlight, "I'm sure you had a much nicer camp back on Marley. But this place isn't like that since this isn't a training camp. It's a set of trenches first and a camp second." I was still under the impression the entire week before that we would get used to the new country for a few days, in a real camp at that, but it looked like we would be thrown straight into the action. As usual, we recruits were rarely notified of anything beforehand. How desperate was Marley's situation to make them do something like this?

The Barnsil soldier continued, "you all will be climbing out of these trenches soon enough and face those mid-east cunts head-on." I expected whispers of complaints from the recruits, but the patter of footsteps covered it.

Good thing I was a combat medic. I wouldn't have to face the mid-easterners head-on as the other recruits would. At least, that's what I thought.

The Barnsil soldier led my barracks' people to a curtain in the heart of the trenches. It led to a room stuffed with bunk beds, somehow even more unappealing than the one I used before. The bedsheets were the thick must in the room, a smell strong enough to cover a human and strangle one with its warmth.

The soldier gave us some directions and a sarcastic reference to the room as a "palace" and then left after lighting some candles. He was a splendid innkeeper.

I set my bag on a bunk, and Kurt took the bunk next to me. One bunk stayed empty above me, and as usual, Viktor threw a fit about it. "Heinrich," he started while setting his bag down. "I'm taking the bottom bunk."

"I'm already settled," I said, lying down and stretching my legs out.

"No you're not." Viktor started pushing me off the bunk. I tried pulling his hands away, but he was successful enough in pushing me off to get my feet touching the bunk's rusty metal bars. Ew. He then gave up and tried to push Kurt off. When that failed, he resigned his efforts and got onto the top bunk. The little ladder that led up to it must have been older than us three combined.

Milo started boasting about something in the room corner, and I listened in on it. He waved a little bottle around and lured some recruits in.

"Is that alcohol, Milo?" one of the recruits asked.

"No, it's a special kind of oil. My parents gave it to me since my skin is so dry." He lifted the bottle to the recruits acting oddly proud. After the recruits walked back to their bunks and continued the conversation, Milo screwed off the cap and spread some on his face and ears. Good thing he wasn't next to a candle. I heard fire and oil are nasty combos, but you don't need me to tell you that.

The boys and I spent some time afterward making useless conversation. We talked about the stupid camp name, the bald man, and the stinky environment. In general, there wasn't much substance to our words, but as my eyes pulled down in exhaustion, I let a too real of a thought loose: "Guys, I think I'm scared," to which no one replied. Guys never talk about their feelings.

That thought burned out as my eyes shut for a mediocre sleep.

XXX

I woke up a few hours into the night to hear some screaming. At first, I wondered if the ceiling was crumbling like my encounter with trenches before. I looked around, squinting to catch someone shuffling in their bed barely. A small object scurried away from him.

Oh great, another rat. I closed my eyes again, thinking it was yet another annoying encounter with the world's least favorite rodent.

The following day, I woke up to the sound of a trumpet. On second thought, it may have been a soldier that failed singing lessons but decided yelling for wake-up calls was a more fulfilling occupation. It's probably better than a trumpet, though, since that would bring too much attention.

I looked around with tight eyes and saw the usual recruits in the room, minus Milo. I wondered where he went at first but gave up after a few seconds since I needed to pee. I needed to do it fast.

As the failed singer continued his rooster behavior, I got out of my bunk and rushed to the curtain entrance. An inkling of light coated the pathway, but I didn't take much time to absorb the trenches in a time of the day I had never experienced them before. I let my instincts take me to a better area.

To my misfortune, instincts also depend on you knowing your environment.

I woke up some sleeping soldiers along the trench for some directions to an outhouse, but they all said the same thing with a sneer or annoyed look: "You're not a woman. Go take a piss by a bush or something."

I bolted to the entrance of the trenches, but not without bumping into men carrying sticks and getting lost a few times. After finding my way, I ran to the trees I saw the night before, but after some cooking soldiers gave me a weird look, I slowed to a jog.

I arrived at a stubby tree that slumped over as if it lacked self-esteem. I found out why it lacked fortitude when Kaslow came from behind the tree. I guess anything that came out of that man, whether it be words or body fluids, ruined nature in some form.

He zipped up his pants and said to me, "it's all yours, pal." He pointed to the tree.

I contemplated whether I should say thanks or not. (I decided not to.) Kaslow left, and I approached the tree.

Now, you may be wondering why I put effort into describing my short journey to pee. You see, I met a familiar friend while fighting to unzip my pants. It wasn't Milo or the wall-keeper ready to slap me with a book or even the rooster-like soldier.

I met the imaginary Ymir again.

"Hello, Heinrich," she said.

I hid my loins from the eavesdropper and almost shouted, "what are you doing?" until I realized I didn't have to yell to talk to her.

"I feel as though you ask that everytime I show up."

"And everytime, that question still stands."

The useless goddess ignored the statement and mentioned something else, "Anyway, I haven't seen you in a while."

"Maybe that's because my brain isn't messed up anymore."

"No chance." She watched me fiddle with my zip that failed to work correctly. "And by the way, you don't need to hide your…area. I'm your imaginary friend. I've seen it all."

I said sarcastically, "that's quite comforting to hear. You definitely don't sound like a stalker saying that."

As my imaginary friend continued talking, I tried to fix my pant zip, but I put too much strength in, and it derailed. I wasn't in the mood for entertaining the useless goddess's useless quips, and the annoying zip added to my immature loathing. I grew frustrated and yelled at Ymir with my full voice, "Just go away you useless twat!"

Ymir's facade of mischievousness melted into something vulnerable. It was the first time I'd seen it. She lowered her hands, and her fingers hung as if bricks were attached to each finger. Her grin ironed itself out, and she walked away.

I almost felt guilty as my imaginary friend left, but there's only so long you can feel this way when your underwear is sticking out of your pants.

I walked back to the trenches, holding my pants together. I hoped the breakfast "chefs" would ignore me and continue cooking out of their exquisite pots that looked more like coal than industrial kitchen appliances. Thankfully, after relieving myself, I was in a better mindset, and I noticed that the daylight gave the trenches some exposure. It revealed details veiled initially in the dark, and I could finally take them in.

It looked better veiled.

The trench pathways formed a strategic crossword puzzle of corridors and corners. Enemies would have to solve each row of this puzzle to figure out where to go if they were to enter. Thankfully, I had the Barnsil soldier to guide me the day before, so I didn't get lost.

I then wondered how the diggers had time to make a dugout for sleeping quarters. It looked like they didn't have much since grown men were scattered along the paths with rain ponchos as blankets instead of sleeping securely. They used their helmets as pillows. These men must have woken up miserable every morning, yet I had the gall to complain about a broken zipper. Utterly shameful.

One would hope for sidewalks to make transportation by feet easier, but the whole trench carried one flavor: dirt. Sure, wood planks were set up scarcely as walls and door frames for dugouts, but rain would moisten the soil into mud. This would be a breeding ground for bacteria and the infamous trench foot condition.

What was I getting into?

How did we only travel two hours from the edge of the country to already have war waiting at my fingertips?

I descended into the trenches, quietly observing the looks on the tea-drinking soldiers sitting along the path. I must have stared too closely since one of them started barking as if blaming me for their discontent.

When arriving at the sleep-quarters, I moved past the curtain to find a few drops of blood leading to the entrance. They must have been there before, but I hadn't noticed them. Nonetheless, I sat back down on my bunk as other cadets rushed out to relieve themselves.

"Good morning, Heinrich," Kurt said while scratching his eyes, trying to wake them up.

"Good morning, Kurt." I replied.

"Hey," Viktor said from the bunk above. "Why didn't you say good morning to me?"

"I didn't know you were awake."

"Well, now you do." Viktor grew silent as if expecting me to say something. He lowered his head from the bunk. The upside-down face looked at me expectantly again in all its puffiness.

"Good morning, Viktor."

"Good morning, Heinrich." Those weren't Viktor's words but rather Kaslow's, who was waiting at the curtain entrance. "And good morning to the rest of you. I say good morning since you won't have one of these for a while." Kaslow made a death march through the room and caught a recruit yawning, so he banged a metal bunk brace with the back of his fist, stopping the yawn in its tracks.

"I hope you enjoyed your sleep," he continued. "This room may be gone in a few days if you all do poorly in the mission, but we may not even need this space since half of you will be dead anyway." He scoffed, and I imagined the hairs on everyone's arms raised just from that off-handed comment.

Of course, you know I made it out alive. This journal wouldn't be possible without it. But how about my friends?

Anyway, Kaslow detailed our duties for the rest of the day. He said we would have to help the trench engineers place the final touches on the trenches and mentioned we would have a mission briefing the following day to learn the battle plan.

After the recruits and I finished our bathroom duties and ate a sorry excuse for breakfast (some porridge and a slice of dry bread), a few trench engineers took groups of six and dispersed. I was placed with four random recruits, but we were missing the sixth, to which my designated trench engineer said we would work without him for a while until he got back from the medical tent.

My group arrived with a few carts of sandbags at a barren part of the trench that wasn't fortified yet. I can assure you; it wasn't fun to wheel these carts on the dirt that grew increasingly uneven as we approached the unrefined portions of the trench. It felt like riding a wave with a shopping cart instead of a board.

The engineer ordered me and the random recruits to set the sandbags on the trench edge, which sounds easy, but the issue is in reaching this upper edge. I was only five and a half feet tall then, and these trenches can be at least seven feet deep. This engineer couldn't help either for a reason I'll get to in a bit.

I made it work, though. I begged the engineer for a stool, and after getting one, I stood on it and lugged the bags onto the edge using momentum. I almost pulled a bicep muscle after the fifth time, but that's okay.

This process felt like applying make-up onto a sultry war structure so the mongrel mid-easterners could get seduced and then get torn by our bullets. However, this brainless progression of rock-pillow piling got interrupted by a familiar ape. I looked past its bandages to pick up on a recognizable sneer. It was Milo. He approached the engineer and introduced himself.

"Milo?" I whispered, surprised.

Milo walked away from the engineer and said, more aggravated than usual. "Stop looking at me like that."

"What happened to your ear?" I hopped off my stool and looked closer. He shoved me and started pawing at the cart of sandbags.

Milo finally admitted, "A rat chewed it off."

"What?"

"I guess the little bastard liked how my special oil tasted. It woke me up in the middle of the night and chewed a chunk of my ear off. The doctor had to stop an infection and whatever so I slept at the medical tent the entire night."

I usually would be happy that my bully got the punishments he deserved, but getting this right before a battle sounded rough. I did my best not to smile.

Milo then brought out his picture of Pieck as always, and his thumbs caressed the face creepily. "Oh Pieck, maybe I'll see you in a few days on this battlefield." He kept up with this awkward behavior until the engineer scolded him, "What the hell are you doing? Get to work." He whispered, "creep."

I stared at the dry red on the bandage around Milo's ear as he lugged the bags onto the edge. I got to work with the other bags, but I sparked the conversation back up after ten minutes or so. "Milo," I almost retracted my question in hesitancy. "Are you ready for the battle?"

Milo firmly placed a bag and said "yes" with even greater firmness. He pointed at the vast plain past the trenches where the regular infantry would storm across and said, "The moment the captain yells 'over the top,' I will climb over the edge and storm through no man's land and get to the other side." He paused and stared at me with a sandbag in his grip. Veins lined his hands boldly like dark ink on a page. "And I won't need you or your two friends saving me." He then placed the bag securely.

The confidence was inspiring, but the engineer said a few words about this. He squeezed Milo's shoulder with his one available arm and almost growled with ferocity. You could see his temple nerve bulge, but he kept himself tamed.

The engineer's voice sounded like calm sand being moved by the wind. "I said something similar four months ago when all this began. 'I will be a hero.'"

Milo stayed silent. At least he understood his place.

"Shake my hand."

Milo looked down at the engineer's sleeve. It looked like a regular sleeve; however, there was no bone or flesh to back it up. It hung limply off his elbow. The trenchman was an amputee.

The engineer continued, "I'm sure it would be easier if I had a hand." The engineer continued, "But you can bet I didn't say 'I will be a hero' again when my elbow got shot." His jaw quivered as if it was becoming loose. "Do you understand me?"

Milo didn't respond. He kept his face away.

"Look at me," the engineer told Milo. He refused to look, and the engineer insisted. "Look at me, boy! I can't hold my wife with two arms ever again."

Milo's eyelids opened wide as he watched the engineer raise the hollow sleeve of his right arm to reveal a scarred half-arm. "Why do you think I became a trench engineer instead of raising the ranks after my first missions? I had to get my forearm amputated."

The engineer poked at my secondary armband, the one with a red cross. "This is a cross you will pray to see." He kept poking at it. "I saw someone with this, and they stuffed morphine and plasma in me and carried me to safety."

Milo backed away with his head low. I couldn't decipher what expression he was making, for it was too flat. Had something finally made the man speechless? I can't blame him for being that way, especially after the Eldian engineer shut down the hero mentality the propaganda posters nurtured as false hope for Eldians.

"What are you doing?" I looked left to see Kaslow approaching with hands behind his back.

The engineer answered, faking respect for the military. "I'm showing them my badge of honor. This is what I suffer for our nation."

"That's right." Kaslow lifted his gaze to observe the work we accomplished, but it wasn't enough for him. "Now, pick up the pace."

"Yes, sir." the engineer responded.

Kaslow glared at the amputee.

"Yes, sergeant."

We watched as Kaslow walked away. The back of his pants looked clean and unadulterated by the filthy trenches, which contrasted us Eldians who simply breathe and dirt sticks to us.

The engineer stepped closer to Milo. His assertiveness was fueled by experience. "Don't ever disrespect a combat medic. And don't ever plan on being a hero." He then stepped back and delivered a truth that even me, as a bystander, could learn from.

***A TRUTH***

"Those that plan on being the heroes, don't always end up being ones out here."

The engineer stepped away, and we returned to our duties. Milo stayed silent, and I wondered if there was a new layer to him that I would learn about in the coming days. I mirrored him for the following hour as we transitioned to other activities.

I wondered, 'could I be a hero?'

XXX

The following day, the officials gave me, the recruits, and Barnsil soldiers a briefing on the mission that we would carry out that day. We didn't do this in an auditorium or anything requiring a large budget but did it in more manageable groups. I'm glad the bald official didn't just yell everything from the top of a wall. I can't see that going well.

What seemingly felt like one-thousand men were broken up into groups. Kaslow briefed me and the usual recruits in the dugout with bunks. While he stared at a paper by the dugout curtain, he addressed us in a more stately tone than we were accustomed to. Kaslow must have left the mockery at the door. He was taking us seriously for once.

"Alright, you maggots."

Nevermind.

"This mission is quite straightforward. The men in this camp have been tracking the density of mid-easterner troops in areas close to the coast ever since the war was declared. Much to their surprise, it has been thinning out. We think there is a retreat." He paused. "Higher-ups are thinking of taking them head-on to end this war as early as possible, especially as we need to prepare for what Paradis will do next. These trenches are only two hours away from the coast, so the troops originally stationed here will be dealing with this threat. However, they need more numbers so that is why we are here."

Kaslow kept blabbering about the general premise of the mission until a few minutes later when he introduced the objective. "The objective is simple. You all will storm in to break the mid-east line and turn the tide of this war."

Hearing that objective made my scalp crawl. It very much sounded like a mission that needed high numbers since there is a high chance for casualties per person. That's what happens when bombarding something, or in this case, artillery and plenty of troops.

What made my skin crawl, even more was when I realized the very people in the room with me could be lying on a stretcher in front of me with their intestines hanging out like spaghetti. Was it necessary that these military officials rush to finish the war so quickly?

I wasted time pondering these things since I was just a combat medic. I didn't have to run into battle directly.

Kaslow left the room, and everyone got out of their bunks to follow him.

"I think I need breakfast," Kurt murmured.

"After hearing all that, I'm not so sure if I'm in the mood."

I expected Viktor to reply with 'no one's ever in the mood to eat this food,' but he only sighed. Some recruits mirrored this defeated attitude, but others like Milo got riled up.

Milo came up to me and said, "even if that engineer told me not to expect to become a hero, it doesn't matter. If I lose a limb and go back to the internment zone, people will respect me. I volunteered to be here and people will remember me. Me." Words funneled from him like a spout, and it all landed on me.

Milo's continuous use of "me" got annoying, though. It's hard to seem individualistic when your duties only tap into a few areas. Self-centeredness is one of the worst things for a soldier since we were there to fight for the nation. We were a collective mass, not a group of individuals.

Anyway, the boys and I walked out of the trenches to get our breakfast, but after seeing the glimpses I got of people's teeth in between bites, I felt an urge to brush my teeth. These people's teeth hygiene was so horrid one could assume something died in each person's mouth. I swiftly returned to the trenches to get my toothbrush, which I used for so long before then that the bristles splayed out like wings.

After my second taste of porridge and bread, everyone gathered in the trenches, along the snake-like pathways that slithered in the ground.

The boys and I gathered in the outermost pathway, and the other recruits from my old camp wandered over with rifles. Some fists were tight while others wobbled. The more refined Barnsil soldiers filtered in with worn-down grips and calluses. They looked like they were in their thirties yet were in their early twenties. I guess being out in the heat without protection does that to a man.

I looked down from these men and looked at my friends. Our job was to wait, to anticipate, and to self-deprecate.

I asked, "So, what do we do now?"

"Sleep?" Viktor suggested.

"We just woke up a few hours ago." I retorted.

"So what? Your brain will be quiet in the time until someone orders us to do something." Viktor sat on the ground and closed his eyes. I observed intently, curious to see if he would fall asleep. After a few minutes, he opened his left eye-lid ever so slightly, as if trying to see what was going on.

I called him out on it, "I told you it's not possible."

Viktor opened his eyes fully. "Thanks for having confidence in me." He sighed while tapping his fingers on his knee. "Yea, I don't know what to do."

Everyone thinks that war is about action, but in reality, ninety percent of it is boredom. You have to find things to pass the time while waiting for your mission actually to start.

I sat down, looking through a pocket to find some things to help pass the time and dull the terror of what was to come. I had some tobacco Lina had given me before leaving the internment zone and one sheet of rolling paper. It was enough for one cigarette. I watched other recruits pull out some cigarettes, and I rolled my own to join a session of smoke gargling.

Kurt noticed the cigarette, "Can I have one?"

"No, you aren't old enough and you have asthma," Viktor responded. "Give me one instead, Heinrich. My sister gave the materials to you, so I should get some too."

Kurt responded, "you know I'm older than you by a year, right?"

Viktor messed up his argument. "Age is just a number."

"And lungs are just organs."

I borrowed a match from a neighboring soldier and lit my haphazardly rolled cigarette. The rolling paper's end shone orange like a mini sun, and I took a drag.

"Let me take a hit on that," Kurt said, reaching over.

"I don't know where your lips have been," I replied, trying to contain a cough.

"Yes you do. You've seen me eat the porridge last."

"Well, in that case." I blew out the smoke and watched some others do it as well. "You don't know where that spoon you used could have been. For all you know, it could have been in someone's ass."

Viktor said, almost proudly, "Lucky for me, I didn't use a spoon. I used my hands. Now give me the cigarette."

I took another drag, surprised by how smooth the first one was. "I don't think your hands would be any cleaner." I grinned at the boys, knowing that I defeated them in a battle of logic. All we had to do next was win the official battle.

The conversation died out in the following minutes, and the nicotine did the same. I felt disappointed that I couldn't wait until later to use that cigarette. It is what it is, though.

I noticed the narrator sitting half a dozen meters from me. He practiced reloading and unloading his rifle as if it was a meditative process for him, even helping him think. The guy stopped abruptly and scanned the pathway. His eyes briefly landed on mine.

The narrator stood up and let the rifle lay against the trench wall. He put his hands out like a circus performer greeting a crown, and he grinned, trying to mimic the charisma of one as well. I wondered what that story-stealing fool was about to do.

"How are you guys feeling today?" the narrator asked the crowd of smoke breathers.

No response.

"That's great. You guys are a very responsive crowd." He paused. "You know, I felt that same way when I saw the camp name for the first time. Like, come on, Barnsil? Are you guys sure there aren't any better names than that? It sounds like when you take 'Barn' and add the first three letters of 'silly.'" The narrator paused again as if expecting a laugh. Instead, someone responded, "That's just how language works."

It looked like the narrator was trying to crack jokes, but it didn't feel right, just like his oral storytelling.

The narrator continued anyway. "The porridge those 'chefs' made…" he made air quotes for chefs. "That stuff is out of this world and I say that since it's probably meant for aliens. I ate so much of that stuff since it was so watery. I could have drank it with a straw." The narrator paused again, expecting laughs but received Viktor's comments instead.

Viktor shouted to make up for the distance, "You probably ate so much since you have a tapeworm." This comment drew more chuckles from the crowd than the pathetic jokes did. The narrator glared at my friend.

A random soldier admitted, "I helped those chefs cook."

Viktor yelled what was on everyone else's mind. "Your jokes are terrible!"

The narrator's shoulders slumped as if he felt defeated, but when he recognized my friend, he said, "Viktor?" he then walked closer to us. "You know what is terrible, Viktor? Your rifle skills. You had to do the rifle exam twice to pass."

"That's true. But if you were trying to do stand-up comedy, you can sit-down since that didn't sound like comedy to me."

The comedy performance transitioned to an insult contest. The narrator asked, trying to sound cocky. "How many peaches did you peel for that peach fuzz mustache on your top lip?" Surprisingly, this was way more entertaining.

Viktor got up and stood face to face with the narrator. "More fruits than you eat in a year. Anyway, I want to give you a complement. That's a great beard you have there. What animal fur did you use to glue onto your cheeks?"

"A dog. Speaking of which, your mother was crying for me last night. She said she missed me."

"Oh really? I heard the same from your mother about me. But she's a cow instead of a dog."

The two performers paused as laughter sprung up spottily in the crowd.

The narrator continued. "I helped your mother brush her teeth with my own homemade toothpaste." I didn't expect that innuendo. I feel sorry for any kids that I accidentally came across this journal on the ground.

Viktor responded, "I appreciate you helping her. You should probably use some for your own teeth since it looks like something died in there."

This constant flow of insults bamboozled me. How could people have such wit for making insults like this? Maybe if we could convert this power to the war effort, we could save some lives. I think it's best to keep it as it is, though.

The insults went on for a few more minutes until they started feeling forced, and the crowd lost focus. Viktor ended with. "At least I don't lie about making up stories." That didn't receive laughs, but he looked at me and I realized he referenced an event from a little while back…

The narrator sat back down thoroughly humiliated, and I felt content for a short while, then edged on some pity. Despite his mediocrity, he must have wanted to entertain people to aid time passing. I can respect that intention, even if the execution was lacking.

Viktor sat back down and Kurt and I congratulated him on his foul mouth. Normally, I wouldn't care for rough humor like that, but it was a good distraction.

XXX

We found other distractions to occupy us for a few hours. People brought out packs of cards and they used the dirt as an undignified table. Some people started doing charades that Kurt participated in with his eccentric dancing, which puts professional dancers to shame. After interest in these activities expired, Viktor suggested some fist-fighting, and just when people were about to shoot the idea down, we were confronted with a familiar customer.

Hausenbergerdorff. The wall-keeper.

The wall-keeper stood tall in his typical woodiness. His stiff limbs and tall stature always made me liken him to an animate scarecrow, taunting people wherever he went. His eyes twinkled as much as a block of wood does, that is, not at all.

The wall-keeper said in a professional manner, "Private Steiner and Dassler. Come with me please." He turned away as if assuming we would follow him immediately. Viktor and I bolted to the scarecrow and walked behind him rather than next to him because of the lack of space. I stared at the ripples of the back of the wall-keeper's uniform, almost nervous to look at his head. His satchel rocked with his movements.

The wall-keeper said, "I'm taking you to the main dugout where sergeant Kaslow and the captain are located. They would like to speak with you."

"What is it about, sir?" Viktor asked.

"A special mission."

Upon hearing that sentence, my body released a siren of goosebumps. This situation was peculiar. Why would I need to do anything special other than my designated duty?

"That aside," the wall-keeper continued, "I haven't talked to you in a while, Steiner. Do you still hate me for taking back that journal?"

The question caught me off guard, but I responded, "I never hated you, sir."

"Why is that? Usually people are angry when someone takes away their belongings."

"With all due respect, what would be the point of me hating you?" I thought back to what Viktor told me during that special test where we had to retrieve armbands. If you hold hatred for somebody, it will hurt you more than the person you hate.

"That's right. There is no point in hating me. I'm your superior officer, and there's not much you can do to me that wouldn't hurt you much more."

The wall-keeper slowed down when we reached a barren corner of the trenches. Was he planning on telling us something important? He turned toward us and opened his satchel to reveal a familiar set of bindings. It was just as old and ugly as the first day Lina bartered to get it for me…

Mr. Kruger's journal had returned.

The wall-keeper flipped through the pages. "I took the private documents out and left everything else intact." He patted the old stitching and his eyes looked almost longingly at it. The slight affection he carried for it threw me off guard. "I'll give it back to you now."

The wall-keeper handed me the journal, and for a few seconds, I stared at it like it was a holy text. It lured me in with its scrapbook qualities, yet it held secrets that I didn't feel prepared for.

I put out my hand towards the journal and gripped it, still hesitant to fully accept it again. I took it from the wall-keeper's hands and shoved it into my satchel without dwelling on it for too long.

Viktor elbowed me and the wall-keeper looked at me expectantly. I forgot to say thank you. "My apologies…Thank you, sir, for returning this to me."

The scarecrow man nodded with a flat set of lips.

Did the wall-keeper think I was going to die? Is that why he gave me the journal back? I pondered these things as he picked up the conversation again. "There are many things I wish I could tell you guys. The day I saw you two on the bus to the training camp, I wanted to say something to put everything into perspective…I still remember that firework day." He paused and asked himself, "is now the time?"

The wall-keeper lit a cigarette and took a drag on it that bore a greater weight to it than your average breath in. The smoke had a heft to it that even the morning light couldn't pierce through for he was about to reveal one of his greatest secrets.

***A SECRET***

"I'm half Eldian."

I backed into Viktor and looked at him to see his reaction. We had a few seconds of silence where our lips moved, but our words made no progress.

I managed to ask, "but, sir, how come you don't have an armband?"

"I won't say anymore, but I think you will understand now why I drift to whiskey so often."

All the abuse the man put on Eldian citizens definitely took a toll on him and enforcing an order that punishes your own race must have been deteriorating.

Either way, this surprise dumping of facts confused Viktor and me. We had much to ask but so little coordination to do so.

The wall-keeper didn't waste time any further, and he dragged us to the dugout with the officials. I wish he'd given us more information during that time, but his mouth was sealed shut. After arriving, he moved the curtain, and we walked into the most critical room in that camp. It was filled with medals and strategy with somewhat competent men attached.

The wall-keeper said, "Captain, I introduce to you Private Steiner and Private Dassler."

The dullness of the room sucked me in as I did my best not to embarrass myself in front of the Captain. His bald scalp welcomed staring, so it felt pretty difficult. Kaslow stood with arms crossed in another part of the room with other sergeants, and a few maps were scattered on tables in the center.

"Welcome, Privates." the Captain greeted us hastily. "Let us get down to business."

The wall-keeper brushed past me, "Goodbye, Heinrich." I didn't engage him to maintain my composure.

Viktor and I approached the main maps in the center as the Captain stabbed the page with his fingers. He said quietly, "we are losing confidence in the current data we have of mid-eastern infantry numbers. We are concerned whether they are playing with their numbers to lure our military in for an ambush. They must understand the weak situation we are in at the moment since we lost a few titans and want to finish us quickly rather than the other way around."

"The troops in our current location are too low for the bombardment attack we planned, and because of that we must call for one of the nine to aid this mission." The Captain enclosed a letter in an envelope. "Your objective is to get this letter to Commander Magath to request the aid of the Armored Titan."

The pulsing sirens of goosebumps returned, and I stared at the scribblings of the map. These chills pricked the area around my jaw and lowered into my thighs like my body was preparing itself for an attack.

Viktor accepted the letter, and Kaslow threw some objections, "Captain, I still don't believe these two are qualified for this mission."

"Sergeant, this is not your expertise to advise in. I am choosing these two and that is final."

"I have full grown recruits that are mature and can handle the mission. These are just teenagers. Also, they are medics. What if something is to happen while they are gone?"

"That's just it, sergeant. These are kids and because of that, our enemies would be less inclined to shoot them. And besides, we have ample medics here already."

I felt as though there was another reason the Captain didn't mention. We're expendable. He must have not wanted to say that since he must have known morale helps successfully complete a mission.

Kaslow resigned to the adamant Captain's orders and angrily left the dugout. He must have been pissed that his opinion was shot down rather than the worry for our safety. Either way, the Captain ignored Kaslow's temper and started describing the details of this mission while pointing locations on the map.

I looked at the dark lines representing Commander Magath's trenches as the Captain gave some background on them. "Commander Magath is currently stationed with the Cullens along with Pieck Finger and Reiner Braun. The remaining shifters are elsewhere, but that is beside the point." The Captain pointed at the land separating our position to Magath's. "How long do you think it will take to cross this stretch of land?"

I was the map reader of the trio, so I responded with, "we could get there by dawn tomorrow, sir."

"That is what I assumed as well. I was testing you." The Captain took his finger off the map, "that is all. Take what you need and leave immediately. We cannot waste any time."

Viktor and I gave a respectful gesture and walked to the curtain.

"Privates." Viktor and I turned to the Captain. "We are delaying today's attack but if you do not succeed in bringing Reiner Braun and any reinforcements, our attack with one thousand men will not follow through…you could become honorary Marleyans from this."

"Yes, sir." I ignored the last part of that statement but focused on the first parts. That honorary Marleyan bait got annoying.

Viktor and I left the dugout to be greeted by daylight again. The timeless feeling of the dugout was almost soothing.

"What are we going to do now?" I asked Viktor, still feeling the goosebumps."

Viktor answered quietly, still in shock, "You heard the Captain. Let's find ourselves a titan shifter."

The Real Author's Note

I felt a slight sense of terror after watching some of the world news in the past few days. I don't think I need to mention what news specifically….

Despite being thousands of miles and kilometers away, this event is putting into perspective what an international conflict is truly like. No matter all the literature we read of war and all the fiction inspired by real events, it never matches seeing world events on your TV playing out in real life. It goes to show how once the veil of fiction is removed, a perspective totally changes.

These world events have no hype and no soundtrack to back it up except for a few sirens. There's no pesky manga readers to spoil anything either or an animation studio to "mess things up."

I thought I should just air out my thoughts.

Anyway, have a moment of gratitude for any good things going on in your life, since there are people that no longer have them. I'm grateful for being financially/physically/mentally healthy, my unexpected writing skill, and you all for bearing with my scribblings on this clunky website.

Stay safe, you lovely strangers.