XIV: Fear Before You Can Scream

Disembarking would have made me the happiest woman alive, had we not stepped down into that particular port. An entire platoon marched past us off one of the larger boats, carrying their armour and weaponry. An even larger group stumbled along behind them in thin farmer's garb, rubbing their arms. Some looked around, wide-eyed and scared. Others stared at the ground as they walked. Regardless of how they angled their gaze, however, not one could escape a very obvious fact: they were the untrained fodder. When they lined up to receive their standard-issue gear, they were lining up to receive the clothes they were going to die in.

At two in the afternoon, the inn already reflected that. The desperate sounds of men getting shit-faced out of fear rolled out of the front door as we passed. Better than allowing yourself to think whilst off duty. A drunk man would probably hold the line better than one that had really considered what it was he was about to do.

“Idiots, the lot of them,” Wrathwrought spat out with surprising malice as one staggered out of the pub behind us.

Apparently he disagreed.

We headed past the forges in silence. Meaning the combined roar of bellows, steam, furnaces and metal smashing metal allowed me to ignore him altogether simply by avoiding eye contact. Other stations handed out canteens, boots and helmets. We passed a massive tent providing meagre shelter to a row of people doling out food. Across the board, the seething masses of people generally fell into one of two camps: those that prattled away endlessly and those that stared into their laps or the space in front of them and looked close to tears. This base had probably seen some combat nearby. When I was a recruit I hadn't started acting like either group until I'd seen my first man torn to shreds, after all. Riding up to the fort, I'd actually been excited.

I snorted derisively at the thought, earning a raised brow from Wrathwrought that I pointedly ignored. We found someone to report to. They gave us a map that roughed out where they understood the enemy to be, some supplies and two horses. Then they pointed out the gate.

“And our men?” I demanded.

“We have been told specifically not to dispatch further reinforcements to that area,” the man told me calmly from behind his desk.

“You're sending two people out alone.”

“Evidentially you misunderstand your mission. You are not mounting an attack. You are recovering remnants and rendezvousing with the main force. You will do better with just two. That way you may avoid alerting the enemy to your presence altogether.”

“Bullshit. You don't send people out alone to help, you send people out alone to d-”

“It's fine,” Wrathwrought said, interrupting. “We'll skirt around the edge there. Shouldn't encounter much. Thanks for the provisions.”

“It's not fucking fine-”

But we were dismissed. I cussed Wrathwrought out from command tent to stables. I told him he was a stupid, arrogant twat. I told him that if he really thought that would work, he didn't deserve acknowledgement as anything smarter than an animal. Than a tree stump. I detailed to him all the ways we were going to die as we guided our horses out of that gate and looked out across the battle-scarred land in front of us.

And I realised, slowly, that I was one of the babblers.

Notes on 'Something Positive Never Lasts'

I am mostly pleased with this chapter. I feel it has a good balance of plot progression (if only as an indicator that we'll soon Be There), internal reflection, external description and character exploration. What I'm not overly keen on is the excessive swearing, specifically "fuck". Writing this story is desensitising me to that word, but I still notice when the repetition becomes droll.