Chapter Three: Gulping Goneness and a Helping Hand (Part 2)

I practically growl.

The air is changing. An intense silence.

"Fuck." I breathe.

I can barely make out the small gasps escaping Alex's and Cauis' mouths. They're scared. But so am I, so no need to call them pussies, or else I'd just be judging myself. Alex's boot taps Cauis', causing him to flinch and look down to meet my burning green gaze, then back up to Cauis.

"...What?" Alex whispers.

"We should go." Cauis whispers back. So they won't even speak up? Are the Nazis close then? Close enough to hear our us? What if I gave us away with all our shouting from before? What if those bastards pick them off, one by one with cold bullets, to leave me in this shithole to die of starvation, dehydration, hypothermia?

"...Yes, we s-should." Alex mumbles. He retreats out of my eyesight into what must be the forest -the only sorce of protection- to the right, hefting a gun over his shoulder. He's gone. The only trace he leaves behind is the sound of his big boots crushing the icy snow underneath.

"Right behind you."

"-Wait, Cauis! Alex!" I whisper-shout, barely breaking the sound barrier, if you ask me.

My fingernails are clawing at the dirt around me, unearthing that animal instinct to survive. It gets caught under my stubbed nails and it's almost painful, but I keep digging.

"You heard the General, Mason. " Cauis spits. "Three days. It's only been an hour and a half. So- well, good luck to you." He gives me a half-hearted salute. My nostrils flare, my vision blurs red. I want to scream. Can't. Want to rip Cauis limb from limb. Impossible. Get out of this hole...

Maybe.

Maybe if I dig far enough, I can make it to America.

An errant thought.

I try a different tactic. Pounding. It creates a drumming rhythm, beating the once-stagnant air.

A voice, naturally, would be the next manuever, but, truthfully, I'm afraid. Afraid it would be too loud. Enough for the Nazi's to hear. I've never admitted being afraid before, to anyone but myself. The word has really bothered me some. It dulls my sense of pride, pushing my fragile, more mature years away to replace with the broken, younger years of adolescence.

Life isn't a blessing, as some people say.

Life sucks, and then you die.

That's all there is to it, and as much as you can deny it, you will die. Perish. Turn to ash. Nothing. Oblivion. My worst fear is death. And death is upon me. I feel it in my bones, the deep part of my core.

I'm afraid.


*-*-*


I curl up in a ball, gazing up at cut-out hole of sky above me. You wouldn't believe me, but this isn't such a bad place to die. The space is almost compact enough to feel enveloped, secure, safe. Hell, I'm already six feet under. All the Nazi's will have to do is bury me, so my body won't be violated. I lean my head back against the earth. Eyelids close. Breath slowly escapes lungs. A sigh.

Then I my mind converges into the first state of pissed off.

Jasper couldn't have come for me? Really? My half-brother is too proud to turn swiftly on a black and leathered heel to turn back for the man he calls "brother?" Or Emmett? Brother by blood? Was he too busy driving the Tent truck to lend a hand? Shit, even the General would've had heart enough to send someone for me. He think's I'm a prodigy!

"Dammitt!" my first spoken word in twenty minutes. Surely, the Nazi's will be here with the next wind. Hey, maybe they'll spare me, just to drag to Cullen's for his sick enjoyment. They'd at least have to check with him before killing me, right? Possibly. Then again... probably not. He fucking hates me.

I wipe a hand against my face with extreme boredom. Hey, if I took a nap now, would I even notice the bullet ripping through my skull? Would I feel the burn in my lung of suffocation if I was asleep? I could die happy. Really, I could do that. I close my eyes for what could be the final time. And I dream.


There's a woman, dressed in a thin, frilly yellow dress. She's so beautiful. Hair like honey, a laugh like a symphony. Her hands are thin and nails perfectly carved into small ovals. The bright light in her eyes brings me to tears, so I swiftly mop them clear to hide my emotion.

"Edward." She laughs wholeheartedly, a very airy, crisp laugh and holds her arms out to me. Subconsciously, I sprint into her welcoming arms, breathing her in. Mmm, she smells like sunshine and homemade bread. Soft grass. Rain from a freshly woven cloud. I breathe her in so deeply. I love her so much.

"Mom." I hear myself speak, but I did not mouth the words. I have no control of this dream, but I'm joyful to be able to watch, and smell. "Mom." I repeat, love that sound of her unofficial name that a boy would call his mother as it passes.

"I love you so much, Edward." she stroke my hair softly, and there's a sudden change in the mood. Her body goes stiff against mine. Her breath hitches and I can feel her heartbeat.

Pounding.

Pounding.

Pounding.

Pounding! Why are you so scared, momma? What's the matter momma, why are you scared?

Her hands shake on my skull now, I remove my head from her shoulder to take a good look at her face. Tears are streaming down her lovely cheeks and it kills me. I use the pad of my thumb to pat them away, but more cascade like waterfalls. Never ending.

"Why are you crying, Mom?" I continue to wipe her face. "Why are you crying, momma? I don't want you to cry. You're scaring me, stop."

She curtly shakes her head, and removes the palm from the top of my head, now caressing my left cheek with the opposite hand.

"I have to go now, Edward." More tears, I start to wipe them away until her arms trap them to my sides as she hugs me so tight. "I love you so much, but I have to leave."

"But I don't want you to go-"

"Stop." She whispers, and releases me.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop! I do as she says. I even back away a little as she does the same, disappearing from my sight. A black fog envelops everything. My mother's beautiful honey hair spoils, turning the rich color to ash. Her pretty dress is in tatters, blood spilling out from her in all directions as bruises appear on her face, arms, around her lips.

"Mom!" I shout. I need to bring her back to me. She can't leave. I haven't seen her for so long. She's my mom, and I love her. She just can't leave!

Then, Cullen submerges from the deepest pits of hell, behind my mother. His hair is flaming, his eyes spewing blood red. He grasps Esme's soft pale arms from behind so firmly that he marks her, the new bruises spilling over the old ones, forcing them to become new. My mother's eyes, her beautiful, silver eyes, are rusting under his touch.

"Don't you touch her, you bastard!" I try to shift my legs, but they're unmoving, the most frustrating part of a nightmare you could ever have.

"She's mine." Cullen seethes, and I can't stand that voice. I can't. Can't. Can't! Take it anymore. My muscle finally escape paralysis, I'm running towards her now, so close! I can smell her, from so far away. She's rain, honey, laughter. No- now she's death, disease, ash, smoke, fire. He's consuming her. Devouring her bit by bit.

"I said leave my mother alone!" I pull my fist back, ready to punch the motherfucker square in the jaw.

"Edward." Her voice brings me to a silence. Halt. "Don't." Her pleaded words. I have to obey them. I force my fist down to my side. Clench. Unclench.


A dark chuckle from Cullen.

"Goodbye." They say in unison her voice a soft farewell, his a pointed threat. And then they're gone.

I stand in the barren landscape. Breathless, speechless, powerless, to do anything. I slouch and hit the ashen ground with a loud thud.


She's gone.



*-*-*


Screams are deafening, did you know that? They beat at your ears until they bleed. I'm serious. So why am I hearing them now? Isn't it supposed to be quiet? I mean, the Nazis are here, I should be quiet. Am I? I don't know. I can hardly think with all the damned noise! God, it's dark.


I force my eyelids open. A gasp. A burst of hair rushing from my lungs and the most annoying, ear-splitting sound. Screams. I try closing my mouth, and they stop. Shit, those were mine. I clamp to hands over my lips for good measure, keeping the emotions shut deep inside, where they belong. I lean my had back against my prison, taking huge lungfuls of air, trying to calm myself.

That was the worst dream I've had in a long time. A really long time. Ever since I enrolled in the army two years ago, claiming the age of eighteen, I hadn't had one nightmare featuring Cullen. Until now.

He had to make a cameo in my sleep? I swear- this man will never cease to haunt me.




*-*-*




"Edward!"

What the hell? I open my eyes again. I was asleep. At least I didn't dream. Anyway...

"Edward! Where are you?"

Is it the Nazis? Did Cullen send them for me? No, it's only one voice. I get my ass off the ground and put my hand up, my fingers just protruding the air above the entrance to my prison.

"Hello? Anyone out there? Help?" I cry.

"Soldier Mason!"

Well Holy Shit. It's Biers.

His mousey little head pop up above the hole, scaring me shitless. I clutch my chest, heaving. "What the hell, man!"

"Sorry!" Riley mocks a morose face and stretches out a hand to me. I take it a tad to greedily, but thankful all the same. He lifts me up with surprising strength for such a little dude. I laugh a little as my gut falls to the dark pit below me and then I'm finally on flat, open ground. I stretch out, and face the (non-cookie-cutter) sky. It's now a cloudless, perfect blue. I breathe it in.

"Well, you're welcome." Sniffs Riley, wiping the edge of his nose with a dirty sleeve and glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I huff and get off the snowy dirt, brushing off debris as I go. I get a slight head rush, and grab Riley's shirt to still myself.

"I can't thank you enough, Biers." I say a little too loudly.

"Shhhh!" Riley puts a finger to his lips, indicating silence.

"What?" I whisper back.

"Nazis. Follow me, I know a safe route around them. 'common!" He waves me over like a dog. I hate that.

"I really dislike it when people do that." I mutter as I jog behind Riley into the blanket of trees.

"Dislike... what?" He mumbles. Riley trips on an oblong stick in the mud and tumbles head-first for the snow.

"-whoa-watch out!" I grab the back of Riley's collar and hoist the kid up. Damn, he's light.

"Er, thanks."

"Just call us even, 'kay?" As if that would ever make up for what he did for me. I'm a lucky bastard. For all I know I'd be six feet under, the Nazis taking turns shooting rounds at my unsuspecting body.

"Okay." Riley smiles. "We're far behind, so we'll have to move twice as fast as they are."

"They're already moving thrice as fast as we normally would." I huff.

"Exactly."

"So that means triple the normal march-"

"Up hill."

"Surrounded by Nazis."

"With not many bullets." He replies, stopping to check his gun. I still have my 7.65 with only one shot.

"Up against the Fuhrer himself!" I fist pound the air, and Riley give a gasp, his eyes wide at the mention of Cullen. All odds are agaisnt us. Ah, what the hell.



I should be dead anyway.




End of Chapter Three.

Chapter Three: Gulping Goneness and a Helping Hand (Part I)

One hour.

That's how long I'll be trapped in this shithole. Which doesn't even make reason, since we're supposed to be relocating. My breath spills over in murky fog, warming my hands. Before the General's bodyguards threw me in this ditch at the edge of camp -close to the mass burial site, I might add- called the Barracade, James had the nerve to call me a shit.

"I always thought you were a little shit."

Keeps knocking on the contours of my brain. I can hear the slow tempo of his voice, the low pitch, I can even imagine the gust of moisture slipping from his mouth when he said those words. I go over the situation in my mind, tell myself I could've handled it better, smoother. Maybe if I could listen to orders every once in a while the General would've believed about the blimps. No doubt they're almost upon us, ready to strike with all the force they have.

It's the perfect assult, on the perfect day to do it. It's freezing, (I'm afraid my balls might just drop off,) the sky is producing a emmense amount of snow and I have no idea if the General can make any sense in his orders.

"Dammit!" I shout, and punch a patch a cold earth around me with a hard fist. "Let me out!"

"Shut the hell up, Mason!" Hisses one of the guards- Cauis. He's Marcus' younger brother, but the General had been too heartless to give him a better rank. So here he is- watching me, along with Alex, his best friend. Great.

"'common, guys, you know me-"

"Of course we fucking know you, Mason." Alex gives me a dark look, squinting his eyes. "Edward Anthony Mason- such a prodigy! Our little charm of luck! Now see where you are? Where you're going? Nowhere."

"Alex, you son of a-"

"Shhhh!" the noise escapes Cauis' lips, causing a shiver to run up my spine...


I shut my mouth -a rare phenomenon- and turn my ears the the sounds of the forest. The clear cackle of geese heading lately south penetrates my eardrums. Whistling of the last few leaves on the dying trees registers. Faint, scampering footfalls. Occasional cusses. ("Shit!") ("Run!")("Move!")


"What's going on up there?" I huff, and jump to reach the precipice of Alex's left boot. He kicks my hand back roughly and I fall down a few inches, hard, on my right ankle. "Dammit, ow!"

Shit, that hurts. I take a quick glance at my now-crippled ankle. Twisted. My ankle is twisted.

"I said, Shut the fuck up, Cullen!" Growls Cauis. "Now, -stay!"

Chapter Two: General Gestures and Barracading Bodies

Riley cursed loudly and takes hold of his helmet, cowering under the sky in fear, even though they're miles away. So he's back? Back for more? I gaze up at the five blimps, envious. Why doesn't America invest in that shit? Surely, they're filled to the brim with reinforcements unable to be carried by car or train through the treaturous terrian of the wood. And here we are, Americans, sitting ducks while the hunter's on the prowl. The football field blimps are getting closer by the second, domianating the skyline with their enomitity and causing the trees to breathe in a deep, last breath, waiting for death.

"Get... behind me, Riley." I whisper, and prod him with the nozzle of my caliber, anxious, feeling the tension in the atmosphere. It won't help in the least where the hell he's at what with the blimps, but I feel the need to protect him. And I don't want him to see what I'm about to do. The Nazi is gazing up at the sky, towards his rescue, completely blissed out. -Numb. I smash him to pieces with my steeled boot to wake him up from his placid dreamland. I hear a sickening crunch and I feel my lips curl up in smile as he silently howls in pain, clutching his broken arm. "You'll pay for what you've done!" I hiss, glaring at the man with eyes of fire, livid. I dig my gun into his chest, I must look like a monster to him. His worst nightmare- death.

"I have one bullet left, but surely you already knew that. If you were like any good soldier, you'd have counted my shots..."

The Nazi nods, crazed.

"Bitte! Töte mich nicht..."

He can't peel his eyes from my raging face.

"Bitte!"

His eyes are glassy and wide with horror, his mouth in a doomed "O" shape.

"But I don't think I'll use it," I continue and chuckle as I flick the gun with two fingers, causing it to ring for emphasis. "Because I can kill a man just fine on my own." I crack my knuckles and watch as the pussy of a man wets himself right in front of me, the piss freezing into his pants.

"Nien, Bitte..."

"You think I'll let you go?!" I scream, pummeling it in the face. Hard. Black blood trickles out of his nostrils and soils the gray wool of his long Nazi coat, spilling over into the snow. "After what you've done to the Jews, to me? You think you deserve life? I don't." My hands are in a frenzy now. Like sharks, they respond to blood instinctively. Take hold of the preys weakness, crush it, make it bleed. I pound and pound intil I'm hitting nothing but a red, wet, faceless being that's gurgling nonsense.

I get up and wipe the blood off my hands in the earth, watching as the snow gobbles up it's new red meal.

"Sir..." Riley breathes, eyeing the dying Nazi, who's trying to breathe through a crushed windpipe. "what have you done...?"

"I did what any true American would do, Biers." I wipe the remaining blood on my coat, smearing it with red marks. War paint for me, for my soul. I take a deep lungful of air, cleansed. I check the sky again. The blimps are closer now, minutely. I give it an hour, maybe two, before they arrive and blow the brains out of the last of us.

"But he's still alive!" begs Riley. "Why don't you end it all? He's in agony. Sir-"

"Don't call me Sir." I hiss curtly, and twirl my gun around my index finger. "We're equals, you and I. It's Mason. Now-" I turn and face him, giving a glare that shows he better follow me, equals or not. "Those Nazi blimps will be here in a matter of hours. We have to warn the General -if he's still alive- so we can evacuate the area."

"Does that mean surrender, Sir- er, um, Soldier Mason...?" Riley sniffs and wipes his face with the back of his hand. It comes back scattered with sprayed blood from the enemy. I watch him wipe it in the snow and then on his coat like I did. Good boy. Rid your skin of he German filth.

"We have no other choice. We were defeated the moment the sun came up."

***

"Edward!" Jasper shouts, sprinting up the hill toward me and Riley. We must look raged, covered in blood and dragging empty guns (excluding my one bullet) with limp arms. The treacherous walk back to camp had taken much longer than I'd thought, draining our energy. The adreniline this dreadful morning had disseved me into miscalculating the distance of the journey. Riley and I were absolutely spent.

"Edward, brother!" Jasper clasps an arm around me for a quick hug. I shrug him off.

"Half-brother."

"Right."

That makes the corners of Jazz's lips curl up a bit into an almost-there smile. I sigh and run fingers through my hair.

"How bad is it?" Riley and I haven't yet reached the treeline, so what remains of the camp is obscured by ash, leaves, and limbs. Jasper just coughs and waves us both over. He knows I hate that. But still- I shuffle over like a good soldier. "I need to see the General, Jazz, there's five Nazi blimps heading our way."

Major Whitlock's eyes go wide with fear as he blanches. "...How do you know this?" His eyes are shuttered now, giving me a quizzing look, aprehensive.

"We were far up the hill, -able to see the skyline. We have a matter of hours. Maybe one...if our luck stands as is." I say, and twirl my caliber around on a finger. No way to treat a gun- but who gives a shit? No one.

"Hell..." Jasper states and pulls on my arm. I do a double-take at Jasper because he almost never swears. "The General is injuried, but not too severely, so he's still calling all the shots."

"He shouldn't even be here." Riley mutters.

I suddenly have new respect for that mousey doughboy with the knobby knees and helmet that barely holds its own. Hear hear.

I sigh. "Look- we all know the General doesn't know what the fuck he's doing half the time, but he's the one calling the shots. We need to go."

Jasper nods and fiddles with a medal pinned onto the breast pocket of his iniform. "The more distance we put between us and the blimps the better." He turns and struts off without a backward glance, living Riley and I in the muck.

"Come on, Biers." I grab Riley's neck playfully and shove him forward. He yelps in surprise and stumbles along beside me, hefting the rifle in his hands. "You sure you know how to shoot, boy?" I say, creasing my brows and cocking my head in his direction.

"Yes." Rileys says curtly, sniffling.

"You sure? What you did up there almost cost my foot. We could've done it quietly, but you had to go on and ruin the shot." I tease, and punch his shoulder.

"Hey!" Riley squeals and rubs his arm. Guess I hit him too hard. Oh well, he needs to toughen up. I could murder that boy with my little pinkie. "I've never taken a life before."

"Shut up, Biers. They aren't human." I put a hand out, casting a wavering glance to the sky, inhaling the sight with my eyes. Nothing but unwavering gray clouds depressing the landscape. It's going to snow again. We need to move faster so we can get enough distance before we're forced to stop at nightfall... If they can track us...

I'm immediately praying for snow.

I start jogging after Jasper, Riley on my tail. Suddenly, we break through the mesh of trees and into the clearing at the bottom of the hill. I clearly hear Riley retching at my feet, spattering my tight laced-up boot with bile. How much can that boy hold? He must be running on empty, surely?

The snow is bleeding, coughing up bits of men and soot with it, like a tuberculosis-ridden Virginia ghost. I see my blood brother, Emmett, heaving a souless body onto the back of the Tent's truck. He's covering in sweat from head to toe.

"Emmett!" I shout, jumping over a fallen soldier. He doesn't look up from his work so when I approach him he jumps back suddenly, started shitless, dropping the body. It lands heavily with a thud, splattering gore all over our boots. "Emmett, man..." I say, and pick up the dead man by the boots, glancing up at my brother expectantly. After a moment, Emmett regains himself and picks up the arms. We heave, and load the body into the now-full cart. I wipe sweat off my brow, afraid of the chill I'll have from sweating in the cold. I'm not looking forward to tonight's air that will surely be cold enough to cut right through you with the skills of a cold knife.

Emmett slaps the side of the truck twice and is sputters off to a mass burial hole on the edge of camp. Jasper walks up behind me, clasping my shoulder.

"The General, Edward?"

"Right. Where is he?"

He jabs his finger towards our south side, and I follow. The General is placed on a makeshift cot made up of sleeping bags, pine needles, and a few dozen blankets. One of our five medics left alive are tending to two bullet wounds: one in the crook of his elbow, one laid deep into his right shin. I can already see the swirling marroon veins of blood poisoning. I approach the General, eyeing him to see if he's awake. His breathing is regulated, but his eyes are squished closed and a sheen sweat layer masks his body.

"General?" I fabricate concern.

His eyes flick open, but refuse to dilate. He's half delerious. "General?" I ask again, with more authority than I'll ever have. "I spotted five blimps, coming our way fast. We have only an hour or two, Sir, before they breach our location."

The General coughs and waves me off, like it's nothing. The nerve of that ridiculous man, I swear. The medic is staring at me in a panic, wide-eyed. Yah, I don't like the General's idea of action, either, buddy.

"General Marcus, sir!" His eyes finally focus on me, pentrating fire. He hastily lifts his bulky body up and leans on an elbow, much to the medic's protests. ("Sir, no!")

"Don't you ever call me by my first name, boy! Where is your place?" He sputters out and lands back on his make-shift cot in a huff.

"My place? What about yours?" I seethe, "There are a roughly a thousand Nazis on their merry way and you blow me off? What are we going to do?"

"Relocate- of course! I'm not an imbecile, Soldier Mason. Don't make me barricade you for speaking out of line and refusing to solute me. I am your commanding officer!"

I bow my head in mock shame. "Sir!" I give a weak solute, rolling my eyes, angering him further. Why the fuck would I care? He can barricade me all he wants, it won't change how I feel or act toward him. Suck my ass, Marcus.

"Consider yourself barricaded. There is no proof of these blimps, I will send a scout up the hill in search of them."

"That's doing nothing but wasting precious time! We have two hours at the most, with men still to bury and supplies to arrange!" I retort. I can't believe the man's stupidity! What is he thinking?

"Barricade!" The General orders, and waves to two of his henchman stalking his cot. They give me a cold, hard look grasp me by the arms, tightly.

"Let go of me, fuckers!" I shout and kick at them. They wince but otherwise do nothing. I've never felt so helpless. I thrash around, obviously making a spectacle of myself.

"Mason's finally baracaded! Laurent- take at look at this!" Mocks James, a foot soldier from my squad: Squad Three.

"Go to hell, James! You Cullen fuck!"

Jame's blue eyes go livid, he approaches me from across the camp. Flurries are heading down from the clouds, saturating his long, blonde German hair and mine, covering my vision with dark brown. James is our spy, in the squad. Being one-hundred percent German, he looks like any other Nazi. That's why he can slip past them, out of notice. Personally, I think he doubles in that "spying" of his. I wouldn't be surprised if he tipped off the blimps to our location. The General trusts him and he has a two-way radio...

"Mason." He hisses, crossing his arms. The guards holding me keep moving, but James keeps up easily, just out of my reach. "I always thought you were a little shit." He spits in my direction. My sight goes red, my nostrils flare, and I clench my hands, praying for a kill. He laughs at me and it's all the guards can do to keep me from ripping the skin off his back and feeding it to the dogs.

The General shouts from afar. "You're out in three days, Mason. Teach you a lesson, it should. We don't need you right now."

I clench my teeth.

Chapter One: Craving Coffee and Burped Bullets

Edward's POV

My eyes observe the swiveling wisps of smoke as they choke the chilled air that travels straight to your bones, icing them over, forcing muscles stiff. I shrug the thin woolen jacket closer to my chest, cradling the coveted 7.65 caliber Wather pistol I lifted off a Nazi General four months ago with frozen fingers. I release another steady breath, emptying my lungs of the sweet homemade tobacco. Living and breathing for that burning sensation. I take another hit and capture it within me, holding it there as long as I can before I allow it to escape through my nostrils like a dragon. Eventually, the cigarette coughs its last, so I toss it in the freshly-laid snow and stomp on it with a steel-toed boot for good measure. I sigh, running fingers through my jungle of hair, just being.

“Edward.”

The voice suddenly comes from my right, and I twist my head around in its direction, squinting fiercely. Ah, Jazz. Always interrupting my shifts early, no matter how much he presses against it. Perks of being the half-brother, I assume. I squint even more in the darkness, my eyes barely visible, now, and notice Jasper’s silhouette slumped against a bare tree a few yards away from my usual spot. His eyes are bright and shadows dance across his angled features and many gleaming gold war medals in the light of my fire. There’s a small, quivering boy behind him, peering at me over Jazz’s shoulder. He doesn’t look fifteen. He’s gauntly, mouse-haired, and probably shouldn’t belong in the same squad as mine. So they’re signing children now?

“Yah, Major?” I give Major Jasper Whitlock a half-hearted salute, and poke the receding embers of the fire with a wooden stick. The fire burps up a series of sparks before rekindling. I cough into my sleeve and wipe my nose, glancing at him expectantly.

“Riley here’ll take your place, now.” He waves Riley forward and the boy bounds toward me obediently, holding his second-hand rifle the wrong way.

Sighing again, I roll my eyes, huffing up from the stone-cold earth, brushing off dirt and flakes of snow. I point towards the thick forest ahead. “More logs, there…” I chuckle and wave to my seat, which is a solid patch of ice from me sitting on it for who knows how long. How comfortable. “All yours, son.”

Riley goes beet red from chin to hairline. Even his ears –which perk out in a strange way- are tipped red. I can see them under his helmet. “Why do you have your cap on, doughboy?” I inquire, nodding to his head. Riley blushes furiously.

“Safety, –sir!”

I nod, glad he’s serious about being here, but frankly, I only wear the damn dome of metal in battle, much to Jasper’s dismay. I shrug it off and throw Jasper a quizzing look, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head slightly in return, and beacons me over. I roll my eyes at him theatrically and introduce him to my well-worn middle finger as Riley sits down, shifting his gear and organizing it to perfection, mesmerized by the flames.

“What the hell d’you want?” I ask. Jazz knows I loathe being called over by him like some lapdog. Jasper ignores me and leads the way out of the burrow, hands in his pockets. His big black leather boots crunch against the ice and I begin to wonder if he’ll say anything at all. Then, when he’s ahead and we’re standing about ten feet apart, he speaks, as if we never eradicated our conversation, “Nothing, man, can’t I treat to my brother every once in a while?”

“Half-brother.”

“Right.” Jasper secures his dome to his skull tighter then necessary. I don’t blame him. At this rate, my toes will pop off into the snow, buried, never to be seen again. Jazz magically pulls a flask from his coat pocket. I can feel my lips spread, and I’m sure I look as much as the next complete idiot, grinning from ear to ear like we just won the war. So my half-brother pulled me from tedious guard duty for a drink? He’s just scored some points with me. Jasper tosses the container and I catch it with one hand, having to bend in half since he chucked it without warning. It’s hot.

“What the-”

“Coffee.” Smirks Jasper. I snarl at him and toss it back, not bothering to take a swig. Surely, he’s got it creamed and sugared so it’s virtually unrecognizable. Now that I’ve got insane cravings, I reach deep into a pocket hidden in my sleeve, and present my cigs.

I raise my eyebrows, “Care for a smoke, Whitlock?”

As I knew he would, he declines. He believes smoking’s immoral, whatever that means. Coming from the guy who can’t stomach black coffee, I think I’ll make my own choice.

“You know it’s horrible for you, right, Edward? You’re lungs? They go black.” says Jasper, crossing arms over his chest, macho. He always says this. I don’t need to be lectured like a child. I’m almost a grown man, I tend to myself.

“Yah, as black as your coffee.” I leer at him, and he huffs and swallows a big gulp from his flask, closing his eyes. He breathes out, and it almost seems like his smoking, because it recedes in large white puffs in the cold air.

“I’m freezing my ass off, Jazz.” I retrieve thick woolen mittens from one of my bigger coat pockets and sheath them. I look like a pansy, but I’m warm, somewhat. “Can’t we call it a night?”

“No,” Jasper shakes his head, taking up his leadership role as Major. “It’s too cold and we can’t light too many fires –the enemy’s nearly glued to us. You sleep, you freeze.”

I scowl and glare at the sky, trying to intimidate it to stop snowing. I rub my hands together persistently and ask for Jazz’s flask, groaning inwardly. He laughs and pitches it to me, which I catch reflexively, and take a big, hearty swig. Ugh. “This is disgusting.” My face contorts in protest of this pitiful excuse for a man’s drink. The entire bottle must be cream. At least it’s hot.

“So’s smoking.” Retorts Jasper, and I hand him his flask, shaking my head slightly in protest, feigning disapproval. “Shut up.” Jasper smiles and punches me in the arm. I wince, ‘cause that shit smarts, and massage my arm.

Now that my bones are warmer, I’m able to move. I shake out my arms and flex my elbows, wincing as the crack and ache. Guard duty doesn’t seem so bad now. Riley stole my fire.

“Wanna go hang out with Riley?” I ask, toning my words with temptation. “Warm, cozy fire...”

“’Can’t. You’re coming with me, which is one of the reasons I let you slip off guard duty.” He waves me over like a dog. Again. “New battle tactics to discuss in the Tent.”

I sigh and jog next to Jasper. The Tent is one of the meeting places at our current site. It’s meant for superiors, emergencies, and essential meetings. It better be all three to miss out on the warmth. The Tent is basically a huge, two-hundred foot square tent –and our only one- that get’s its own truck to haul it. Very important, very vital, to the General, who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing in real combat. The only reason they let me in is because they think I’m some kind of good luck charm, or prodigy. I hardly ever say anything when I’m there, but when I do, they perk their ears up and listen. One of the reasons I even go is to see the look on their faces when I decipher an unsolvable pickle. The only thing between me and climbing up rank after rank is ‘cause I never follow orders. Do my own thing. The only thing between me and going home is my brain.

I’m not saying I’m a prodigy –because, really, I’m not. Straightforward thinking-it-through dexterity fed that myth its fodder. Jasper is the one who’s the true phenomenon. Nineteen and Major, he’s the youngest ever to receive that rank. I’m just a foot soldier, and nothing more. I don’t want to be anything more. I enjoy being on the line, adrenaline pumping, 7.65 in hand, shooting Nazis in their long gray coats and cold judgments that have murdered countless lives and helpless Jews, with no pressure to care for other men’s lives...

Jasper peels back the Tent flap, and we enter the warm room, goldenly light from half a dozen oil lamps spotted throughout. I blink until my eyes adjust, and nod to the men seated around a large table holding a vast map of Normandy. The General is jabbing at certain blotches of red on the map, indicating the enemy force. “They’re positioned here-” He taps. “Here-” Taps again. “-and here.” A third time, then circles the area with his horse whip. “They have trees surrounding them, except for a path leading up the hill…” He swivels his whip. I stroll to the end of the Tent, pushing the attention off me. I slump to the ground but quickly get up when I notice the lamp’s warmth hasn’t reached it yet. That- and Jasper gave me a look that had the aptitude to slice me in half.

I jog over to his side and pretend to be enthralled by the General’s words. I’m focused on the unnatural bushiness of his gray mustache when there’s a loud…

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

The sound of bullets flying from a machine gun with supernatural speed takes us all by surprise. We all instinctively duck our heads, hands over our heads like we were trained. Then we burst into action. We file neatly out of the Tent and look around frantically. My eyes are searchlights for the source.

Daylight is finally impending upon us, bathing our site in a sweet pink and unearthly glow against the snow. It would be a beautiful portrait, accept that it’s suffused red with fallen limbs of trees, and of men. After the shock, officials are shouting at once, confusing the others.

“Man your stations!”

“Hold your ground!”

“Cover fire!”

“Retreat! RETREAT!” Jasper’s voice carries farther than his superiors, and the doughboys come running, arms flailing, if they have any at all. Jasper’s the rational one. There’s nothing we can do about this. The General chose the worst option to set up camp: on the bottom of the Nazi’s hill, they’re only clearance outside, which they’ve traveled up, past the guard on our left… -Riley! He’s stationed on our left side.

Before I’m even thinking it though, my feet are bounding up that hill, and I’m pulling off my woolen gray mittens and into the fire, 7.65 pistol in hand. I carry out a first-rate cover fire, hitting one Nazi manning a machine gun straight in the neck. The blood spurts, and he lands in the red snow, coating it with more shiny maroon. I jump over his body and veer left, letting some remaining soldiers behind me distract the Nazis. Screams are everywhere, limbs, blood, intestines. Men who were once so brave are now in an uproar for their mothers and a safe, warm bed.

“Riley! Riley! Where are you?” I shout, trying to make it travel above the pandemonium using a special tone and pitch. “Riley!”

Hearing the bullets fall down as pounding raindrops, I burst with new speed into the burrow from last night, probing for the mousey boy of fifteen. If my only option is to run, I’m running for him. The coals in the fire are still hot, only freshly covered with ash. He’s left in a hurry; that I can tell. Riley’s pack is at a halt positioned next to the fire, supplies scattered in all directions. By the looks of it, he’s only taken a gun, helmet, and the clothes on his back. A blanket is missing too. Riley doesn’t give the impression to desert, but if he does, he’s dead in a week.

“Riley!”

There’s no boy here. I’m about to turn around and double back when I trip over something soft, and snowy. What the hell? I kneel to the ground, scouring the earth with my hands to locate what caused my fall, uplifting dirt, debris, and even a lone Nazi shoe. I chuck that behind me. My hands then collide with a warm, fuzzy blanket, covered in fresh snow. I grab hold of it hastily and fling it backwards.

“Ah!” Riley masks his face with his hands, trembling with fright. His gun is discarded on his right side, lying limp in the snow. I pick it up and nudge him with it.

“That is no place to keep your gun!” I yell, prodding Riley in the arm. He yelps and uncovers his hands, peering at me with one eye. He seems to relax a little when he realizes it’s me, not the Nazi killer from his nightmares out to torture him. I dig the gun into him again. “Here me, soldier? Were you asleep?! You never sleep on guard! They slipped right passed you- could’ve killed you! You hear me? Now- take hold your gun.”

Riley seizes his rifle from my hand and I extend an arm to him. He takes it gratefully, and now we’re flying -through the trees, rubble, and snow. Our boots create a sickening squelching sound against the snow. It’s only pink here. Riley starts wobbling when we get closer to our destination. The snow is red. I don’t pause to even look at him, but I hear him huff and double over, spewing what remains in his gullet over fallen men. Rookie.

“Get over here!” I shout, signaling him with an arm for fear that he can’t hear over the drone of machine guns. Riley grabs hold of his bearings and wobbles over to me. “Get down!” I order, pushing him into the salt-and-rust-mixed-with-pine smell of the snow. He blanches and bile pours out of his mouth onto a leg, with nothing attached to it. I throw myself down beside him, and peer through a bush I landed next to.

Riley and I are situated just below the Nazis enveloping the upside of the hill, blowing the brains out of my squad with their guns. I’m boiling with rage, my 7.65 shakes in my hand with fury. I’m about to release the trigger when Riley places a trembling hand on my forearm.

“What?” I spit at him, watching him flinch. Riley points to a weak spot I never detected in the Nazi defenses. My lips curve up a little at Riley’s cleverness. He doesn’t even have to explain. Instead of going back to camp –which is the stupidest but the only thing I’d thought to do- we can go around and breach through their defenses, and take out the Nazis manning the guns from behind. I nod my head to him, and hold up three fingers, letting them drop and whispering, “Three… Two… One… GO!”

We’re flying in the trees again, Riley slightly behind. I keep waiting for Nazis to spring out of the underbrush and kill us, but none come. They’ve left their backside clear entirely, not expecting anyone to be able to go around if we were all scattered chickens for their picking below. I grab a hold of Riley’s shirt, bringing him to a halt. There are a few Nazis ahead of us, standing and watching the show a hundred yards away from the guns, just enjoying their “victory”. Not for long. We take to the ground once more, ejecting snow north, south, east, and west. We’re behind a sturdy-looking log so I deem this to be the best place to start.

“You take the one on the right, I got the middle and left.” I whisper to him, pointing to my gun and then the Nazis in case he doesn’t understand. He nods deliberately and I slowly raise my gun, glancing at Riley to see if he’s ready. Riley, quivering and nervous about taking his first life, raises his gun and points to the Nazi on the left. I can only beg that he won’t miss his target.

“Three…Two… One… Zero.” I say and pull the trigger, hitting the middle Nazi square in the back, making him spill his piping hot cup of Joe. I wonder if it’s sugared. Riley’s barely misses his target, managing to graze the left Nazi’s skull, which he now grasps and is screaming at the top of his lungs. Dammit, this isn’t what I wanted. It needed to be quiet so we didn’t alert the others. Now, ten more Nazis flee to the scene and are shooting wildly at us, missing my foot by a hairs breadth.

“Shit, Riley!” I scream, and I’m about to shoot the injured Nazi when I decide to let him suffer. Riley’s crying and mumbling apologies I can’t hear.

“Just shoot, okay?!” I yell, and he understands. He’s firing like madman, shooting anything and everything that moves. He manages to get two, and graze another. I’m firing with perfect precision, ending lives. I need to save my bullets. The nine Nazis are dead and bleeding except for the last one Riley grazed. I scamper from the earth and walk slowly in its direction, swaying my gun side to side, scanning the tree line, searching for more Nazis. It’s just a precaution, though, because I only have one shot left, and it’s for the baby killer in the gray coat.

The Nazi is fumbling, limping away from us, begging in German with its hands protecting its face.

“Nein! Nein nein nein nein nein nein nein!”

It’s saying ‘no’. Over and over like a record player. I’m standing right above him now, Riley in tow. Rising my gun, I ask for its final words in German. He shakes his head, clearly in shock and unable to speak. I sigh, and caress my finger over the trigger, feeling its cold justice. One twitch, and his brains are mine on the icy earth.

Riley gulps dryly and I stare at him in shock, staggered I’d be able to hear it-

I freeze. The sounds of the machine guns have grown steadily to complete stillness, smoking a hundred yards away. A hush falls from the heavens, setting the place in eerie silence. Even the birds have stopped singing their battle cry love song… Riley’s eyes go wide, mouth agape. He’s about to speak, so I silence him with a hand, gazing up at the sky, looking for birds. I have an edgy feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach. Something’s very wrong.

Abruptly, five enormous blimps the size of football fields breaks through the trees and into the skyline, extinguishing the sun with their unearthly mass. They are silver and polished to a vivid sparkle, and headed straight for us. I can tell by the model that it’s undeniably Nazi make. The crest emboldened on the side tells me every time I see it that I hate the enemy. Hate the Germans for all that they’re worth. That crest proves to me that you can never trust your family. Because right there, in golden letters over the red, black, and white Nazi insignia, reads:

Cullen.








End of Chapter One.

NEWEST FF

I'm working on a new FF... again xD

I had more inspiration, so I had to write it down. It's about the Cullen's and Bella during the Holocaust. There's a bigger plot than that, but I think you'll just have to find out for yourselves what it is :)

Mkaybye.

-Em