Danev
"Fire!" yelled lieutenant Aozon to us, his platoon.
In a single-file line of smoke and fire, the fifty of us fired upon the targets set before us.
The grip of the hand cannons in our arms was unseemly, unwieldy, and uncooperative at best. Not to mention that they were impossible to aim, heavy as they were and in the unseemly shape of spears more than functional projectile weapons. The inefficiency of them was made all the more clear to us upon the conclusion of that volley, one of so many others that'd been conducted before.
When the smoke cleared, us gunners forced to sit idly by while it cleared out still in our firing postures, it became clear just how unsuccessful our volley had been. Of the fifty shots that'd been fired, I counted only about ten having struck the target, and those that did, lacking any form of accuracy or precision, scattered, random, totally ineffective.
"Good," the lieutenant called out, somehow knowing when to perfectly give praise and discouragement at precisely the wrong times without fail. "Now reload!"
That we did, doing as we were taught and turning to our belts to recover the small flask of blasting jelly that acted as propellant for the projectile our hand cannons fired. We'd spent all of the morning mastering the technique and so now knew it like the back of our hands, setting the jelly with our ramrods with ease and following it up with the small cannon balls that acted as projectiles. Nine out of the ten fired wouldn't find a target, but when fired en masse, enough would to be able to stop, if not at least slow an approaching enemy.
At least, that's what the claim was.
We fired again on Aozon's order.
I counted even less hits this time around than last.
What are we doing? I wondered to myself. We may as well be firing into the air and hoping a few land down on the targets' heads.
We were firing too inaccurately, and at too slow a rate too, even with our growing familiarity of how to fire, reload, and fire again at a better pace than we'd been at hours ago. I saw the value in the shock of it, a hand cannon barrage succeeded by an infantry charge, but as a firing line meant to cut down the enemy, there was much room for improvement.
Amazon didn't seem intent on providing that room, watching us like hawks until it was that another matter, a more senior officer, took his attention. I didn't have much flexibility to hear what the two were speaking about as I reloaded my hand cannon before his voice said, "resume firing drills! I'll be back!"
With that, he left us to our own devices, and though it would have been a perfect time for us to neglect our assignment, that was hardly us anymore. We weren't overeager slum dogs anymore. We were soldiers. Well, at least mostly.
"Fuckin' hell," chuckled Tosa, turning his hand cannon to look down the barrel with awe.
"Don't blow your face off," scolded Azao.
"What?" was Tosa's response. "Never held the power to blow a bitch to smithereens in my hands before."
And we still didn't. Tosa was growing distracted with a power he believed we had, but in reality, in practice, was more showmanship than anything, but I believed I knew a way to change that.
"2 lines!" I called out to Dragon platoon. "Cannons drawn!"
The platoon looked at me for a moment with a sense of confusion as though wondering just what it was I had in mind, clearly intent on breaking the routine we'd already established, but none questioned it. Our months together had established at least some sense of trust between them and me, and it went a long way. Today, they would be trusting me with what I thought might just make for a far more effective firing solution. One that could reduce both our difficulties of accuracy and and firing rate.
"Row in front!" I called out. "Kneel down!"
Firing a hand cannon from the waist, though easier to deal with the weight, was entirely ineffectual. "Support your cannons on your knees. Row in back, wait!"
I could see the looks on their faces. Wait? They seemed to wonder, but none objected. I was trying something here, and curious to see how it worked. Or if it did at all. "Front row, fire!"
They did, and already, the change in accuracy was noticeable. At least a third of the rounds struck. Off to a good start. "Now swap rows!"
And so the platoon seemed to be catching on to what I was trying to do here. They found their feet quickly enough, and the back row swapped places with the front, taking a kneel the same way. "Back row, reload! Front row, aim!"
Already, the row in back began about reloading their hand cannons while the row in front settled into a kneeling firing position, matches already at the ready, prepared to touch the powder off and fire.
"Fire!" I called out, and they did. A similar enough accuracy, if not slightly better.
"Swap!"
They did, falling into the rhythm, in positions within ten seconds.
"Aim and reload!"
They did.
"Fire!"
I counted. Only twenty seconds that time, and I could see the look on their faces. It was clicking with them. They could see it working, and actually hitting their targets, next time around with what seemed to be fifty percent accuracy–it felt good.
We were on what was perhaps our fifth run of it before we were interrupted by Aozon's return, demanding simply, "What's going on here?!"
The platoon stood at attention to address our so-called superior officer who seemed none too pleased with our break from the firing solution he'd already established for us, ineffective as it was.
"Experimenting with alternative firing formations, sir!" I answered before any of the others could be pinned with the blame, unlikely as it was, Amazon more than likely to blame me for anything regardless of my culpability. Needless to say, he hadn't become much of a fan of me in the last month, watching as I filled in the gaps he so woefully left, preferring to entertain himself by tormenting us rather than educating us.
His philosophy had somewhat changed in recent weeks, realizing his grip on us had been slipping, or perhaps because he'd simply been reminded of his duties, but it was too little too late. Our reliance on him was gone, shifted to one another instead.
"I didn't ask you to innovate," the lieutenant hissed. "I asked you to continue your drill."
In spite of that statement, the lieutenant couldn't help but look over the formation that we'd set up, as though attempting to gauge if there was some worth in the change we'd made. At the very least, he couldn't find an immediate fault with it, though that wouldn't stop him from trying to dissect it later in order to find one excuse or another to use against us.
The man sighed, seeming to have something on his mind besides what he considered to be yet another one of our 'rebellions' if that was what he considered us training ourselves to be better soldiers than that which he was making us.
"Organization change from higher command," he said, seeming to refer to the reason he'd been pulled aside. "Dragon is being divided into squads of ten! Company command has been analyzing your progress as related to them by me, and have chosen squad commanders." I wondered why it was that lieutenant Aozon saw fit to state that it was company command that'd made the decisions until he started reading the names, listing first the commanders of the squads: a list I was included within, of squad 3.
Though I received a few congratulatory pats on the shoulder from the others in the platoon, it was clear from the start why he'd immediately removed the credit, or as he viewed it, blame, from himself. He didn't agree with the choices that'd been reached. Far from it, his resentment was clear, but for the time being, he swallowed his tongue. "Those of you whose names I've mentioned are hereby promoted to the rank of private first class. Pay raise will not come with this promotion."
"We're getting paid?" Tosa asked amazedly from the crowd, prompting a chuckle or two. Perhaps two months ago, such insolence would have been met with the boot, but whether it was us being more proper soldiers of the Fire Nation than once upon a time, or Aozon simply lacking the energy to reprimand us as harshly, he was lax in his retort.
"Quiet!" he yelled back. "The rest of you will be assigned into squads under your squad commanders from which point specialized training will begin. Dragon platoon of the 114th Company is designated as a shock unit. Specialized training will include advanced weapons training and tactics." The lieutenant paused. Whatever was coming next, he hardly seemed glad about. "From this point on, you will also be given weekend passes that will allow you to leave the base over the weekends between 0800 of Doyōbi and 2000 of Nichiyōbi.
That was nearly two full days of recess. Even I had to smile at the thought of that, namely with the knowledge of who was waiting for me in mind. The soldiers around me were no less pleased, pausing in their enthused chatter to hear lieutenant Aozon, more popular than ever, add, "Passes will be distributed at the end of training today."
Excitement was up already, but the lieutenant wasn't done.
"In addition, possessions confiscated from you upon your conscription will be returned!"
Now even I had to smile at that, my mind drifting immediately to Riu's knife, taken off of me when everything had happened. I'd thought it was lost, and had been damn near heartbroken over it. For once, lieutenant Aozon, even if the words weren't his but those of some disembodied upper command, knew just how to make my day.
And if ever there was cause for morale to be high and for us to listen to Aozon's every last word, no matter how ridiculous, this was it. The segment for hand cannon training concluded for the day, we shifted towards spearmanship, placing ourselves into defensible positions that would allow two rows of us to strike the enemy. The squads practiced separately and, as such, it was up to me to to keep us effective and dangerous.
I was the commander of squad 3. Azao, perhaps by merit of his boringness, was commander of squad 2, Tosa under his command which I already knew would create a great deal of conflict between the two, though nothing too severe. Shozi was made commander of squad 1 with Murao and Mano under his command. Squad 4 was headed by Mahung and Squad 5 by somebody whose name I didn't recognize–Mykezia. Inquiry unveiled that she was a first batcher and would be joining the rest of the company promptly. For the meanwhile, Amazon headed squad 5.
Though now we played against imobile training targets, our platoon lieutenant made it clear to us that in the remaining months of our training to come, we would be placed against other platoons in war games. I imagined a good deal of competition to arise, but at the very least, it would be the closest we would come to the real thing before being thrown into a fire.
Soon enough, fuelled by an unhidden excitement for the weekend, we were stood in queues waiting to be dismissed, being handed our weekend passes one at a time as well as any lost items that were taken from us when conscripted. Murao, a few people in front of me, was handed what looked to be a handkerchief. A few people behind him, Azao was handed a small book which had been decided by those of Dragon platoon behind him was automatically a diary and playfully mocked him accordingly.
"Was talking to some of the others," Tosa brought up while we waited in line. "Heard talk about a tavern not too deep into the inner city the boys and I are planning to hit. Maybe spend the entire weekend there. You game?"
I chuckled. "I'll give you a drink or two, but the entire weekend? No thanks."
"Why?" Tosa scoffed. "'Bout to tell me you already got plans?"
"Matter of fact I do," I answered, flashing a grin at the mere thought of a dinner with Oreke. "Dinner date."
That elicited a surprised whistle from Tosa, and a butt-in response from Mi, pushing himself into the conversation to say, "Bullshit. With who?"
"Nurse from the medical wing."
"Which one?!" Mi asked. "Cute one? Oreke?"
So I saw that the view of her good looks wasn't exclusive to me. I grinned, and nodded.
"Son of a bitch. You're kidding."
I shook my head.
"Un-fucking-believable," Tosa turned, shaking his own head in disbelief.
"What's going on?" Mahung asked.
Mi answered, saying, "Fucker Danev here's got a date with the military nurse."
"Oreke?"
A nod.
"Motherfucker."
The envy subsided in time for the focus to shift back to prospects of weekend plans by the time it was our turn in the queue to receive our weekend passes, albeit with some hitches.
Mano was up before me, handed his pass, though with a slight condition. "Curfew is 1800," lieutenant Aozon said.
"It's 2000 for the others."
"Command doesn't want earthbenders out past dark. Be grateful you're even getting leave, dirt-eater. Dismissed."
Mano did not object. He understood that he had little power to. Initial excitement over the prospect of potentially being a bender had quickly been overwritten by the realization that it was the wrong element he was gifted with manipulating. So soon he'd gone from special to a scourge, a 'necessary evil' at best, and a 'vilified pest' all other times. Even in the 114th, he'd initially been met with a degree of hostility that'd at least subsided with a helping hand from myself and a few others over time.
The man left, treated to a few pats on the shoulders from his comrades and promises that they wouldn't party too hard without him and that they'd treat him to the first round. It was some comfort at least.
Next was my turn, and Aozon's next round of bullshit.
"Squad commanders are excluded from weekend passes this week. There's administrative work needing done."
I knew it was bullshit from the start. "Other commanders weren't withheld their passes."
"One commander per week. Just you who got unlucky this time."
"Bullshit!" came a voice from the other trainees gathered behind me. I recognized it as Murau's and immediately appreciated the support he was giving, even if our lieutenant did not.
"Quiet!" He turned back to me. "Will that be a problem, private first class?"
Whatever complaint I had, it wouldn't be amended here. I wanted to move on with things, and at the very least get whatever else I was owed. I was about to ask for my possessions when I noticed a flicker at his side. Beneath the flaps of his uniform, a gilded knife. My knife.
"Sir," I said, nodding towards it. "I believe that's mine."
His eyes looked towards mine, and narrowed. "I don't believe so, private first class. This knife is Fire Nation property."
Maybe once. "It was mine in the slums, sir."
"And now it isn't, returned to its rightful owners."
Which you're not. Its previous owner, a Fire Nation ambassador, had been killed by Riu's hands years ago.
"Its only other owner is dead, sir."
"And how would you know that? Think carefully about your answer before you admit to the murder of a Fire Nation officer."
Is that a threat? I looked at him, incredulous as to how he could still bear this much resentment for me in particular, but I said nothing. As far as say in this inner city went, however much I came to be viewed as a proper Fire Nation soldier, he always was more of one than me, and had the appropriate authority. I would win nothing here, and so I stood silent.
"That's what I thought. Dismissed!"
And I was gone, forcing myself to hold my tongue and not say anything as I stalked away back towards our barracks. The lieutenant could pretend to exert what authority he believed he had, but it would make no difference to me. One way or another, I would get my dagger, and I would get my date.
Fluke
I remembered one of the first demonstrations we'd be shown.
A leaf had been held between my fingers, and from the center of it, a small flame expanded. It ate at the green of the small leaf, slowly growing, destined to grow larger and larger until all was consumed, with only one thing keeping it at bay–myself. The flame spread slower for some than others, better capable of control than others. For myself, it'd grown quickly, not by merit of control, but rather, a lack of it.
And so, a flame had grown, between my hands, held at bay by a moment of terror of being burnt. So it remained there, stationary.
And now, we did the same, only that there was no leaf. There was no need for there to be one as the flame was already present. All that had changed was that we couldn't see it. The energy of that flame, that potential, it was always there, within us, ready to be given life and become something more, something powerful, something dangerous, something to be feared, needing to be controlled and tamed lest it consume you first.
It would be a lie to say it didn't feel good, but to feel the warmth that was produced with each consecutive motion of my body, it was a feeling like none other. It was something I'd never felt in all of my time in the slums: it was a sense of control, of power, but more than anything else, of relief. Years spent running, hiding, talking my way out of starvation and being beaten to death at a given moment, and for once, I had something going for me.
I followed through the motions of the form, demanding that the energy flow in accordance as well, knowing what would happen if I didn't, if I failed here, if I failed to learn, if I allowed myself to be thrown into war with anything less than complete and total control. The power of fire, it was the barrier between life and death, and the fear of letting it slip, of losing it, it kept me on my toes, kept my attention faced forward and nowhere else, and ensured that I demanded nothing less from myself than perfection, or at least a close as I could get.
There were other observers too today who helped to amplify my fears–additional Fire Nation soldiers, security for us I presumed, but something about it nonetheless odd. We'd been told that as we grew stronger, addition manpower was needed to make sure we didn't harm ourselves, but I took that immediately for the bullshit it was. I saw their faces beneath their helms. They were watching us.
I wondered at first if it was merely a passive watch, attempting to gauge just how far we were in our progress, but it was more than that. It was suspicious. Distrusting.
But of what?
I was brought out of my mindful wonderings by Jeong Jeong's shouts for attention in the midst of our practice.
"The fire you wield is an extension of yourself!" came Jeong Jeong's voice as we practiced. "It is the purest form of the energy that flows within us all, and it is yours to control, a tool for survival, or a weapon to defeat your enemies!"
I followed through my form, listening to the way the energy within me told me to move, sometimes listening, sometimes making adjustments on my own, but staying true to flow and control all the same regardless. There was no single proper form, but still, the similarity in the motions of those in the dojo could not be understated. The variation was minimal, and for the most part, our minds seemed as one in the way we moved, guided by the words of our master, who continued to speak.
"You are soldiers of the Fire Nation, hailing from a proud tradition of warriors! Your fire is your ally, but so too must it become your servant. You must not allow it to control you, for you control it. Anything less is your own destruction!"
As was complacency, which I could not afford. But he was right, I knew. I'd seen what'd happened before, when I had surrendered control, be it to the Hornets, to the plans of the Rats, or to the motions of the slums. Now, there was a chance that could change, fragile a balance it held in, but hold it I would, because I knew what the alternative was.
"You have improved," Jeong Jeong commented as we'd set about leaving the dojo that morning, on our way to our specialized training for the day.
It'd taken me a moment to realize it was me he was speaking to. "I'm just…doing as you taught me, master."
There was a pause before he spoke again. He was studying me, eyeing me from head to toe as I suddenly felt like my robe had fallen off with how exposed I felt in the moment. It wasn't anything of that sort, of course, but I wondered still what it was he was looking for until he spoke again.
"You allow your fear of failure to strengthen you," he said, likely recalling when I'd first begun to reliably produce flame, and the observation he'd made then. "Fear comes easily to you."
"Grew up with a good deal of it, master," I said. "Figure I might finally use it towards something that benefits me."
"Instinct," he said. "Fear is a key part of it. That is good. You will find no shortage of fear on the battlefield. Use it. Do not let it use you."
The way he spoke of it, there was more to it. The man was far from young, perhaps in his sixties, or perhaps very stressful late fifties. I'd heard no shortage of small talk too that he was an admiral, and so it was impossible to wonder, "Have you seen much of the war, master?"
It was hard to tell if he'd been expecting me to ask something in return, having turned back to his own tasks as he'd done. Upon hearing me though, his head craned towards me for but the moment that was needed to answer, "I have, yes."
And clearly done a damn good enough job to make it as far as he had, still alive.
"And what guided you?" I doubted it could possibly be fear, the man seemingly incapable of it if my reading of him was anywhere close to accurate. "Was it anger, hate, passion, or-"
"Duty," he cut me off. "Honor. Ambition. I was driven by many things, passed down to those I have taught as well, and perhaps you too in time."
Duty and honor. I mulled them over in my mind, nothing about the terms eliciting the slightest sense of response from me. They seemed too foreign, unfamiliar. I could hardly see these things driving me, not nearly as much as fear and desperation, but they'd worked for him, and by the way he said it, his students too. Or at least, I assumed they had.
"And these have worked for your students?" I asked.
Now he turned to face me. It wasn't for long, but the glance he gave me now afforded me a sight of his whole face rather than just a stray eye. I could see the scar that hung over his right eye as it narrowed, and he answered, "Yes. Too well, perhaps." And he was back to his own devices, but with only one final piece of advice to add. "Listen to that which strengthens you. Draw your power from it. You have more than you need. Now learn to channel it."
His words hung in my mind long after the point that I was out of his dojo, pondering it still as I stared at a board that displayed a drawn blueprint of the TT-4 Fire Nation tank, being taught to us as our "home away from home."
It certainly was something to be reckoned with by the looks of it, capable of speeds up to 25 miles per hour, boasting enough armor to be able to withstand the strength of boulders, resilient to disorientation by merit of a central pod capable of rotation, and so many other feats.
And I was set to be its gunner.
When the announcement of our specialized training had come at the beginning of the week, so too had we been assigned our tank groups. I was assigned with Gan, Gunji, and a more seasoned tank commander we had yet to meet by the name of Dojai. We had yet to meet him, not even a first batcher as much as he was a non-commissioned officer of the Fire Nation.
My unique position as a bender had immediately qualified me for the role of our tank's primary offensive device, and it was only around then as Gan was assigned his role as co-pilot, Gunji as engineer, and me as gunner did things suddenly begin to feel real.
It wasn't a game anymore. It wasn't make-pretend. Our instructors taught to us the theory of what made these vessels run–a steam engine powered by coal combustion, though talk was in the air of an internal combustion engine run by a liquid form of coal that was in its early stages of refinement.
We learned their capabilities, their history, their functions, and in time too, they said, we would learn ourselves hands on.
And from there, deployment.
It's not far off. Talking about it simply a few weeks ago, being taught general skills about combat and survival, it'd been a distant thought, but the training we went through now, the real deal, it was horrifying, and exhausting.
Sleep would have been nice. In the half hour span of time between the conclusion of the 62nd armored brigade's lunch hour and that of the 114th, I figured it would be the best chance I would get for it, as the spirits knew the night wouldn't make sleep any easier.
It was as soon as my eyes were closed and the rest of the world had faded around me that the voice came with a word yet preferred unspoken until a few months ago, and when it came, it was more than any other point. It wasn't the same disembodied whisper that it'd been for years. It was real; as real as though somebody had put their mouth to my ear and spoken the word loud and clear, "Aegis."
Danev's face was the first sight I was greeted with upon waking, hovering over me with curious eyes. Was it him? I wondered in an instant, but knew that couldn't have been the case. For one, the voice hadn't been his, more femenine instead. And in addition to that too, he didn't know my name. Only two others had, and they were both gone–Mishi and Reki. And both because of me.
In spite of my certainty it wasn't, I still couldn't help but ask, shot out of sleep as I was, "That you?"
Danev looked at me, confused, and shook his head.
I don't know how long I'd been asleep, but I gathered quickly enough by the sound of the rest of the 114th entering the barracks that it couldn't have been long. In addition to that, there was the fact that I didn't feel rested in the slightest, nor would I feel anymore rested as Danev asked, "Was you who was talking."
"What did I say?" I asked, believing I already knew the answer, but Danev only shrugged. "I wake you?"
I shook my head. I hadn't exactly slept at all, nor did I expect too much tonight, but I would give it a shot as I still did, hoping for better results.
"Great," he said. "Then I got something to ask you."
"You can stop bugging me. I'll come," I groaned, figuring his question would be in regard to my intentions to join him and his cohort for evening training, though that wasn't his intent.
"That's great, but not what I'm asking."
"What then?"
"You had a hand in forgeries back in the streets, yeah?"
I eyed him over with intrigue, a momentary urge within me telling me to run and hide until realizing a second later that this wasn't the slums anymore. What I'd done no longer mattered, especially such a brief stint as that done with Reek before he'd joined the Rats just in order to make some petty cash on the side, faking Peacemaker 'notes' to sell for a dime a dozen.
"Yeahhh?" I asked, unsure where he was going with this.
He scoffed. "Knew that was you selling fake notes. Know they asked me to hunt you down at one point?"
"Guess I was too slippery?"
Danev voicelessly guffawed, just opening his mouth so as to indicate he would let out a hearty laugh if he weren't afraid of the noise it'd produce. "More like Riu and I were more than happy with you fucking with the Peacemakers. Made things easier for us."
"Glad to hear I helped." A part of me almost felt guilty to be honest. "So reason you ask being?"
"Not allowed to just be curious."
I smirked, raising an eyebrow at him in spite of his pathetic defense until he gave it up.
"Platoon lieutenant withheld the weekend pass from me," he finally confessed. "Said that now that I'm a private first class I'm needed for 'administrative purposes.'"
"Bullshit," I said.
"I know, right?"
"No. Bullshit that he thinks you're capable of anything administrative."
He looked hurt, in a joking way of course. "I'll have you know I pretty much ran the slums' most powerful gang for three years."
"And here you are complaining about not getting a weekend pass from our 'military overlord.'
Danev gave me an annoyed look. We were straying from the point, his weekend pass. I'd hardly paid any attention to my own. A good deal of the others in the 62nd had accepted them with great enthusiasm, already putting together plans for the weekend. I'd distanced myself from such wanderings, and hadn't even given the end of the week much thought, never having made much of them before in training or in the slums, not knowing why I should start now. "Anyway," he said. "Was wondering if you might help me out here?"
"Just take mine," I said dismissively.
There was a pause from Danev, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was hard to understand what exactly surprised him so much about it all. "What?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Wasn't planning on using it anyway. Thought I'd might train some more."
"Fluke, you've already become better than half of the others in our group. Lighten the fuck up and take a breather."
"My fire's still shit. Flames are weak compared to the others."
"Oh boo-fucking-hoo," Danev said with an exaggerated roll of hs eyes before proceeding to mock me. "The fire I make with my mind and shoot out of my fingers isn't as big as I want it to be."
Even that got a chuckle from me, incapable of not seeing the ridiculousness of it all once he put it into words. And he was right. A little over two months ago, the thought that I was a bender, capable of doing half of the things I was somewhat able to do now would have been a fever dream. Hell, a part of me still couldn't believe it now, but I was a firebender. The skull-faced soldiers I'd seen lining the walls of Citadel for over a decade, capable of such power that I couldn't begin to comprehend, I was one of them now, and had the uniform and the abilities to prove it.
With that in mind though, that didn't exactly help me formulate plans for the weekend out of thin air. "Think I'll still pass though," I said.
"Fluke,..."
"Really," I said, attempting to reassure him. "Gotten comfortable on base anyway. I'll be fine. Will be nice and quiet with all you fuckers gone anyway." I was already pulling my pass out from my pants pocket to turn it over. I held it out for Danev, but he still stood there, looking at me curiously.
"You sure?"
"Take it," I said, though still, he hesitated. "Take it before I give it to Match," I repeated, unable to help but become amused at the prospect of it lying on his bedside table where he still lay in a state of slow recovery.
It seemed that Danev saw the amusement too, and took the moment to take the pass from me.
"Tell Oreke I say, 'hi,'" I said, the nature of his intentions for the weekend not lost on me. They'd hardly been kept a secret with how much Danev had been wistfully talking about her over the course of the last few weeks, seemingly glad that the ex-Rats had hospitalized him back then.
A grin that could almost be described as goofy from him, and then it was back to business. "Now get off your ass. Spearmanship today."
"You always change subjects the exact moment I get good at the last thing," I complained, pushing myself from my bunk.
"Well if I didn't, how would you ever learn?"
To that, I had no real retort, and could only follow to engage in unparalleled defeat and humiliation for the next two hours before lights out. It didn't help that we had more of an audience either. Similar to how there'd been a greater guard presence at the firebending dojo, so too were there more here, watching us practice.
"Thought we were past the point of constant suspicion," Gan whispered to me at one point while we sparred.
"Apparently not," I said, forcing myself to draw my eyes away from them and focus instead on the task at hand. In other words, the severe ass-kicking I was being given.
I came back to the barracks later bruised, battered, and exhausted to the point that I figured sleep would come easily.
Only it didn't.
Instead, as I closed my eyes, and tried to sleep, even more vivid and clear than before, was the same voice that'd spoken to me earlier in the day, and it said one thing only.
"You are no longer safe."
Danev
I would find a way to repay him, I determined.
Whether he thought he was actually giving up anything or not, Fluke was doing more for me than he realized. I'd make it up to him, somehow. He seemed to need it. It was hard, sleeping in the bunk below him, to not be made aware of the difficulty he'd had in sleeping for the last few weeks. And yesterday, that word he'd muttered, 'Aegis,' it still made no sense.
Kid really needed to blow off some steam, one way or another.
Huh. I can make a firebending joke out of that, I realized as I checked my hair in the mirror of the barracks' bathroom. My uniform was straight, recently washed and tidy, and after months of bearing through a clean-shaven scalp, my hair was finally back to the point that I could style it to a reasonable degree. At least to the point that I wouldn't look like every other damned trainee around me.
Most had already left to hit the city, though I'd taken my time in the barracks still putting myself together in as presentable a manner as possible. Even Fluke was gone from the barracks, likely either studying or training.
I shouldn't have accepted his pass, I considered, beginning to wonder if it was selfish of me to accept Fluke's offer to give it to me. I likely could have worked things out another way: bribed somebody for theirs or simply snuck out, though that last one was more than likely a terrible idea.
Already with what I was doing now, I was pushing my luck. I wasn't so much of a fool so as to jump directly into things without considering what could possibly go wrong. On one hand, there was the supposed 'administrative work' that I was needed for, but I'd heard no such mention of it since he'd announced it to me, and I'd heard talk anyway that lieutenant Aozon had already departed for the city a day early to enjoy its pleasures for the weekend. The administrative work was more than likely little more than bullshit and Aozon's way of getting back at me for being promoted to private first class.
It was impossible not to notice the new insignia on my uniform. Some of the others had felt proud about that rank, but it remained difficult for me to do so. While, granted, it was nice knowing the work I was doing had been recognized, I knew it hardly meant anything. On the battlefield they planned to send us to, the extra ornamentation to my private's stripe would do little to block an earthbender's boulder. I was still just as much cannon fodder as the rest. Maybe now we were being treated like real soldiers, parts of the Fire Nation, but once against an enemy, we would be used as disposable tools once again.
Thoughts of leaving came less frequently than they used to in spite of that realization, however. More than anything, it was on account of the fact that I was beginning to realize just how impossible that all was. Fluke was right, going back to the slums wasn't an option, though we disagreed on the reasons. For him, it was a fear of what the slums would do to us, which was valid. For me, however, it was that getting out of the inner city without the express knowledge and permission of the Fire Nation was an impossibility. I thought that with us becoming more accustomed to Fire Nation life, security would go down, but if anything, it'd only been raised.
They even had a soldier right outside of our barracks' bathroom, as I noticed upon exiting. What had prompted the increase in surveillance and security, I couldn't imagine.
The Rat attack on us? I wondered. It was rather late for that, us Rats and Hornets now on good terms, and so it was either Fire Nation incompetence to address concerns in a timely manner, or it was something else entirely. I leaned towards the second. There was something I didn't know going on. My own paranoid mind couldn't help but think that my plot to use a weekend pass that wasn't mine had attracted this level of security, but obviously that wasn't the case.
Still, it prompted me to be on my best behavior as I left the building and approached the security perimeter to present my identification and pass to the guard at the gate.
The passes were unmarked, speaking nothing of who they belonged to, only including when they expired. For extra security, however, the soldier tore halfway through part of the pass. I suspected that tomorrow, he would rip the bottom half off entirely in order to ensure the pass wouldn't be used on future occasions beyond this weekend. Clever, I thought as I continued into the city.
And if I thought I was leaving the Fire Nation behind simply by leaving the military district, I was wrong.
I'd gone for runs here before with the 114th when jogging the circumference of the inner wall. I'd caught glimpses of the actual inner city and its clean red-roofed buildings, stone-paved streets, and shops open for business. Never before though had I seen such a presence of armed security.
Our weekend adventuring was limited to a particular commercial district of the inner city, ordered not to approach the residential areas. It made sense. The last place Citadel's government wanted drunk soldiers enjoying their first time off for months was in a populated residential center. So instead, we were confined to a still large commercial district ripe with food stands, taverns, vendors, and no shortage of other pleasures that the slums of Citadel had never before seen.
There were performers putting on shows, attracting residents and Fire Nation trainees alike, peddlers taking advantage of our leave to pawn off what they must've thought were goods that would attract us, and musicians on the side of the streets playing instruments for spare silver pieces, none of which I gave too, clinging onto the five silver pieces I'd been afforded for the weekend.
It was the supposed 'pay' we'd heard some much about, and now finally received, able to spend at our pleasure. I could see other trainees more than content to blow their allowances all in the same place, one foolish Amusum from the 122nd spending 3 silvers on a necklace he must have believed was the perfect accessory to his otherwise plain uniform. It was not.
I was more stingy with my pay, not about to give it up to some semi-talented performer nor spend it on the 'goods' of a peddler knowing we were the perfect audience for their bullshit.
I was saving it. I had a date after all.
"Imperial Bowl," the place was called, but knowing the name hardly gave me any easier a time finding it. There were street vendors everywhere, any one of them capable of being the one Oreke had talked about.
I must have bothered about half a dozen inner city residents before finding the supposed location. The place was…far from what I expected for an eatery. I came across the site, and couldn't see anything in the way of a food stand. Instead, I saw a building, with the characters above that did indeed read the name "Imperial Bowl." I was thankful for Fluke's help in language skills, the word 'imperial' once I'd only learned recently as part of our national history class when learning about the Fire Nation islands post unification and the establishment of a trans-oceanic empire following the establishment of the first colonies on the Earth Kingdom coast.
The Earth Kingdom, claiming the entire continent for themselves without a proper claim, were all the same immediately hostile towards the Fire Nation settlers, even conscripting the Avatar to retaliate against the Fire Nation, launching an attack on the capital itself that left the royal palace in ruins.
From then on, the Earth Kingdom had begun to wage numerous wars of aggression against the colonies for decades until the Fire Nation finally retaliated nearly a hundred years ago, realizing that their people would never be safe until the Earth King and his dynasty was removed from power.
At least, such was the story we were taught. Some of it seemed too convenient for the nation we served, but then again, if the Fire Nation had its way, the truth of the past wouldn't matter. Only the present. I wondered if I should have had an opinion on that. The truth was I didn't much care. I had far more things to worry about than politics, and the main thing right now was figuring out just what kind of building I was at.
I decided to try the front door, and was immediately startled by a small bell that rung as soon as I opened it.
I barely noticed the slight chuckle of a girl from behind the counter who watched me, but open realizing I noticed her, quickly regained her composure. She wasn't the only one watching, and I stood like a deercat in torch flame, paralyzed. All of their eyes were on me, and my mind raced through the possibilities as to why. Was I that loud on entering? Was that bell meant to go off? Is it a warning? Is it something I'm wearing? Is it my hair?
My eyes scanned across those inside for the slightest relief, for somebody to get me out of this, for Oreke, but she wasn't here. Am I too late? Am I too early? Did I take too long getting ready? Standing there as I was for what could have been minutes for all I knew, I came to the decision to turn tail, and run.
The small bell rang again as the door shut behind me.
What the hell was that? I wondered to myself once back outside in the fresh air. Nothing about that place had made sense. Oreke had said it was an eatery, but I'd seen no food stand in there, just people eating at tables. They had to have gotten the food from somewhere else, right?
My head was spinning, and it was impossible not to question my entire reason for being here. I was starting to see Fluke's reasoning for staying behind. I was a complete fish out of water. All of us trainees were, but me especially because unlike the others, I was the idiot who'd tried to hook up with a Fire Nation woman. What the hell was I thinking? Trying to go out on a date for my first time in a real city that wasn't a squalid slum? Idiot!
None of what I was doing made sense. I was a street kid who shouldn't have been here, shouldn't have been working with the Fire Nation, shouldn't have been walking their streets, and sure as hell shouldn't have been trying to go out with one of them.
And what kind of basis had I even established with her anyway? I wondered. Every interaction I'd had with her had been while in intensive medical care, or still waiting out the drugs I'd been pumped full of. I had half a mind to think that I didn't actually know who she was. There was a plenty good chance that my attraction to her was by the merit of the painkillers I'd been force-fed. She can't have been as attractive as I imagined her, I told myself as I leaned against the wall of the supposed 'eatery' as I caught my breath. And even if she is, she led me here. 'Here,' of course, being a place that couldn't have possibly had been a food stand as I'd seen nobody there actually selling it. So it was either that I'd vastly overhyped her in my drugged-up state, or that she was making a fool out of me. Those were the two possibilities I was choosing between.
The mental gymnastics were just about sufficient to get me to leave the site where I'd been waiting and call it quits until I recognized the briefest of glances of what appeared to be a familiar sight, and so I turned my head in that direction.
I almost didn't recognize her at first. For once, I was seeing her out of her hospital scrubs, but instead what was a a violet dress with golden trims flowing down to her knees leaving just enough to make me turn away upon the realization that I'd been proven wrong on both counts: she was here, and by the spirits, she was more attractive than ever I'd seen her before. If anything, the drugs had done her a disservice more than helped her.
I was suddenly acutely aware of my own appearance, the uniform I'd sent the day before cleaning and this morning ironing now feeling nowhere near sufficient enough to greet her. My hair too was a point of concern as I battled a paranoia that it may have been mussed up in my exploration of the city.
I attempted to put it back into place and smooth out the wrinkles in the uniform in the few seconds still available to me before her voice shot me out of it, asking, "Danev?"
And I turned to greet her, bearing no confidence in my appearance, but all the same decided to face the music.
I realized then I didn't know how to greet her. I considered no shortage of options. I considered waving, but decided against it, thinking it too casual. I considered just smiling and nodding, but figured it may come off as too aloof. I considered bowing, but thought against it, too formal. At some point too I'd even considered saluting, knowing that she was technically part of the military, holding a rank that did in fact outrank mine.
Eventually, however, it would be Oreke who would decide for me, doing none of these things however, but instead grabbing onto the side of my face to turn my head to the side, cutting me off as I was in the middle of saying some odd combination of "Oreke," "Hi," and even "ma'am." It was a good thing she did interrupt me, but still did elicit a "Huh?" from me as she turned my head to the side and proceeded to touch my scalp where a small scab still remained from my run-ins with the Rats.
"Just checking," she said innocently. "Looks like it's recovering well."
"If you wanted a check-up," I said, trying to force myself to calm down and ease up, "You could have just called me to the medical wing."
She let go of my face, flashing a smirk before saying, "Well where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm tired of hospital food."
With that, she took the lead, headed straight for the supposed "Imperial Bowl."
"Wait," I advised her, thinking back on my own run in with this establishment. "I don't think they serve food here."
"Course they do," she said, stopping in her footsteps in front of the door. I was too busy thinking about how wrong she was before realizing that she was looking at me, almost expectantly.
"Are you…," I stammered, blissfully unaware of what I was missing.
"...Going to get the door?"
Oh shit, I suddenly remembered, almost making the exclamation out loud before recalling that apparently it was supposedly customary to hold open doors for women to permit them entrance into an establishment, and so quickly rushed ahead to do just that.
Nothing about her reminder had been accusative, but more playful than anything, by no means unaware of just how out of tune with 'proper manners' as I was, and so she flashed an innocent smile as she walked past me, and I followed in after her, accompanied by the same damned bell above the doorway.
Same as before, the girl behind the counter greeted us, and I still stood there, positive that we were in the wrong place until Oreke approached the counter and asked in a fashion that indicated a clear sufficiency of experience, "Table for two, please."
The woman behind the counter nodded, her eyes passing over me for a moment that seemed to indicate I finally was being saved before leading us deeper inside the building with two sheets of paper in hand. Going in further as we were, I could see others where they ate, and even caught a glimpse of a man in uniform actually bringing food to one of the tables.
What in spirits' name?
Eventually, we were led to ours, a small table for two by a window atop which she set the sheets of paper, lists of food items by the look of them. It was as she departed though, motioning for us to sit, that the woman who had previously been behind the counter whispered to me, "Ger her chair."
Get her chair? Then it struck me.
I did not hesitate, and so quickly sped myself over to Oreke's side of the table to pull her chair out for her to sit, met with an amused, "What a gentleman, thanks."
I sat only as soon as she was seated, and now faced her eye to eye with the table between us, and a sunny view of the outside street to our side. I sat there watching the passers by, civilians and trainees on leave alike. I recognized a great deal of them, not simply by their uniforms but faces too. A part of me couldn't help but pray none would come in here, more than glad for the temporary sanctuary from military life that I was being offered.
"You already decide what to order?" Oreke asked, surprised, drawing my attention back to her.
She was looking up at me above the sheet of paper.
"What do you mean?" I asked, recalling how I'd seen food brought to the others. "They bring it to us, right?"
"Well, you need to decide what you actually want to eat first." I became acutely aware once again of the sheet on my end of the table, sporting a healthy array of different food items. I hadn't known what to make of it before considering the list's length. Much like the vendors in the slums where foods were seasonal, I thought that was the case here, but, was she telling me…
"You mean I can order anything from here?" I asked, astounded, pointing at the sheet so as to make my point clear
She nodded her head, putting a finger to her lips as though urging me to not act so loud and uncivilized in a public location as this. "Everything on the menu's available."
My eyes widened. I still hadn't seen anything in the way of where they were getting the food. Did they get it from other vendors across the city? "Where the hell is it then?" I asked, failing to keep my voice low followed by another shush from Oreke, this one more amused than scolding however.
"In the back," she chuckled. "The kitchen."
"They have that much food to cook on the spot here?" I asked, figuring I shouldn't have been too surprised as the Fire Nation army did things in a similar way, but for civilians and commoners to be eating like this,...I could hardly believe it. "How do they afford it all?"
"Profits from selling food," she shrugged.
"Okay, but how-"
"Can I get you started with something to drink?" a voice interrupted my seemingly-insane ravings, coming once again from the counter lady.
"Oolong tea, please," Oreke said, turning her head towards me to indicate my turn. Shit.
I looked at the 'menu.' My eyes scanned through the items. I didn't see any list of drinks. It was just food.
Just get the same thing as her.
"I'll have oolong tea too, please," I said.
It was impossible not to notice that Oreke was grinning feverishly to herself, her elation growing all the more fierce as I now asked, "Okay. And who's she?"
"I don't know," Oreke shrugged. "Never met her personally."
"No, I mean, what the hell is she doing, asking us what we want to drink?"
"She's our waitress. She takes our order, and brings our food."
"So she makes it too?"
"No," Oreke scoffed. "She brings the order to a cook for them to make."
"There's a waitress and a cook," I said, nodding. That could make sense to me. I'd seen numerous family-owned vendors in the slums before, oftentimes run by husband and wife duos or parents and offsprings. A group of two running this place. I could see that.
"Multiple of each actually," Oreke continued. "And they work in shifts."
"How many shifts?"
"2," Oreke said. "3 if full-time."
"So that's like, what, 8 people total?"
"More."
"More?! How many people work here?"
"Well, I can't speak about everywhere, but I know this place also has a cleaner, a manager, and," she must have noticed the effect her words were having on me, confusing far more than helping. I couldn't have thanked her enough for saying then, "Why are we talking about restaurant management?" Done with scolding herself, she then smiled. It was a nice pretty one that was made all the more bright by the color of her dress in the sun shining through the window onto her. She then asked, face somehow so full of ease and contentment, "How are you?"
And so it was safe to assume that such was the moment where the 'date' actually began. I talked to her about training, and, at her behest, answered about my goings on with the Rats and how I was now on good terms with those who'd put me in the hospital and in her care.
She hardly seemed convinced by the fact that we were so suddenly no longer enemies, but knowing that it wouldn't be easy to explain a street dog mindset to her, I settled on telling her that it could have been worse anyway.
"I guess I should be thankful for them too," Oreke said. "After all, they're the reason you wound up in my clinic again."
It was a good thing too that I was going in for a drink from my cup of tea when she said that as it gave an excuse for the heat rising to my face, able to be attributed to the beverage rather than anything else. But I still had to give a response. I couldn't hide behind my mug forever, and so joked, "Well, you're not the one who got beat within an inch of life." No! Don't sound like you're unhappy you wound up here. "But in hindsight," I quickly recovered, "It was worth it."
If it wasn't an internal monologue to tell me that I gave the right answer, it was Oreke's smile.
"Are you two ready to order?" the waitress asked again, sneaking up on me for the second time already today.
Oreke ordered the roast duck, and I asked for a certain item that my eyes had settled on earlier–something called salmon, which Oreke had told me upon my inquiry was a form of fish. I couldn't remember the last time I had fish, but apparently, I would have to wait a bit longer.
"I'm sorry," the waitress said. "But we're out of salmon for today."
I looked at Oreke accusingly. "You said everything on the menu is available."
She hardly took insult from it, and only retorted with an innocent shrug, prompting me to improvise. I'd only had my eyes on that item and was now on the spot, running out of time and options, voicing the only other meal I could think of, the roast duck too.
Upon confirmation, the waitress was gone once again, and I was left with a keenly observant Oreke who seemed more than aware of just how much trouble this all was giving me.
"Not many restaurants in the slums?" she asked.
"Not much food in the slums," I answered.
"Hear that's changing now. Supplies coming back in; slums are getting their share."
"Huh. Would've been nice if they'd done that a few months ago." My comment aside, I was hardly angry about it. I made it. I was alive. While I couldn't say the same for the others, my time out there had shown me that you needed to count your blessings and not dwell on what was wrong with the world, as those would always end up greatly outnumbering all else.
Thankfully, conversation did not linger on the slums, and when she was done asking me about how training was going, I could finally shift the inquiry to be directed towards her.
Over a delicious roast duck that quickly made me forget about whatever the hell salmon was, Oreke told me about how her father was an officer in the Fire Nation who'd died during the battle of Citadel, leaving her orphaned and under the care of her father's colleagues. She's grown up in an occupied Citadel, same as me, only on the other side of the inner wall. I heard her talk about what it was like to grow up trapped, her cage not one of poverty, but war, on the front lines of a greater conflict that kept her here. In spite of all that though, she'd developed a passion for service if not warfare, and believed that helping others could be the best way of ensuring no other children would be orphaned as she had been.
After enough time had passed, she posed the same question to me, asking about my own children being raised in Citadel. However, in spite of her curiosity, I declined to answer, respectfully of course. I was never one to focus on the woes of my life, and so it wasn't so much that I believed the stories of my own encounters growing up would outweigh hers as much as I suspected she would view it that way. I didn't want to do that, not right after she'd spent almost half an hour and an entire roasted duck lunch talking about what life had been like for her, losing a parent at a young age and growing up in a military-industrial complex from which there was no escape, only adaptation and subservience.
Fortunately, Oreke did not take my refusal to answer as a slight on her, at least not after I said, "next time."
"Next time?" she asked with a smile on her face. "Isn't that rather bold of you?"
It most likely was, especially after no shortage of other embarrassments I'd faced in the last thirty minutes alone such as spilling my cup of tea and failing to comprehend how to use the chopsticks I'd been given. I became flustered, and this time had no oolong tea to veil it.
At the very least though, one of us found my embarrassment entertaining, and I would have begun to think the scales severely weighed against me had it not proven to be worth it by a simple follow up comment and agreement alone: "Next time."
The next and final time the waitress appeared, I was no longer startled by her, but was instead disappointed to see that it wasn't to bring us any more amazing food, but instead, demand restitution–payment for the meal.
Of course.
Across from me, I caught sight of Oreke reaching a hand to her side to her purse, no doubt to retrieve said payment, but the last hour of time spent with her in what was, at least to me, 'high society,' had made me ready for this. All stories of romance I'd heard and neglected over the years now struck a chord, and so I put my streetside reflexes to the test, and was faster.
Before there could be any objection, two silver pieces were out of my pocket, and in the waitress's hand. It was done.
She smiled and nodded, leaving us to ourselves once again for the final time.
"You're getting the hang of this," Oreke said with a smirk.
"I'm a quick learner."
"It'll do you well in the future," she said. "Not all ladies will be as patient as me."
Not all ladies?
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh come on," she scoffed. "Soldier going off to war, you'll get your fill." The casual way in which she said it betrayed how she really felt. There was something almost somber behind it–the realization that my tenure here was temporary, for only a few months longer, and then after, war. It was a mercy that Oreke chose to speak of me finding other women as the end as opposed to what was far more likely–me finding an end on the field.
So I addressed both as one, and put aside my own fears for the moment in order to assuage hers, saying in response, "Come on. Have a little faith in me."
She only smiled. An hour spent searching for things to talk about and now, it no longer seemed necessary. The silence between us wasn't a gap needing to be filled at the first possible moment. She leaned back in her seat and eyed me a relaxed look on her face, letting the minutes pass between us until she was the next one to speak again.
"Got something to tell you by the way," she said. "Some good news."
"It's not mine," I said.
She rolled her eyes, brushing off the quip with a sense of annoyance that was almost welcoming before getting back to the topic at hand. "It's about your friend." Friend? The look on my face must have given away my confusion. "The one you came in with."
Aden. She saw that I understood, so allowing me to ask, with bated breath, expecting the inevitable news that he'd finally passed, "What about him?"
But instead, the answer I got was not about the demise that I'd come to accept months ago. It was something else entirely. "He's awake."