Danev
For the first time in my life, there it was–a color I thought completely gone from my life, at least in the form it was meant to be rather than a miniscule park that, by the time we were done with it, had been more brown than anything else–green.
When the outer gate had opened, the light reflecting off from the grass and trees before us had been nearly blinding. I hadn't known what to expect with the first step out–a texture of more gravel, the concrete of the inner city, or the thick turf of its poor excuse for a park.
Instead, when my boot had first touched the ground, it was soft, wet, unlike everything I'd ever felt before. And it was real.
There was no soldier of the 29th's ranks of slum-born adolescents who didn't stop to take it all in. Our commanders could have yelled at us to move on as much as they could have wanted to, but it would have made no difference. We were stepping into a brand new world, and we were going to take it all in.
Some took in the air, free of the smog of the slums' stench and inner city's industry. Some looked behind them at the wall, wondering how it looked from the outside for once. Me? I took off my glove, and I felt the grass.
It was wet to the touch, likely a result of Saturday's summer rain. The droplets clung to my hand for just a moment running down my fingers leaving a streak of cleanliness past a thin layer of dirt and soot.
We were outside; we were free, and nobody could take that away from us. Nobody could take that moment away from us. Not even our commanders, though they tried.
Eventually, of course, they would succeed. We could hardly get away with lingering in front of Citadel's wall for the entire day. If there was a city for us to plant ourselves in front of, it was Ba Sing Se, 200 miles away. It was a march that shouldn't have taken more than a fortnight.
So we marched. We didn't know exactly how to do it at first. We'd spent so much time training how to run that we'd never really learned how to walk right. Our individual unit commanders would stop by us to shout out "left" and "right" to us in a rhythmic beat mixed in with the occasional passing insult to comment on our poor marching.
Lieutenant Aozon was particularly vicious in his rebukes. Even though Dragon Platoon had been defeated in its final war game, nobody had lost more than he had. Without him, Dragon Platoon had managed to eliminate three other entire platoons and nearly decimate a fourth. It'd gotten me a promotion, deprived him of what he'd hoped might be a simple victory, and made him look like a full not only to superiors and colleagues, but all men under his command as well.
It wasn't too long until the beat of the march was drilled into our heads, though perhaps not as he might have wished.
"Left!" we sang. "Left! Left, right, left!"
Left! Left! Left, right, left!
Nobody quite knew who it was that went off script.
I've never seen a march this poor!
I had my money on Tosa, but it hardly mattered as soon enough, we all were joining in, echoing after him, louder, in Aozon's own words repurposed for our own amusement.
I've never seen a march this poor!
Left! Left! Left, right, left!
Left! Left! Left, right, left!
I've never seen a march this poor!
I've never seen a march this poor!
I've a grandmother marches more!
I've a grandmother marches more!
She's long past lost both her legs!
She's long past lost both her legs!
She's still worth more than you dregs!
She's still worth more than you dregs!
Surprisingly enough, it would be revealed in those hours spent singing that it was Mano who had the best singing voice among us, for some reason having never showcased said ability before. Tosa handed off the lead to him and Mano now led us, by merit of what was frankly an astounding voice, through the rhythm of our march.
It went without saying that Aozon did not obtain the same amusement from our cause for rhythm as us. Perhaps it had something to do with his paraplegic grandmother being made the joking subject of our marching hymn.
All the same, we continued, and after a certain point, he gave up trying to get us to shut up, instead marching ahead of the platoon far enough away that our singing was drowned out by the rumbling of tank treads.
Where he walked ahead of us, though, provided me with an optimal view of Riu's knife swinging from his waste. I wondered how hard it would be to swipe it. Relatively hard, most likely. At least for me. Fluke wouldn't have had an issue with it, but I wasn't about to run up to search for his tank just to ask him to swipe the knife for me. More than likely, I would be the first one Aozon would suspect anyway. No, I would get it back, but some way smarter.
Does the good lieutenant gamble? I wondered, then wondering what I even had to my name to gamble with.
There wasn't much of anything at all save for a pay grade that no doubt was a good many tiers below Aozon's.
So for now, I was restrained to watching my knife swing from his belt with each step he took while the 29th Brigade marched on Ba Sing Se.
Morale was good for those first few days, at least for while the sun was still shining, we were on schedule, able to sleep full nights, and more or less content with life.
Then the rain started to come.
It snuck up on us in the middle of the day while we'd been stopped for lunch. Dragon platoon was gathered around its site partaking in field rations that, though not particularly exciting, were still better than anything we'd been given in the slums. So, we feasted on bread, hard cheese, and freshwater, all supplies being pulled along by both trucks and pack animals alike. We took the time when we weren't single while marching to talk while resting, the subject of conversation ranging from memories of Citadel to expectations of Ba Sing Se.
"Hey!" Shozi said to me at one point, interrupting a conversation that'd previously been about the strange absence of livestock around camp today. "Show us that picture of Oreke again!"
"This shit again?" Mahung complained from next to me, groaning as I chuckled, and searched through my pack for the item in question.
A final parting gift from Oreke–a portrait she'd had painted of her to give off to me before I left. It was in only black and white ink, but it was impossible to miss that she'd put effort into it, both in terms of her appearance, and whoever she'd commissioned it from.
"Ah come on!" Shozi said. "Why should he get to hoard her the way he does?"
"Because it's his girl?"
My girl, I thought with a grin while I pulled out the parchment portrait of her, drawn from the shoulders up, left bare by the particular dress she wore. Her eyes were trained directly on the painter, though they reached me as opposed to him. Her hair was neatly done in what she'd said was traditional Fire Nation style when I'd asked; her face was done in thick though tasteful makeup, and I couldn't say that I'd ever seen a girl more beautiful than how she looked there.
Shozi only groaned dismissively in answer, but I obliged and handed the picture over to him after I myself was done looking her over.
Even Mahung couldn't resist looking as well. Theirs was the reaction I loved to see on their faces–it was envy. They wanted her, but were all acutely aware that they couldn't. And not even on account of the distance.
Fluke's reaction hadn't quite been what I'd hoped when showing it to him right before leaving Citadel, not having had the chance to talk to him since. In all honesty, he hadn't seemed impressed. Disappointed seemed more fitting actually.
"So?" I remember asking, fishing for an answer. "Beautiful, right?"
"I guess?"
"You guess? What are you? Queer?"
Fluke shrugged, ignoring the jab that, in hindsight, had been rather defensive and uncalled for. Rather, he'd just said, "Looks better without all that, to be honest."
"You mean her clothes?" I scoffed.
Fluke'd shaken his head. "The hair, makeup, dress, all of that. Effort. Don't know. Doesn't feel real."
"That's the point!" I remember snapping at him as I'd snatched the picture back from him, the first one I'd shown it too, as though almost nervous it was only me who saw her that way. It became clear quick enough though that Fluke was simply the odd one out.
Shozi and Mahung on the other hand, ogling her image, that was far more what I'd been looking for.
"Spirits," Shozi said in disbelief, handing the image back in spite of a silent protest from Mahung.
I took the image back, stowing it safely and securely in my pack.
I wondered how Aden would have responded. Probably would have just called her an ash maker whore, I figured with a wistful smile. I'd seen no sign of him since we'd begun marching, and could only suppose that he still in Citadel, either in the infirmary, plotting his escape, or already back in the Slums.
Better than here, I decided, at least for his sake.
"I need to get me a girl like that," Shozi sighed. "Think they got any at Ba Sing Se?"
"Probably," Mahung said. "For a Fire Nation soldier like you though, doubt it."
"Ah come on. I'm sure i could manage to fuck one or two while I'm there?"
"We're not raping anyone," I reminded Shozi, calling back the instruction we'd be given on the rules of engagement many times over as part of our training. Rules that, they reminded us more than once, the Earth Kingdom didn't follow, but did put us above the savages. I didn't doubt that our commanders' argument against rape had more to do with unit discipline than actual sympathy for the women, but regardless, it was a fundamental rule to follow, even if made for the wrong reasons.
"Who the fuck said, 'rape?!' Shozi exclaimed.
"So Earth Kingdom girls just gonna spread their legs for their Fire Nation invaders?" Mahung asked.
"This Fire Nation invader in particular," Shozi said with confidence. "I can be very persuasive.
I chuckled at this comment as the first droplets of rain started coming down. It was inconsequential at first, barely able to be felt past our armor. If anything, it was welcome for the hot, late Summer day, acting as vital refreshment. At least, it would have if it'd just remained a slow drizzle.
It didn't take much time for the rainfall to increase in strength, coming down now far more as a steady stream rather than scattered bursts of droplets to the point that we were ordered to pack away and cover our supplies lest the rainfall destroy our rations.
What started as a simple task soon became a momentous endeavor, the growing wind fighting against our every effort as though the earth itself desired to claim our food stores as tribute to enable safe passage to Ba Sing Se.
"It'll pass!" I remember Aimuro shouting at me over the howling wind as we secured the knots of the tarp that covered the supplies being pulled by the poor komodo rhinos who had far less cover than what they pulled behind them. "What comes fast, ends fast!"
That would end up being a lie.
It'd taken us four minutes to pack our camp, and it was still raining; six more to secure the supply train, and still, it was still raining; five more to begin marching, and yet still, it rained.
It would end up raining for the rest of the day as our pace slowed to that of a snail, Tosa needing to yell to be heard about the howl towards Aimuro, "It'll pass!?"
The boy he directed the question at, so usually right, had no response, focusing instead on keeping himself dry and warm, impossible a task though that was.
Nobody in the company, much more the entire 29th, was particularly content with their circumstances. The mood in the 114th itself had soured considerably in comparison to this morning, so when Mano had made a valiant attempt to restart the beat of our marching hymn, he was quickly shut down with, "Shut up, Mano!"
No break in the storm would come.
Our ponchos would be distributed to us while still the rain came down as we stopped for the night, dug in, and prepared to wear out the storm.
The storm, however, would not end, and when we woke up come morning to the same downpour as the day before, it was clear to everyone that Autumn had come, and it would not be an easy one.
Fluke
I knew I could hardly speak for the other soldiers of the 29 brigade when I said this, but the honest truth was that I liked the rain.
Perhaps it was on account of the fact that while thousands of infantrymen walked in it or rode in it with little to no protection, I was tucked nice and cozily inside of a tank. Perhaps it was that the sound of it finally drowned out the noise of the infantrymen's singing that would somehow be loud enough to be heard over my tank's engines, the different hymns of different companies clashing against one another to create a hideous cacophony of noise. Or perhaps it was that the pitter patter of rain against the steel-plate hull of my tank created a rhythmic beat that was both easy and pleasant to fall asleep to.
I didn't have a lot to complain about. The steam engine kept us warm inside, the cloud cover ensured we never quite became too warm, and the rain meant that I didn't need to keep my head poked out of the hatch, breathing in the fumes of our engine, but could rather rest my head against my folded poncho and sleep in place on my gunner's seat.
Granted, nothing was ever quite perfect, and so it was every now and then, this moment being no exception, that I would be shaken awake by my head slipping from the poncho and hitting itself against the the side of my gunner's turret.
The bruise I'd already developed in that spot hurt only worse now, but I knew what it meant.
Stuck.
I looked below at the crew as they troubleshooted. Gan attempted to accelerate, then reverse. Gunji checked the brakes to ensure they weren't the cause of the fault. Dojai oversaw us as we worked, and came to the consensus that we were stuck in the mud that'd developed over a near week of constant rain.
"Damnit!" Gan grunted to himself before turning around to look at me. I already knew what was in store. "Your turn, Fluke.
I nodded. It was only fair. It'd been Gan before me, and Gunji before him, and then me prior. Dojai was excluded from the rotation, of course, so I guessed it wasn't entirely fair, but at least between the three of us, the agreement had been reached on whose turn it was to do the literal wetwork when the time came for it.
I recovered my crimson standard-issue Fire Nation poncho from the ground where it'd fallen, unraveling itself, which at least spared me the need to do it myself.
My eyes scanned over the black insignia that adorned the rear of the poncho, allowing me to quickly distinguish it from the front as I slipped it over my shoulders, tightening the clasp at the shoulder that held it together. As a tank man, it had hardly the same meaning as it did for the infantrymen who wore them by day and covered themselves with it by night, but all the same, it was a welcome addition to my kit alongside the helmet that I now slipped over my head, visor and all, as I opened the hatch to face the elements.
And fierce the elements were.
They hadn't become any more mild in the last week of complete constancy, if only worsening instead. The wind had become stronger, the rain more plentiful, and the overall temperature significantly colder as though trying to remind us near constantly that Summer was over.
I got that reminder thrown with full force into my face as I opened the hatch, and met reality for what it was. Even through the poncho and iron plate of my armor, the strength of the rain was piercing. Its individual droplets felt like the rubber cannon balls fired from our hand cannons with each that came down and I couldn't say for certain that it wasn't hail we were dealing with rather than rain.
It was cold too.
Extraordinarily cold.
I clung the poncho to myself as the shouts of protest from deeper inside the tank ordered me to "shut the hatch" lest they also be exposed to the elements.
I closed it shut with a clang, usually the loudest part of a normal day, now completely inaudible past the howling wind.
The 62nd armored made up the right flank of the marching column. The trail we followed through the forest wasn't particularly wide, forcing our infantry to travel in rows of platoons down the center with dual-column lines of armored units to the side.
What that meant, however, was that when a single tank broke down, the entire brigade behind us came to a halt. It was no small wonder we'd been marching for almost two weeks so far then.
I climbed down the ladder off the starboard hull of the tank, grabbing the maintenance multitool as I descended, a shovel with a crowbar hilt, also just as capable of acting as a hammer or wrench if needed. Given the situation, it would be the shovel that would come in handy, and that exact suspicion was confirmed the moment I touched ground. My boot must have sunk nearly a half foot into the mood the moment I touched the search, requiring nearly all my strength to pull it out only for it to creep back under once again.
The headlight of the tank behind us in the formation lit my surroundings. Its crew didn't bother poking their heads out to ascertain what was going on. We were all used to the drill by now whether it was our tank, or another. It did mean, however, that the rest of the formation starting with us would need to pick up the pace to catch up once again with the rest of the brigade, and so I double-timed it.
The light from the tank behind us allowed me to quickly get a good sight on where my tank's treads had gone under, and so I pierced my shovel into the mud to begin making headway, slow though it was.
It was as though with every shovelful I threw out, just as much if not more mud seeped into its place. I hardly needed to excavate everything around the tank, however. I only needed to make enough headway to slip a sheet of scrap metal hanging off the side of the tank beneath the treads to get it out of its present predicament.
It was a job I was used to by now, and still better than digging latrine pits when encamped for the nights, though hardly much different, especially now given the weather, raining coming down in ball-sized droplets with equitable strength at that. Thunder drowned out the sound of my digging and the occasional flash of lightning actually helped me to see what I was doing, especially in coming to realize that I'd dug enough.
I shoved my shovel into the ground with enough strength that it'd stand straight, and meanered over to the starboard side of the tank to grab the first sheet of metal that I'd set down beneath the treads to get us up.
I was thankful for the gloves I wore as, even through them, the metal sheet was ice cold to the touch. All the same, I did my job, wresting it free from the tank to place beneath its rightmost tread first. Then came the next. I found my way back to the side of the tank with the spare metal when another flash of lightning came, and accompanying it, not only thunder, but a burst of movement from the forest.
The hell?
My head instantly darted towards its direction, shrouded completely in darkness once again though. Some animal? I thought, but it hadn't looked that way, at least not in the brief moment that I'd spotted it–whatever it was.
Another flash of lightning bound to take its time to come, the headlights of the tank behind me trained nowhere near the forest, I took matters into my own hands, quite literally. I produced a flame in the palm of my right left hand, but that hardly lasted more than a few seconds before it proved to be too much to try to keep it alit amidst the rainstorm as we were.
My eyes remained settled on the forest though until another flash of lightning came, and nothing else along with it this time. Whatever it was, it was gone now.
Probably just a spooked deercat, I thought to myself with a shake of my head as I grabbed the last sheet of metal to get our tank out of here. That done, I picked up my shovel again, clanging it against the side of the tank to signal that we were good to move.
Gan got the signal, and no sooner, our tank lurched forward, over the metal sheet, and out of the mud. They didn't stop, fearing they may get stuck again, and instead continued forward at a slow enough speed that I could catch up as I retrieved the metal plates from the ground again, jogged next to the tank to secure them once again, and crawled up the ladder on the tank's starboard side.
Soon enough, the shovel was secure, the hatch was open, and I was back in, a soaking mess, lowering my gunner's seat in an instant to draw myself as close as possible to the flame of the steam engine, adding some heat of my own to warm up all the quicker.
Gunji pushed himself away lest some of the water from me drip onto him as I removed my poncho, completely soaked through, and joked from his cozy little corner, "nice day, in't it?"
It was hard to believe that it even was day. I couldn't remember when it was that I'd last seen the sun as a matter of fact.
I didn't even try to come up with a witty response to Gunji, my teeth chattering as they were. I only held my hands closer to the fire in a long wait for myself to dry, and found my mind instinctively tracing back to what I saw in the forest, for some reason lingering with me even though, more likely than not, it'd just been some dumb animal. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it'd appeared far too human to be one.
So what the hell did I see then?
I kept my mouth silent on the topic for a while as our tank continued to roll through the storm and mud towards a destination we had to remind ourselves actually did exist.
In time, somewhere ahead of us in the line, there must have been another breakdown as we were forced to come to a stop. Damnit.
We were dead in place again, and it was no wonder how we'd become as stalled as we had. It was a damn shame for the Earth Kingdom that they were besieged inside Ba Sing Se as they were. They weren't around to bear witness to the elements themselves joining in the defense of the city to bog us down.
But they weren't all trapped in the city. Were they?
Even now, about an hour or so later, what I saw in the shadows was still bugging me.
"Saw something in the forest," I eventually decided to say.
"What, a deer?" Gunji asked before shaking his head. "Should've scorched the fucker. I'm getting hungry in here."
It was indeed true that provisions were beginning to become a concern. We'd already been marching for more than the time it should have taken us to reach Ba Sing Se, and Dojai's estimate was that we were only about a third of the way there, give or take. A good amount of supplies had already been lost to the storm, typhoon, whatever it was, and so whatever extra food we could get our hands on, the better.
"You're gonna keep a deer inside the tank?" Gan asked in disbelief.
Gunji shrugged whimsically. "I'd make room."
"Wasn't a deer," I said. "I think."
Dojai, now suddenly interested, turned to look at me, asking, "So what then? A person?"
I shrugged, not knowing.
He furrowed his brow, though said nothing, thinking.
"Who the fuck can be out in this?" Gan asked, focused straight on the viewport ahead, struggling to look past the dense layer of rain that made navigating nearly impossible.
"Probably just a deercat," Dojai agreed, though hardly putting my suspicions to rest.
"Earth Kingdom scouts?" I suggested. "Going underground?"
"This far out from the capital?" Dojai said, aghast.
"We caught some in CItadel," I reminded them, an indisputable fact that couldn't be argued.
Nobody countered the statement, but rather, Dojai said, "Let's focus on Ba Sing Se and the real enemy for now before we start seeing one in every shadow."
With that, at least, I could agree. I nodded my head and conceded the point in time for the column ahead of us to start moving again. Gan put the engine into motion, we lurched forward, and then stopped.
A groan between all four of us resounded across the interior of our tank as well all turned to who we knew was next on the chopping block.
"Gunji," I said as he looked up at us expectantly. "You're up."
Danev
The rain had finally let up, and in its wake had followed a cold front that seemed Winter's way of trying to bypass Autumn all together.
Aimuro assured us that it was, in fact, just a front that would pass, but then again, he'd said the same thing about the typhoon that'd lasted a total of ten days, so it was hard to take his word for anything past face value. Then again, the rain had eventually passed, so I supposed he'd been right eventually.
All the same, few in the 114th were keen on taking his word at face value. At least not yet for some time.
As far as we were concerned in the moment however, it was damned cold, and our only solace was that we weren't marching in it. Not yet at least.
The 29th Brigade had come to a momentary halt in its journey to the wall, namely to establish headcount, making sure none to not too many soldiers had been lost in the storm, and get a sense of our provisions, because running low they were.
We were down to two half ration meals per day, which still for us slum kids was considered plentiful, but when what we ate was soaked through soggy bread and watered down soup, we'd started to take measures into our own hands.
The current estimate was that we were a little over halfway to Ba Sing Se, even after three weeks of marching, and forest still surrounded us to either side. If we were going to find something to keep us fed, then it was going to be here, and on that assumption at least, we were correct.
Chejuh, Homun from Bat Platoon, and I had been following the tracks for a good quarter of an hour and finally found what was making them–a deercat approximately twenty yards away, grazing on the forest's withering foliage.
"Told you I'd find it," Homun hissed at us silently in response to what'd been fifteen minutes of his two hunting companions doubting him at every turn be it the freshness of the tracks or even the existence of such an animal in the world. It seemed though, that those paw prints we'd seen in the dirt hadn't been for nothing, leading us now to its proud owner, a stag if its antlers were any indication.
Homun slowly unslung his hand cannon from his shoulder, turning the barrel towards himself to insert the ball and powder–powder that, in the last few weeks, had gone through dryness, flooding, and freezing.
"Should use the bow," Chejuh hissed, referring to his own weapon that he'd brought along. "Powder ain't gonna work for shit in this weather."
"Kept it dry," Homun tried to assure us as he now let the ball fall into the barrel, pressing it down with the ramrod. In spite of his claims there, reality would prove different. Maybe he had indeed managed to keep the powder dry throughout the near two weeks of constant downpour, but whether he could say the same for the dampness or the frost were different arguments.
As such, he set the barrel of the hand cannon down on the rock we were using for cover, adjusted his aim until he was positive that the deer was in his sights, and, by the look of it, it was. Homun kept the cannon in place beneath his arm, careful to ensure that neither it nor his target moved, and retrieved the box of matches from his utility belt, finding and lighting one. He looks again at the cannon and deer, neither having moved an inch, and confident in his shot, and slowly brought the flame to the flash pan.
There was a moment of silence as Chejuh and I braced for the shot, and Homun whistled. Chejuh and I both instantly turned to look at the hunter, surprised, and as did the deer, raising its head, exposing its next for the perfect shot, and so Homun fired. We covered our ears to protect ourselves from the blast of a shot that never came as the powder ignited, and sizzled for a few seconds before only partly combusting. The ball barely flew from the barrel, but still, the internal combustion of the powder was enough to create a sound loud enough that prompted the deercat to turn its head, notice us, and run.
"Damnit," Homun grimaced, thought to us at first in response to him missing. Turning to face him however, made both me and Chejuh realize that the misfire had done a good deal more than that, and actually burned the palm of Homun's hand. It was nothing severe, but hardly looked pleasant. In addition, the actual misfire had damn well destroyed his hand cannon's barrel, now showcasing a breach in its integrity from which unignited gunpowder ran.
His lieutenant would hardly be happy to hear this.
"Get back to camp," I advised him. "See to your hand."
"I can still track the fucking thing," Homun protested.
"Not with your hand like that," I said, knowing I was right. Small bits of fragmentation had also pierced his skin, and in addition to the burn, he was bleeding. Looking down at it, Homun realized I made a good point. Adrenaline was still pumping through him so he was feeling now only a fraction of the pain and discomfort that he would be in an hour or so. It would be wise of him to use that remaining energy and adrenaline to get back to camp where somebody could take care of him. "We'll get the thing," I assured him.
Homun nodded, grabbing what remained of his hand cannon with his still-good hand, leaving me and Chejuh to our own devices.
"You see which way it go?" I asked Chejuh, and he nodded, pointing deeper into the forest.
It wouldn't take very long for Chejuh and I to regret our decision to send Homun back. The reason for this was that unlike Chejuh and me who had never seen the outside of Citadel until about three weeks ago, Homun was a good couple of years older than us, whose father had been a huntsman before the Fire Nation takeover, when the outer gates had still been open to those inside the slums.
Granted, his memory of such hunting trips he would take with his father before he'd been killed in the battle for the city were limited, but Homun liked to make the claim that tracking was in his blood. And sure enough, without him, there was not a single drop of tracksmen blood between Chejuh and me.
"You're sure it was this way?" I asked Chejuh after some time.
"Course I'm sure!" Chejuh answered. The look on his face betrayed that certainty however as he began looking around, second-guessing himself. "Could've turned and changed directions though."
I groaned, and we continued walking.
"Why the fuck are they rationing us anyway?" Chejuh asked after some time, perhaps even beginning to wonder if continuing this hunt was worth it. "We brought enough to sustain us through the siege, right?"
"Can hardly bring everything we need for a siege in one go," I said. "Need a supply train. We probably only brought enough for the first couple of months and we've already been marching for almost one and aren't even there yet."
Chejuh chuckled at that. "Fucking Fire Nation. For the kickass uniforms and nice pointy spears, they seem just about as screwy in the head as the rest of us." There, I could hardly agree. Enough interactions with officers and foreign soldiers had proved that and much more to me over the last near year.
The point remained though that we needed this deer, and at this point, at least to me, hardly just for the food. It was a matter of pride too, and I didn't want to consider the possibility of returning to camp with our tails tucked between our legs. So, we continued.
We were approaching a stream if the sound of running water was any indication, and when we came close enough to see it, so too did we come close enough to spot, drinking from it, the exact same deer we'd been chasing after.
I put a hand behind me to Chejuh's chest to get him to stop in his tracks lest he walk any further and spook the thing. He looked forward at me, confused for but a moment before he also caught sight of the deercat.
A look of relief washed over his face. We'd been looking for the damn thing for nearly twenty minutes now without Homun.
I gave him a nod, and understanding what I was referring to, Chejuh unslung his bow from around his shoulder, and nocked an arrow. The deercat hadn't noticed us, and hopefully would remain blissfully ignorant until the moment was too late.
I watched as Chejuh prepared the shot, got it trained on the deercat, and then began doing something odd with his mouth. He was blowing air out, more spittle coming out than noise, and so I looked at him with a confused expression, asking in no louder than a whisper, "Fuck are you doing?"
"Trying to whistle like Homun did," Chejuh hissed back before resuming his attempt, and failing miserably.
"You call this whistling?"
"I'm not very good at it!"
"No shit!" I responded before taking over, letting out a shrill whistle that, sure enough, got the deercat's attention. Chejuh's attention turned immediately back to the deer, head raised, staring straight at us, and Chejuh let the arrow fly.
It struck, though sadly non fatally.
The arrow stuck into the chest of the beast that let out a pained snarl before turning to run the other way.
"Shit!" Chejuh said, nocking another arrow to try and fire before the beast could get away, but it was too late, his next arrow striking nothing but the bark of an adjacent tree. He was more than disappointed with his shot, but we'd found it, and injured it. We were hardly at a loss here.
"Come on," I said standing. "Couldn't have gotten far."
And that it hadn't. The poor animal had left a trail of blood in its wake, and now, with something actual and vivid to follow, we came across where the poor animal rested, lying on the ground, Chejuh's arrow still protruding out of its chest.
When it noticed our approach, the animal hissed, attempting to rise to its feet, though failing miserably, falling straight back down to the ground. It wasn't going anywhere.
"Damn," Chejuh said, shouldering his bow yet again to give the beast a look of what could very easily be described as pity. I hardly blamed him. We both would have much preferred a clean and instant kill on the poor thing, and hardly for the sake of sparing us the walk. It was suffering. That was something I noticed remained universal across both man and beast alike–pain. "Should put it out of its misery," Chejuh said, and I was hardly a step behind him.
I knelt down beside the deercat that now no longer even had in it the energy to hiss. It was just lightly moaning as the pain ran through its body, the arrow clearly having struck something critical. My knees in the dirt, myself by its side, I placed a hand on its head between the ears and antlers, gently stroking back the hair on its head as I both attempted to give it some degree of comfort, and moved the hair back in search of where would be the ideal place to stick my knife.
I continued to pet its head as I unsheathed the knife from my belt, and found what seemed to be the shortest course to the brain. I placed the blade to its scalp, removed my other hand to put on my blade instead, and put my weight behind it as I shoved it into the deercat's head. It made hardly a noise as I finished the job, and soon enough, it was done.
I waited a few seconds before retracting my blade, wanting to make sure the animal truly was dead and I hadn't only dramatically escalated its suffering. I wiped the blood from the blade on my right pant leg, and looked towards Chejuh who gave an approving nod.
"Let's get it back to camp, I said.
The animal was damned heavy, which, we supposed, was a good thing. Plenty of meat on its bones, likely even enough to feed the whole platoon until we got to marching again.
"Gonna be damn heroes for this," Chejuh chuckled, and I didn't dispute that. He was completely right. A couple more hunts like this, and the entire 114th Company would be singing our praises, but that was a concern for another time. For now, Dragon Platoon would be eating well.
"Should dry some of it too," I suggested. "Take some for the road."
"Would make the rest of the way there less painstaking at least. How much longer you think we got anyway?"
"'Till Ba Sing Se?"
Chejuh nodded.
"Lt said we're a bit over halfway. So assuming another storm doesn't come, I'd say a a week?"
"Spirits," Chejuh chuckled. "On the road for a month to travel two-hundred miles. Bet you we could've run that shit in two days. Three tops."
"Well you're welcome to run ahead," I said, joking. "Let the Earth Kingdom know we're gonna be fashionably late."
Chejuh chuckled again and I couldn't help but wonder that there was no way the Earth Kingdom didn't know we were coming. They must have known reinforcements would be coming for a while, and we were marching straight towards a city that'd been under siege for almost a year, and likely would continue to be for a while longer.
Our commanders were fond of making it seem like the enemy was well-contained within the city, but we'd heard the reports of clashes outside the wall, the Dragon of the West's army still battling against Earth Kingdom forces. If they were outside of the walls, and waiting for us, then what the hell were we marching into? Should we have run? Agreed with Aden and hide in the slums? Agreed with Fluke and run?
Because instead of either of those things, we were marching with the Fire Nation towards war, and I no longer knew if this was the one of the three options that entailed death for us the least.
The rest of the walk back to camp would remain rather quiet until we were greeted as the conquering heroes we knew ourselves to be once we were back at Dragon's platoon's section of the 114th's camp. It was hardly bad at all for a camp. Mano, Gimor, and the other earthbenders had put their talents to use and carved out a nice chunk of the earth for us. We had latrine pits, benches, a half wall to keep us away from the filthy 122nd who we liked to exaggerate a playful rivalry with, and tents that weren't made of soaked and torn fabric, but actual stone instead.
Reesu from Cat Platoon, something of a foodie, detecting our arrival with the deer, decided to join Dragon Platoon's efforts, promising his skillset in cooking the meat so long as he was welcome to have some of it. We didn't fight his offer, and so he set his sights immediately on preparing a fire while he ordered Mi to check in around camp to see if anybody had any seasoning. As if anybody would have that.
All the same, the deer cat was on a spit soon enough, roasting over a roaring fire that filled the camp with an aroma of a long-awaited meal. It took some time for the meat to be cooked, but once it was, I decided it was only fair that Homun be rewarded for his sacrifice and so after eating my own portion myself, not trusting the platoon to leave my piece warm without eating it themselves, traced my way through the 29th division's ranks towards our support medical unit, far closer to the rear.
Sure enough, there he was, right hand bandaged while being kept under surveillance, eyes opening at the same time his nose twitched from the smell.
He noticed me enter, largely ignored by the unit's medical staff, and so eyes lit up in delight when he realized what I was bringing.
"So you finally managed to catch the fucking thing," he said, elated.
"Turns out we didn't really need you after all." An obvious joke, and so Homun let out a sarcastic guffaw in response before taking the slab of wood that his portion sat atop. He set it down on his lap, and unsheathed his knife from his belt with his good hand, set immediately on cutting off a piece for himself.
"Fuck that's good," he said, and I couldn't but smile at the obvious appreciated he felt for the combined effort of Chejuh and me. "Give Chejuh my regards. I assume he took the shot?"
I nodded, and Homun took another bite, lost in the bliss of his meal. I decided to leave him there, happy as he seemed to be with eating on his own until, as though suddenly remembering something, he claimed my attention again on my way out.
"Danev," he said, ensuring I turned to stop before leaving. He was clearing his throat, prematurely swallowing a piece of meat before quite thoroughly chewed enough, but it didn't matter, finishing up as he held a finger up for me to wait. I did just that, waiting until he was ready to speak again, until at which point he finally said, "You hear the news?"
"What news?" I asked.
"About Aden," he said. "Just passed up the line."
So Aden came along after all? I wondered. And if he was the topic of news, then that could hardly have been good at all. Shit.
"What happened?" I asked, and Homun's eyes widened, as though suddenly reconsidering if it should have been him to give the news, but my own eyes, staring right at his, pressed him to continue, and so he did.
"Back in Citadel," Homun said, his voice softening. "He jumped from the wall right before the 29th. Killed himself. I swear I just heard now. Only the ranks in the rear knew."
It was hard to know for sure how I should have felt about that. At first, and though I hated to admit it, it had almost felt like relief. I'd been wondering if the news in question was something along the lines of him tracking down Fluke to kill him, then running off after to try and get to me next. But this. Killing himself?
It was almost hard to believe too, that something that'd been such a worry at the back of my mind in Citadel, was now so suddenly gone and taken care of. Taken care of? Was that really how I thought of it?
"Danev?" Homun asked, perhaps wondering how I was taking the news, knowing that we'd both been Hornets before the Fire Nation, but I put his worries at ease.
"It's alright," I said. "Thanks for telling me."
Homun nodded, and I left the tent, now wondering one thing. Suicide? It'd seemed so unlike Aden that, even now, with the news given, and most likely verified across no shortage of people, it didn't seem real. I would have expected a lot of things from him, among them even a full blown frontal assault against the Fire Nation's 29th brigade, but killing himself? But that's what it was. And it's done.
I wondered how Fluke was taking the news, if he knew, if he'd known for a while, or still had yet to hear. If he had yet to hear, then it would be best coming from me, as I already knew that he would search for who was to blame, and find himself immediately in his own crosshairs.
My heart sank, in part for Fluke, and in other part too for Aden. He'd been there with Riu and me right from the beginning in the Hornets. I'd known him for years, so why don't I feel worse?
Because the slums were gone, and now so was he. I would find the time to tell Fluke, I decided, but first, I would mourn, less for Aden and more for one of the last lingering reminders of a world that'd once been all I knew, and I would do so in my own way.
Colonel Eemusan
I warmed my hands by the fire that sat lit in the officers' tent brazier, content for the warmth it offered in the midst of a cold front that Major General Deming had the gall to claim we hadn't known was coming.
Oh, we'd known. We'd all known. We'd gotten reports about a building tropical system in the sea three days before leaving, the ocean currents and wind set to bring it west to the mainland Earth Kingdom, right into us.
Captain Zar'un of Citadel had been the first to advise against it. After him, our communications team, then our logistics team, then me, but Deming had listened to nothing but his own gut, and his gut had told him that the Dragon of the West was winning too many victories at Ba Sing Se without him, supposedly "stealing the glory."
The damned fool.
I could hardly bring myself to hate Major General Eemusan, governor of Xinhou and my liege lord. He'd done well by me in the time I've known him, favored my family in court, permitted my education in the Fire Nation royal academy, and given me the opportunity to advance.
That didn't change the fact that the man was a glory hound and a vain fool when it came to certain matters, and anything where he viewed his honor as on the line was one of those matters.
"Damn storm has delayed our march by nearly half a month," Major General Deming complained from the other side of the tent where he looked over a map of the Eastern Earth Kingdom mainland.
"We marched at a poor time, sir," I felt the need to remind him in spite of the fact that it was something I most certainly had said more than once in the past, and something he was likely growing increasingly tired of. "It would have been better to leave at our scheduled time."
"Yes, colonel, as you've said many times. Thank you. Perhaps you can offer some ideas instead on how we can stop wasting any more time on our way to Ba Sing Se?"
"If I may speak freely, sir?"
"Because you haven't been doing so thus far?" Deming was frustrated. That was obvious to all present, who just so happened to be me alone. All the same, it wouldn't stop me from speaking the facts as I saw them.
"It would be a bad idea to resume our march right away, sir," I said. It was not what he wanted to hear. The 29th brigade had already been encamped in this same position for the last four days and even I could agree that our men were beginning to settle in and grow comfortable when still we had half of our journey left to make. I could see why staying here any longer than we'd already had seemed like a poor decision, but the numbers didn't lie. "Our supplies our running low, our men are tired, and half of our motorized units are breaking down."
"Obstacles we'll have to overcome," Deming insisted, turning away from his map to face me down. He had no reason to listen to me and the golden flame of the Fire Nation that sat emblazoned on his chest plate stood firm testament to that. I wondered by what merit it was that he actually challenged me, much more listened to me speak if not heed my advice, but I wanted to think that some small part of it had to do with the fact that he knew I had an argument, and even if he would refute my points, would at least keep them in consideration.
"If we move now, we'll be subject to further delays, and when we arrive, we'll be entirely exposed. The brigade will be low on food, munitions, and functioning machinery."
"So long as the rest of the 64th under Choro has kept the Earth Kingdom confined behind the walls, then there'll be nothing to worry about."
And so came the importance of the rest of the news I had for him. I struggled to think of how he would take the news, if he would grow angry from it, or find something to revel in, and a dismal part of me was leaning closer to the latter.
"Sir, we've received reports from the forward scouts we've sent ahead. They report that large numbers of the enemy have occupied the territory we're set to establish our siege camp in and have fortified themselves. Approximately four thousand troops. They're expecting our arrival."
And, as I'd worrying anticipated, Deming scoffed.
"Hmph," he said. "So colonel Choro has failed the duties I've assigned to him then." And boy was he glad to hear that. The colonel in question had been one of Major General Deming's most trusted before leaving him in charge of the 64th in his absence. Such had been the reason for his assignment.
Since then, however, after Deming had been gone for nearly a year, excusing himself from the siege to rally more recruits, every action that the colonel made that ended up contributing to the siege had only served to anger him more. It'd become apparent rather quickly that Demin hadn't been looking for a man to lead in his absence, but rather, simply keep his seat warm for his return with more men so he could claim the victories of the war for himself.
As opposed to his wishes though, the war had gone on without Deming, and Choro had done his job, though not the one Deming had given him. Colonel Choro had held the line, had fought back against the Earth Kingdom, and most unforgivably, worked alongside the Dragon of the West to secure victory rather than safeguard 'victory' and 'honor' for his liege lord.
He should have known better.
Because now, Deming had all the excuse he needed, this one single and latest failure, to take swift and decisive action. If anything, more defeats such as these would have softened Deming's heart for his subordinate, but it was too little too late, I knew. I only hoped I could still talk him out of depriving us of one of our admittedly better commanders.
"His orders were to hold the southwestern edge of the city, sir," I said. "Earth Kingdom movement was reported to the far West, apart from his assigned area of control."
"A breach in our perimeter is a breach in our perimeter," Deming insisted. "Colonel Choro's job was to contain the enemy, and in that, he's failed."
Deming sighed. It was an empty gesture. He was trying to feign frustration, but the truth was, he was glad to see the interim commander of the 64th brought down a peg, if only to remind himself that he was indeed their 'true' commander.
"It doesn't matter," Deming said. "We will engage the enemy. What is our nearest brigade to the enemies' position?"
"The 32nd," I responded, confused by his question. "Why?"
"Order colonel Raijo of the 32nd to send a contingent of men to engage the enemy to soften them up in preparation for our arrival by week's end."
"Week's end is in three days, sir," I said, reminding Major General Deming of something I thought obvious. To make it to Ba Sing Se in that time, it was out of the realm of possibility given our present state.
"Which is why you will als be ordering your brigade to break camp. We leave before sundown. We'll sneak a night's march on the enemy. As you've said, the men have been resting for too long. They'll have the energy."
"Sir, you're putting the men into a forced march?"
"It's as you said, colonel. The enemy knows we're coming, but not when. We'll march now, engage them at the same time as our allies in the field do, and crush them between our two armies. We outnumber them regardless." By what? A few hundred? And besides, colonel, what better way to announce our arrival?"
And there it was, at the core of everything once again, his damned pride, so intent on securing victory that he was blind to the state that his brigade was in. This was no longer a march to a defensive position, but a march to battle, and there would be no changing his mind, not when the scent of blood was already in his nose.
I nodded my head, and accepted my orders for what they were, knowing nothing would change much as I wished it to.
"I'll tell the men."
Fluke
We were back on the move. Our pause hadn't lasted very long, but, once again, we were on the move, en route headed towards Ba Sing Se, and the enemy that waited for us there.
And waiting for us, they were.
Our orders had changed. We were marching once again, but no longer in a formation that was meant to ensure discipline, seeing our armored units act as a barrier to keep our infantry in formation. Rather, we were an armored spearhead, nearly all tank units arranged in a V-formation pointed directly at where we knew, a few dozen more miles away, the wall was waiting for us.
We were out of the forest, in something that was called a plain, an extended field of grass that waned in density with every few miles we traveled. It didn't matter anymore when a tank or a truck broke down, or when a pack animal needed to rest. The 29th moved on without them on the assurance that they would catch up in their own time, because we weren't stopping for anything.
We knew what we were marching into. Or, at the very least, we knew what we'd been told we were marching into–an enemy formation of roughly four thousand soldiers.
And we would be engaging them in battle.
Nobody in the 29th quite knew what to think from the news. Some were excited, some some antsy, others terrified. None of us knew what a battle was, but I supposed that we were all overdue to find out.
Day and night, the brigade moved, I supposed to make up for the time we'd spent motionless encamped in the woods. It was times like these that made me glad for my role, nestled snug in a tank where I could try to sleep in spite of the shaking world around me for a few dozen minutes at a time.
But it would never last long, especially as we grew closer after three days and found myself shaken out of sleep by the sudden jolt of our tank coming to a stop.
My first thought was to ask myself, whose turn is it, half expecting that we'd gotten ourselves stuck in the mud again and I would need to go out yet again to dig us out.
But that was far from the case. There was no Daijo ordering me to step out, Gan and Gunji giving me knowing looks that indicated I was up next. Instead, all three of them, even Gunji who I caught slipping his way to the cockpit, were all looking straight ahead through the frontal viewport. Their eyes were wide with shock, Gunji even muttering a muted, "Woah," and I knew the moment that I bent low to look through the viewport as well that my eyes must have been deceiving me.
The only way to know if what I looked at was true or not was to see it for myself, and so I stood up again, reaching up towards the hatch of my tank turret to open it, and step down to truly understand if it was real.
We were set to still be a little over twenty miles away, and I'd believed those numbers, but there it was still, due West so I ascertained as I crawled up onto the upper hull of my tank–a great wall rising a hundred meters in the sky–that of Ba Sing Se.
Even here and now, beneath the slowly setting sun and growing mass of clouds that signaled an incoming rain, we could see it, the sun beginning its final descent behind its walls on the horizon, stretching as far north and south as I could see, it was there, standing tall, waiting for our arrival.
If I hadn't felt the fear that I should've been feeling in the last month of our march, then I was now, and my heart remained still long enough to skip a beat as the sun descended behind the city's far stretching lengths, and so heralded our arrival to the great black wall.