"Carle! Bryner! Miesch! Droz! Reiff!"
Loud banging at the front door ensued.
"Fessler! Dettwiller! Eberly, you lazy bum!"
Bang, bang, bang!
"Out with you! Make me a straight line! Out! Out! One, two, out you go!"
Andy begrudgingly opened his eyes. Loud yawns and low grumblings filled their wooden hut as it slowly awakened from its sweet slumber.
The door assaulting grew restless.
"I said, out with you! Make me repeat myself one more time and I'll tear your legs from your asses and shove them so far down your throats, you'll be shitting boots for the rest of your pathetic lives! You'll be begging for the Law to save you from my wrath, you maggots!"
The company was slowly gathering themselves and shaking off the night's embrace.
"... What a goddamn nuisance…"
He grabbed the shoes at the side of his bunk and protractedly put them on. Sounds of sheets being moved around and a few curses flew from the top bed, as Andy struggled to tie his seemingly infinite laces. A pair of legs swung over the side, then the rest of his friend's plump figure dropped down from above, landing hard on his heavy shoes.
"Need me to tie that for you?"
"Oh, piss off."
He mumbled back to the fatso, still half asleep.
"No need to be so pissy, Drewie…"
The giant took a seat by his side, rubbing his eyes to keep himself awake.
"You know, I get it. Partly. I don't get how you can still have troubles tying your shoes at fourteen, but…"
"And I don't get how you can't jog for more than five minutes at sixteen."
Droz gave him a look and chuckled.
"Anyway. But I get why you'd be so grumpy. I would, too, if I had a face like that."
Andy couldn't help but smile and chuckle along. The two quickly threw on their heavy winter coats and hats, matching the rest of their gray uniforms, before stepping outside. Such a windy morning. A real snowstorm, claiming the lives of a few windsocks scattered all around the outpost. The cool, sharp air immediately assaulted their faces, biting into their eyes and nostrils. There was pure cold pouring down from the heavens, as the sun hadn't yet risen, hiding behind a swarm of gray clouds. Some of the other boys had already been trying to form a line in front of their platoon lieutenant, tripping over their feet on the icy surface.
"... You see Isaiah anywhere?"
"Nuffer? Probably getting kicked around his tent or something."
Andy's brows furrowed as he kept looking out for their lone, liberi friend.
A group of loudmouthed marksmen from the "grown ups" division spilled from another hut, immediately forming a neat, clean line. Andy and Droz joined the formation, scanning for their buddy's shaggy feathers.
"... Got him?"
Droz yawned lazily and glanced around the field.
"In this storm? Naw, no way… He'll show his ugly mug sooner or later, no worries."
Andy turned to the hut one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Isaiah.
Pushed forward by one of his peers, a scrawny young man flew out of the building, landing headfirst in a pile of snow. Poor guy. Barely eighteen, yet thrown in at the deep end. Accompanied by bursts of mocking laughter, he gathered himself and marched off to join the line, a bright red hue covering his entire face.
Andy kept waving at the fowlish man up until Droz slapped his hand.
"Stop waving, moron, he didn't see us."
"But he could've?"
"Yeah, I doubt Mr "Head In The Clouds" would bother looking down at us mortals-..."
A loud, booming voice pierced through the wind's howl.
"ATTEEEEEENTION!"
Everyone in line immediately ceased making any sort of noise. Two figures stepped out in front of the formation, with their gray uniforms blending into the snowstorm. Amidst all this gray mess, their bright, shining halos and wings were the only distinguishable features. It was time for the morning announcements and their plan for the day.
"We've been getting reports of those nationalist guerillas moving up north, but haven't actually seen any ourselves. Now, either these cavemen discovered the art of camouflage or our own scouts are suffering from partial blindness! Just in case, youngsters, squads A1 and A2, you're on trench digging duty today. I want my snowy yard to be all neatly and thoroughly dug up by tomorrow, understood?!"
An unenthusiastic "Yes, Lieutenant, sir." arose from the youth.
"As for the rest, you'll be assigned duties by your respective sergeants. Understood?!"
Again, a slightly more enthusiastic "Yes, Lieutenant, sir!"
"Off you go, then! Breakfast's waiting, go fill yourselves up! Dismissed!"
A small commotion followed as the holy soldiers flocked to the freestanding cafeteria. Today's servings: sad, gray scrambled eggs and fried bread with a side of black coffee. After that, it was off to work
Spades and pickaxes dug into the hard, frozen soil, reluctant to leave its snug resting place. The wind yowled without a purpose, sending bits and pieces of snow into the youthful faces. Such was life out here, in Northern Kazdel.
An endless birch forest spread out for miles on end, surrounding the worksite. Andy took a glance at the monochromatic cacophony of shades and shapes, feeling so small and negligible in the face of this vast display of mother nature's interminable might.
It was cold. Way colder than even the worst Lateran winters. Layers upon layers of clothing meant to protect from the weather were making it difficult for him to move efficiently. It was hard to swing a pick with three different sweaters on, underneath a heavy coat two sizes too large.
Droz was having trouble as well, panting heavily and holding onto his knees, slumped over a pile of dirt. Any slightly more demanding physical activity brought out violent coughs and disorientating dizziness in the poor guy, almost always leaving him on the brink of passing out. Andy liked to joke around about his rather larger frame, but it was all in jest. He'd never let him cough his lungs out or let exhaustion drag him six feet under.
"You alright?"
He laid back on the dirt pile, nodding and dismissively waving his hand.
"Mmm… Mhm, mmm."
Nonverbal, again. Andy sighed and left him to continue digging, taking a mental note to check up on him every few minutes. His thin, weak arms kept swinging the shovel back and forth as his attention slipped away from the mundane task, letting his thoughts wander off somewhere else. Droz, huh...? It wasn't long ago when the two crossed paths for the first time. Half a year or so.
A late night visit by the Pontifica Cohors Lateran, practically dragging Andy from his bed and into a military transporter. He still remembers his father's shocked expression when some platoon lieutenant kept calmly explaining the nature of this "abduction". An expression of pure disbelief and guilt painted on his face as he realized his own son would rather serve than live in the foggy, futureless reality he provided him with.
Watching the whole ordeal was one certain blonde fatso, through the transporter's window. He urged the lost kid to take a seat by his side.
"... Your old man's throwing a tantrum."
"Uh-huh. Sure is."
"You up and ditched him, huh? Weird. My old folks practically signed those enlistment papers for me. Droz, by the way."
They shook hands.
"Andy. "Droz" is your actual name?"
"Surname. My name sucks, just use my surname. Trust me."
Andy couldn't fathom that preference. He got used to it with time, though. Droz was just Droz and that's that.
"So, "Andy", why'd you enlist?"
"Uh… I dunno? Cash?"
He couldn't bother explaining his purpose seeking reasonings.
"Cash? Seriously?"
"Mhm."
"I got in 'cause half my family served at some point. 'Sides, I figured, killing those horned cavemen could be kinda fun, so… It's not like I'm gonna pass up on a free shooting gallery."
Andy could somewhat understand his reasoning. Maybe not exactly relate, but understand, at the very least.
He felt a bit disappointed, too. Not because of his dad, of course, but because he didn't even get the chance to properly say goodbye to either Lemuel or Mostima. No way to send them a letter or telegram, either. Not to mention any "postcards" that Lem so desperately wanted.
All he had was a picture he snatched from his room of the three of them. A recent one, too, with the trio grinning at the camera at some local gun show.
Sometimes, during those long, cold nights, he'd take it from his drawer and stare at himself. Lost in thought, daydreaming about the future. About his grand comeback to Laterano, all the things he'd do and the things he'd never have to do, ever again.
He'd stare at the girls, thinking of the shenanigans they were getting up to, without him. It brought him pain. A biting, scratching feeling at the very bottom of his stomach, gnawing away at his guts and bowels, bringing tears to his eyes. After all, they were the closest thing he had to an actual family. Memories of their times together kept seeping into his subconsciousness, as he laid there, night after night, homesick out of his mind. It wasn't just them, though. It was Laterano in itself. It's bright marbles, familiar, busy streets, no one to discipline him... He truly didn't know how good he's had it up until he landed in this frozen, empty wasteland.
Later that night, Andy felt himself getting emotional yet again, as his fingers slid against the picture's soft surface. A tear lazily ran down his puffy cheek.
…
An intruder slithered into the hut, softly closing the door behind them.
…
Who the hell would still be up at this hour?
Andy bit down on his shirt, hard.
Trying his hardest not to sob.
Not to wake anyone else up.
Not to let anyone see.
…
A soft, worried voice arose from the darkness.
"Andy? Buddy, you alright?"
His glassy eyes shot up and were met with the comforting gaze of his own, personal guardian angel.