Pro Patria: Chapter One
The dim morning light was grey in our eyes. The Mojave is well known for its stunning sunrise, but it had been weeks since I had noticed the explosion of color that took place every morning. Schmidt and I sat with our backs to the sun, smoking cigarettes and thinking about nothing. It's amazing how the mind will empty of all thoughts and emotions, focusing entirely on simple actions, like smoking or shooting. I had already done plenty of both today. Schmidt sneezed and looked at me.
"You think they'll come over today?"
"No. They visited yesterday. Even the Legion needs a break."
He shook his head and looked towards Nelson.
"Damn. I was looking forward to some target practice."
I laugh, but only half-heartedly. Movement in the field in front of us has attracted my attention. I sit up, my hand on my rifle.
"Did you see that?"
Schmidt put out his cigarette and joined me. We both peer out into the dim horizon, watching for any sign of movement.
"There it is! I saw it!"
I lay my rifle on the sand bag and aim down the iron sights.
"Two hundred yards out, it's a pair of legionnaires. They're moving fast. A pack of smokes says you can't hit one."
I turn to Schmidt and give him a smile.
"Deal."
I watch the legionnaires move closer, darting in and out between cover. They disappear into a shell hole, setting a mine underneath a wounded or dead trooper in the hopes of killing an unwary medic. I take a deep breath, let it out, and fire as a legionnaire steps out of the hole. He collapses as I work the bolt.
"Nice shot! I bet you can't get the other one. Double or nothing."
I fire again. The other man drops.
"You son of a..."
Schmidt walks off to get the cigarettes. I pull out my knife and carve two more tallies into my rifle's wooden stock. So far, it's been a good morning.
---
Our company stands at attention before the mess hall. A sad excuse for an infantry unit, our uniforms are filthy and only a handful of troopers are armed with the standard NCR service rifle. Major Polatli walks back and forth among our ranks, disconcerted with the state of the camp. He shakes his head and turns back to the command tent. Lieutenant Warren salutes and we break off; some head to the barracks while the rest head in to get lunch. I sit at a table with Schmidt and the others. Schmidt is in the middle of a story, describing my exploits from earlier that morning. He claps me on the back and finishes his story. I don’t pay much attention; the beans we’re having for lunch are far more interesting.
I head to the barracks after lunch, smoke a cigarette, and take a nap. It’s dusk when I’m shaken awake by Schmidt.
“Ghoul and I are playing poker. You want in?”
I rub the sleep from my eyes and join them on the bottom bunk. Ghoul deals me in and passes me a cigarette. I light up, watching as the smoke tendrils dance through the air.
“I heard you killed two men today.”
I look up at Ghoul and flash him a grin.
“It was a slow day.”
Ghoul lets loose with his sandpaper growl, shaking with the laughter. He puts in two dollars and the game goes on. We play for more than an hour, whiling away the time until our squad is up for the night watch. It isn’t long before Schmidt and I are side by side again, staring out towards Nelson. I light up another cigarette; I’ve almost finished one of the packs I won in the bet this morning. By tomorrow I’ll be out completely. It’s a sad day when a soldier runs out of smokes.
I look up from my pack and notice Schmidt. He’s drawing in the sand, unaware that I’m watching him. He’s gonna be an artist one day, or so he says. I’m not sure if there’s a place for art in our world anymore.
I’ve never really thought of my life after the army; maybe I’ll buy a herd of Brahmin, get married to Alice Ederman, and have a herd of kids.
“Hey Schmidt, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“You think we’ll die out here?”
Schmidt pauses for a few seconds, contemplatively puffing on his cigarette.
“Yeah.”
We sit in silence, our thoughts far away from this dry little corner of the desert. I think back to my grandfather’s ranch. He had never been wealthy, but had somehow managed to scrape a decent living raising livestock. I would wake up early every morning to eat breakfast with the old man before setting out to do the day’s chores. We would brand Brahmin, fix fences, dig water pits, and much more. I used to think the ranch life was a terrible bore. I would daydream of adventures in far away lands: hunting deathclaws, getting in gunfights with gangsters, fighting off rabid tribesmen in the service of the Bear. Now all I dream about is my quiet life at home. I don’t want to die in some sandy shithole.
Schmidt taps me on the shoulder and points across the field.
“I count fourteen, maybe fifteen legionnaires all headed this way. Keep an eye on them while I warn the Major.”
He runs off towards the command tent, careful not to rise above a low crouch. I rub my eyes and set up my rifle. I can see a small group of soldiers spread out across the battlefield, dodging in and out of cover. Most of them appear to be young recruits, but one wears a wolf on his head. I settle my sights on him and wait for Schmidt to come back. It takes him a few minutes, but when he returns he’s followed by the Major and a small cadre of other officers.
“Can you still see them?”
“Yeah, they’ve moved up around fifty yards or so.”
Major Polatli steps up to the sandbags and peers into the night with a pair of binoculars. I keep an eye on the wolf man.
“Lieutenant Warren, gather your men and prepare to defend.”
The Major drops the glasses to his chest and returns to his tent. Lieutenant Warren scampers off to the barracks with Sergeant Cooper hot on his heels.
“I bet you three bucks I get one first.”
I smile at Schmidt and shake my head.
“Make it five bucks and you have a deal.”
Schmidt scratches his chin and looks down at his rifle, a semi-automatic weapon in far better condition than my bolt action. He gives the matter a few seconds of thought; gambling is the one activity that Schmidt cares about the most.
“You’re on.”
We shake hands and settle in, waiting for the chaos to begin.
---
It’s almost an hour later before the legionnaires attack. Schmidt, eager to beat me in our little wager, fires first. He has five or six shots down range before I fire once. It’s impossible to tell where our individual bullets land, making it unlikely that either one of us will win the money. I see Ghoul a little ways down the line throwing sticks of dynamite with dazzling speed. Explosions rock the battlefield, sending a sticky mixture of dirt and blood raining down upon both sides. I empty my magazine and begin to reload. Schmidt’s superior firepower has allowed him to chew through two or three magazines already; his barrel omits a slight red glow from the heat of his furious firing.
The enemy are within fifty yards of our position now but their numbers are quickly dwindling. I resettle myself on the sand bags and fire at the charging form of another man. He crumples, collapsing to the ground. I slam the bolt, load another round and fire towards a distant muzzle flash. Cries and groans are coming from both sides of the firefight, but we appear to have the advantage. I see Lieutenant Warren running among the men, shouting words of praise and encouragement. Inspired by what looks to be an uncontested victory the young officer leaps over cover and with a cry of “follow me men!” charges screaming towards Nelson. Schmidt emits a tribal war yell and takes off after him. It isn’t long before the rest of our unit is sprinting across the war-torn desert to finish off the hated legionnaires. My legs ache, my lungs burn, but I push forward anyways. Twenty yards away I see the startled face of a young recruit as he attempts to defend himself. Twenty yards away I see him fall dead, my bullet in his chest. I work the bolt and fire again, this time at the back of a retreating man. I miss, but Schmidt doesn’t.
---
We finish off the last remnants of the attacking force and head back to the camp. The sun is rising and I can smell the aroma of baked beans in the air. I look at Schmidt and give him a tired grin.
“I think I won.”
“Uh uh, no way! I totally smoked one of ‘em right at the beginning!”
We argue all the way back to the mess hall, where we collapse into our seats and fall almost instantly asleep, our heads bobbing dangerously close to our bowls of untouched beans.
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Comments
Whats the name of the main character here? I must have missed it.
Looking forwards to seeing more of these two.
I like the first person perspective.