Time Period: WWI

Ava: Andrej Petrovic

Sara: Sredoje Ilic

Simulation: 38/50; Year: 1914; Profile: Sredoje Ilic, 22

It was a long ride out from Valjevo to the frontlines in Belgrade, but the company made it bearable for Sredoje. He found himself dozing in and out while his brother and friends spoke. David kicked him awake again as they conversed.

"Wake up," he commanded. "You already almost overslept."

"Doesn't that mean I should sleep here?"

"No, you might miss something. Jovan, you were saying?"

"I heard a bit about the state of Belgrade and it's not good. Apparently, the city has been bombed to smithereens and the Central Powers are getting closer by the second."

"Sounds like we're going into a bad situation, then?"

"Everywhere is bad," Oliver reminded them.

"I just thought we'd get a break?"

"What gave you that idea?" Sredoje finally chimed in. He popped his cap over his eyes and relaxed again. "Now, if you don't need me, I'll be sleeping so I don't get anyone killed."

The remainder of the ride was bumpy but silent as the young soldiers awaited further information on their new deployment. Since the beginning of the Great War, Serbia's prospects looked bleak. Only three years into the country's declaration of war, they had lost the first few major battles, barely breaking even until their military got help from the Allied Nations. The boys, coming from well-off and well-connected families, had been able to avoid the draft until a few months ago. New blood was needed to replace the lost and their numbers came up. Sredoje found himself caught up in a poor position between prison or the war. Seeing as he would have been stuck in a Belgrade prison that was now rubble, he counted himself as lucky. He woke up with the others at the sound of artillery and shouting from a kilometer away.

"Sounds bad," one of the other soldiers noted. The others grunted in agreement.

The truck finally came to a halt and they were ushered out to the chaos of the trenches. In the deafening shouts and blasts, Sredoje missed an order and was pushed down a corridor while his brother and friends were directed down the other.

He was led with a few others until they stopped and their commanding officer pointed up a turret. He took his cue and climbed the ladder until he met the hardened eyes of four soldiers. They all looked quite a bit older than him but mostly due to their experience rather than physical age.

"New recruit," a man too young to have his gray hair commented.

A blonde soldier approached Sredoje in an aggressive manner and put his hand out. He accepted the gesture and nodded.

"Welcome, we're the gunners here. Andrej," they motioned to themself before continuing down the line. "Lenart, Micah, and Gérard."

"French?"

"He speaks enough."

"I've never been in the trenches before?"

"Nothing glamorous," Lenart noted.

"Where are you from, Soldier?" Andrej inquired.

"Valjevo, we trained there," Sredoje informed.

"Hm," he judged. "Wear clean socks and keep your head down."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you want a hole in your head?" Micah asked.

"Oh," he whispered.

"And speak up, it gets loud."

"Why was I sent here? I came with my brother and friends?"

"They do that for a good reason."

"Don't worry about them," Andrej began, "we're your family now." A hand with a note popped up from the ladder, so he pushed past Sredoje and Gérard.

"Where are you from?" Lenart asked from his point.

"Valjevo."

He glanced back at him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"Hm," he nodded.

"Pretty old to be new to this."

Sredoje shrugged off his comment and moved out of his peer's way.

"New orders," Andrej read. "The Hungarians are moving forward, we need to stop them. Someone made it past no man's land."

"What?" Gérard reacted, taking out his binoculars and looking out at the sea of bodies that speckled the barren wasteland of artillery and barbed wire.

"Ger, grab some ammo, Micah's on the gun." Andrej sat at the back of their post, beckoning Sredoje back with them. "This is a machine gun. It takes one to shoot it and one to load it. We're here to relieve them and replenish the ammo. Are you following me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. They keep giving me delinquents and duds, so I'm glad you're a quick learner."

"I heard that," Micah called from his position.

Andrej ignored his words and focused back on teaching their latest addition. "Len is watching for any artillery or enemies who have crossed the line. This is one of the few safe vantage points left."

"What happened to the others?"

"Bombed." After a moment, Andrej noted, "You look like you're going to be sick. Come with me to get supplies."

They descended the ladder and wove through the trenches. Blood pooled in dips and footprints in the mud. They tried to dodge the soldiers and corpses that overflowed the tight area. Finally, they came upon the cache and checked out ammunition.

Sredoje took a moment to assess his surroundings. With the guards and soldiers on watch all day and night, there was no way he could escape, not to mention the sheer amount of shame he would bring to his family name.

Andrej pulled him back by the chin, "I know that look, you're not going anywhere, Redov."

"My name is Sredoje Ilic."

"Not until you last a week." He glared at Andrej, unwavering until they were handed their supplies. "Take this back to the men."

Sredoje took the hefty box of ammo and lugged it through the trenches. Andrej trailed far behind, taking time to speak with his superiors until he caught up at the base of the turret. Sredoje pushed the box onto the ledge then hoisted himself up.

"I've brought ammo."

"Just in time," Lenart noted. "Have Gérard show you how it's done."

"I don't speak Serbian," he said through a thick accent.

"I guessed."

"It's the only phrase he knows," Micah explained.

Gérard proceeded to nonverbally show him how to unload the machine. He quickly discarded the magazine of casings in its original box then flipped out the new ammo, threading and locking it in place. He fervently tapped the lock with his index finger.

"That means it needs to be locked in place," Micah translated.

Gérard glanced up at Sredoje and backed away. He handed the empty box to his peer.

"Now we need to return it," Andrej explained. "Take the box with him."

As they left, Ilic heard Andrej ask the remaining soldiers something dealing with their enemy's position. Gérard beckoned him down the trail, new dirt-covered bodies being carried off. Sredoje hadn't actually looked at their injuries, but from what he could see, they had gnarled bodies from artillery. Detached limbs piled on their bodies with colored tags to match their bodies up. He felt sick to his stomach and lucky that he had missed the deadly battles.

"It is not all bad," he heard Gérard slowly piece together.

"You're just saying that."

No reaction told him that his words passed over the French man's head. They finally got to the cache and turned in their empty cases. Gérard showed him the form that he filled out before they left.

"So, I have to put Andrej's name and rank, okay."

After a few feet between them and the shop passed, Gérard asked, "Name?"

"Yes, Andrej's name is what you put down."

"No, name," he repeated, pointing at his badge.

"Sredoje. Ilic."

"Good name."

"Thank you."

"Yours?"

"Gérard Vert."

"You are a nice Soldier, Gérard. I wish you spoke more Serbian."

"C'est pas une facile Langue," he commented. "Elle me manque ma maison... et ma famille."

"I wish I knew what you said."

"Je comprends en tas des chose vous dissez, je n'sais pas comment parler votre langue."

"Again, sorry."

Gérard climbed up the ladder and joined the other men in their hidden turret.

"How's it going?"

"He currently has the record," Len noted, scratching ticks into the wall.

"Sixty-two!" he cheered.

"You guys keep tallies?" Ilic inquired in horror.

"You just don't seem to understand," Lenart criticized standing up. "You know, I thought I recognized you, you're an Ilic, a rich kid. Your dad probably paid your way out of the war, so how did you end up here? Did you finally commit a crime he couldn't weasel his way out of?"

"Enough, Kaplar, let him prove himself," Andrej corrected him. He turned to Sredoje and nodded, "You're up with me in twenty. Until then sit by and listen for artillery."

Another series of shots from the gun then Micah cursed, "I missed, oh wait, someone got him."

"Damn snipers taking away our fun."

"What's the point of the tallies, what do you get in the end?"

"Whoever gets the most doesn't have to pay for our funerals."

Sredoje kept his mouth shut about the bleak game they were playing and sat at the back of the turret until his turn came up. A ration bar flashed before his eyes.

"Eat, Redov," Andrej offered. "It helps time go by."

"No thank you."

"You should get a book or something to pass the time then. Lenart draws and Micah writes."

"What does the Frenchman do?"

"Write letters."

Sredoje watched him as he listened to the bombardment from their side, his ear pressed against the metal. "He's going to go deaf if he keeps that up."

"You go deaf either way."

"Do you have any books?"

Andrej rifled through his bag and pulled out a worn-out novel titled, Крылья. "Russian?"

"I couldn't find a version in Serbian, but luckily I can read it. Do you?"

"No, my father never liked them."

"I could always translate it for you. I have nothing better to do anyway."

"Why not," Sredoje chuckled. "I've always been the one to piss off my father."

"So, you did come here because of a poor decision."

"Not a poor one, just an impulsive one. So, do you have any cards?"

"No, but the commissary most likely does. Want me to show you?"

"Why not?"

They climbed back down and followed through the trenches, the sound of artillery blasting Sredoje's eardrums, he ducked behind Andrej at a much closer blast. His superior grabbed his forearm and tugged him along like a toddler until they came upon the commissary.

"It sounds much closer than it is."

"How will I know how close one is?"

"The smell."

"But it reeks in there?"

"It smells like gunpowder and hot metal. Different from the blood and mud. I'm sorry to say that this is your new normal until the end of the war." Andrej glanced through the shelves and pulled out a deck. "Here, something to keep your mind off the war." He handed him a deck of cards decorated with scantily clad women.

"Not gonna lie, but," Sredoje quickly searched the rack for a traditional deck, "that doesn't really interest me now." Andrej cocked his head to the side until it was further explained to him. "I find that to be boring." Sredoje winked at him before going to pay for it.

"Interesting," he heard Andrej mutter.

"Very interesting, hopefully, that clears something up for you?"

"A little, yes. Amway," he segued, "I don't need anything else and now you know where the commissary is."

"Yes. How long have you been here?"

"A year in the turret and seven with the army."

"How do you do it?"

"Little by little. I gotta say, it wasn't easy at first, I was only eighteen when I left home, but there were some guys who saved my ass in basic. That's how I survived. You'll find that you have more freedom as a soldier than you ever did wherever you're from. Look to your peers, they'll get you through the hard times."

Sredoje flipped the deck of cards in the air and pointed them at him. "Thank you, peer."

Andrej chuckled at him and took the long route back to their position. "By the time we get back, we should be up, so you'll get into the swing of things."

"Yippee. So, what am I doing?"

"Loading the gun."

Once they got to the turret, Andrej took Micah's spot while Sredoje took a spot kneeling beside the gun to reload it under Gérard's keen eye. They flew through their shift quickly with Lenart marking the number of kills they had on the wall. Sredoje found it insane the amount of ammo they went through and by the time it had stopped, the sun was directly above them. Tucked under the metal cover, Sredoje felt cramped, but the company somehow made the time easier. His superior gave good advice on that front. Ilic watched his intense focus as he took orders from Lenart and jibes from their burly mate.

Once everything had settled, Andrej backed away from the gun, switching with Lenart and keeping the binoculars glued to his eyes. Working with Lenart was something else. He was much more fluid and harsh in his movements than Andrej was. It reminded him of watching Micah. They both had a sort of blood-thirsty aspect to their style.

"I said left, Len."

"I see another to the right who's closer. Got him," he noted after a few more shots.

"And he just jumped into a trench. Well done." Raucous gunfire exploded as they killed the Hungarian man. "Get off of there if you aren't going to listen."

"Fine."

Lenart shoulder checked his superior before leaving and Micah took the point watch. From what Ilic could extrapolate early on in their morning shift, Micah seemed to be a quiet brute, Gérard was a shy man, and Lenart was a pain. Andrej seemed to be a straight arrow, but there was just something that didn't fit in with what he was seeing. In the remaining minutes of their shift, Lenart had only returned to refill the ammo box while Andrej took his time to catch up to Micah's kill count. They finally descended the watchtower while the Jr. Sargent stayed behind until the next unit took their spot.

Sredoje was swept away from the turret with his peers to their quarters out of the Trenches. Micah pointed to an empty cot, "That's yours. Hopefully, you have something to do in your spare time."

"I have cards."

"You should have a diary. It's a good way to pass the time and clear your head. Really," he insisted.

"I'll have to try it out."

"It's all a stream of thought."

"Thanks for the advice," he nodded. "So, do they always disagree?"

"Yes, it's annoying, but they do know what they're doing. It's the only reason we're still alive. We worked in the Eastern turret the day it blew up and because of Len's quick reaction, we made it out with only a few cuts and bruises. He's a good man, just stubborn."

"What about you, you seem so hard on the outside."

"I enjoy the little things in life," he simply remarked. "But that doesn't mean I'm not wise."

"I would assume as much. So, what do we do? We have a long break?"

"I was planning on setting my shit down and going to the Hall," Andrej chimed in. He glared at Lenart for a moment then glazed over to the others. "Would anyone like to join me?"

"I'll check it out," Sredoje responded, soon after by Gérard.

The three proceeded to leave the tent, traveling up the road aways until they happened upon an old ballroom that had been spared in the bombings along with the rest of the street. Draped over the doorway was a handpainted sign that read, "Community Center". They pushed past the double doors, being allowed through due to their current dress, and wove past the refugees and soldiers to the grand hall. It had been slightly upturned from the chaos of the city but had a fair amount of room in the center for whatever entertainment was going to be taking place in a few hours. Ilic sat at a long table with his comrades, waiting for anything at all to happen.

"Tonight, we're having a poker tournament," their superior officer explained. "Do either of you play?"

"Poker?" Gérard asked.

"Card game, with money," he tried, pulling out a deck from his inner pocket.

"Hm," he tried to understand.

"So, do either of you play?"

"Not anymore. The last time I played, I nearly got my fingers chopped off, and I really like my fingers."

"Oh, so you cheated?"

"That's a harsh phrase, but yes, they had an issue with the way I played."

"Drinks?"

"Yes, please."

"No thank you," Andrej whispered. Once their peer left, he turned back. "I hope you didn't find me threatening earlier."

"You're not threatening, Podnarednik."

"Andrej or Petrovic. No one in our unit calls me that unless I'm in trouble."

"Very casual," he commented.

"I have to have some sense of individuality."

"Petrovic, you are not intimidating when you don't want to be. You're easy to look at, though."

"I am, am I? How so?"

"Calm eyes, strong jaw and you look good in uniform. It's fitted well."

"That's what happens when you're here before the draft."

"I would hope so."

Gérard returned with their drinks, simple cups of black tea, but better than stagnant water or alcohol this early in the morning.

"Thank you."

"Poker, time start?" Gérard inquired.

"In a while, thirty minutes," Andrej informed him, looking at his watch. He earned a nod.

"I like here. Quiet."

"Yeah, not for long. On some nights, we have dances or other activities to boost morale."

"Do you ever partake?" Sredoje asked.

"Sometimes, but never with a date. It's a waste of time. I'm not looking for a wife anyway. They just don't peek my fancy," he hinted.

Ilic took the bait and smirked at his phrasing. "I understand what you mean."

"Good, I was hoping you would."

Vert glanced between them and excused himself. "I will sleep."

"Okay, we'll see you in a while, then." He looked back at Ilic and nodded, "I'm glad I don't need to introduce you to anything, then."

"I've had my fun."

"I'm sure you have."

"But I'm looking more to survive than anything else, right now."

"I understand what you mean."

"Although, I wouldn't say no to a walk around Belgrade."

"How gay," Andrej remarked. Ilic smirked at his words then led him out of the building. "So why did you get sent to the battlefield?"

"That poker game was with a few police officers."

They rounded a corner further away from camp and, "And how did you survive?"

"I offered up something they couldn't refuse. Seeing me in uniform."

"I see now, so they buried your crimes with the thought that you'd probably die in the trenches?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'll see to it that you make it to the end."

"I know how we did early on in this war, you can't make that kind of promise to me, Andrej."

"I can at least try." As they came upon the rubble of Belgrade, Sredoje stood in awe of the disaster. "This was my home, the city not this particular street."

"Did you know anyone who died?"

"Yeah, luckily they evacuated most, but I still lost some."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, we live and we lose. That's just the way it is. I do my part by stopping the Hungarians from taking any more of our home and get promoted in the process."

"I still feel bad that this is what happened to your home. I'm lucky Valjevo is safe for now."

"Good way of thinking, "For Now"," he repeated. "Nothing could have prepared me for the absolute carnage that became of this city."

"How eloquently put."

"You should read what Micah writes, it is breathtaking."

"He lets you read his works?"

"No, but he leaves them on top of his footlocker sometimes. Well written lad."

"I'll have to take a look sometime."

"I highly recommend it. He could make a career of it, genuinely."

A blast in the streets drew their attention to a building that quickly became rubble. They sprinted from the neighborhood back to the base, finding other soldiers quickly returning to their positions to help destroy the artillery. Andrej rushed back to the tent, awaiting any telegrams or messages from his superiors. He glanced over his shoulder at Sredoje, then to his unit, all disheveled, some waking while others slept soundly despite the impending conflict before them.

"What's happening," he finally asked a soldier who was speed walking through the tent.

"We're finding the source of that shell. Stay put until further notice, Podnarednik"

"Yes, sir." The moment passed after a few more minutes of heavy fire when everything suddenly settled. "They must have found it," he assured those who were still awake. "I'll stay here if they need us. We still have a while before they need us again."

Sredoje quickly got acclimated to their routine. Wake up a 0400 for food and then go to their first shift at the turret from 0500 to 0900. Sleep or eat. Back at the turret from 1300 to 1700. Eat and sleep. They lost some pathways and dug up new ones. Lost a few men, but new shipments came on a regular basis to replenish. The men weren't wrong about socks as after the first day alone, even in the turret, Sredoje's socks were soaked in mud and sweat. He almost wanted to wear nothing or sandals, but the thought trudging through the blood that was ultimately mixed in drew him away from the idea.

On a better note, Ilic found himself as the Podnarednik's Pet, getting the easy work of loading the gun and spending quality time with him out of the trenches. They had escaped a time or two to Belgrade as Andrej tried to show him around the old ruins.

"This was my school. My brother would drop me off here before continuing to work most days," he explained.

"You have a brother?"

"He moved to the United States when Hungary started taking our land."

"How is he?"

"I don't know. Postage is so expensive and he doesn't write to us."

"I'm sorry about that. As much as my brother judges and annoys me, I don't know what I'd do without him."

"I learned how to get by," he offhandedly remarked.

"I'm sure, I mean you're moving up fairly quickly."

"I'm hoping that this war will help me move up, but I think that's a given with how much we've lost."

"A morbid but positive outlook on everything."

"What are your plans?"

"To survive. Same thing I have wanted since day one. I just want to come home in one piece." Sredoje turned to Andrej, "How do you get by when you lose someone?"

"I remember them fondly and look ahead."

He glanced around for a moment and placed his hand on Petrovic's chest. "Are you ever going to read that book to me?"

"Kryl'ya, I thought it was more of an olive branch than anything else."

"I wasn't kidding," Sredoje encouraged. "I did, however, pick up on your flirting."

He placed his hand over Sredoje's, "Good, I try to make it obvious."

"So, what is Kryl'ya about?"

"Homosexuality in art and literature."

"So a textbook?"

"No, it's a fictionalized look at culture."

Ilic took a step closer, "Interesting."

"Yeah." He wanted to comment on something else but nothing came out.

Ilic glanced around again and kissed him. The hair of his regulation mustache scratched against his own scruff, softer lips seeking any sort of attachment as they balanced against a brick wall. Andrej squeezed his hand then pulled Ilic against his stomach. Sredoje pulled away for fear of being spotted and rested his head against his chest.

"And this is safer than what we were doing before?" Andrej chuckled.

Sredoje nuzzled into him, "It just looks like you're consoling me."

"Thank you for that, I forgot how nice it was."

"Me too," he reflected. "I haven't done that in a while."

"Really? I would have assumed you used your freedom?"

"When I was sixteen to nineteen, but the thrill was gone."

Ilic glanced around one more time and kissed him. He wrapped his hands behind Andrej's neck to keep him in close. After a few more minutes, Sredoje finally pulled away again, only enough to say, "I don't- I feel like I'm just drawn to you."

"I get what you mean." He tipped Sredoje's chin up and pecked his cheek. "Um… not gonna lie, I don't want to go to camp right now."

"We should probably just stay out for a while then?" he coyly suggested.

"Now that would be too far in the daylight, but I'd love to just stay here and talk."