Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon

Chapter 37

Marsh struck a match and lit the wax candle sitting in a rusty tin pan. The worn-down candle was practically a stub. Black smoke wafted up from the oily wick but petered out once the flame settled. Waving out the match and dropping it on the dirt floor of the underground bunker, he pulled a palm mirror out from his pocket. It was cracked and had black spots on it. When he blew on it and wiped it with his last clean cloth, it made no difference. All the same, he set the glass on a wooden timber running along the wall just above the dingy bowl they were using as a wash basin.

He gripped the edges of the stand the bowl sat on and gazed at his reflection. A thick brown beard hung from his face, dark circles sagged under his muted violet eyes, dirt smudged both cheeks, and his blonde hair was growing past his ears. Everything about him seemed grayer. Perhaps, it was just the shadow cast by the candle.

Falling artillery shells made the stand tremble and the palm mirror made a kind of tinkling noise on the beam. Dust fell from the ceiling of the bunker. Marsh didn't really notice as he procured a pair of small scissors from his grooming kit. Slowly, carefully, he began to cut his hair back. Blonde locks rained down into the bottom of the basin.

Marsh ran his hands through his hair a few times, removing the excess in a blonde cloud. His hair was still on the thicker side but at least the sides were trimmed up and there were no more curls over his ears. He had cropped his beard as well and it seemed as though his face lost an inch or two. But he was not sorry to see it go.

He emptied one of the pails they used to collect rainwater and filled the basin. Wincing, he cupped his hands in the water and splashed it on his cheeks. An involuntary gasp passed between his lips as trails of chilling water rolled down his neck and onto his shoulders. Quickly, he swished his brush around in the water, covered it with shaving cream, and ran the rough hairs over his beard. Doing his best to keep his hands from shaking, he carefully ran the straight razor over his cheeks. After each stroke, he dipped it in the water and ran it over the cloth he left out. He exaggerated his lean over the bowl so he could properly see his face in the mirror.

As the morning artillery exchange moved to the west, all he could hear was the steady scrape, scrape, scrape of the razor against his skin. Battlegroup Sonnen's withdrawal to the Gaps—the ridges which ran up the mountain road to the kasr—proved to be of some relief. The ridge overlooking the Valley of Sonnen, Piscator, had become a veritable fortress of tunnels and bunkers. Reserve troops were stationed among the second ridge and the area behind it, Gallus. Here, engineers had flattened out some of the ground to create bases of supply and rest for the troops. The final ridge, overlooking the first two, named for General Aust, had become an artillery fort.

Although the Iron Warriors, Black Legion, and Band of Dusk had seized the plateau, the Imperials still commanded the ridges to the east, the mountain fortresses in the west, and the southern MSR and road leading to the Kasr. Now subject to fire on three sides, their numbers dwindled, but that only made them fight harder and harder. Consus and Summanus, undoubtedly feeling the pressure for success, were going to drive their warriors all the more viciously.

Wiping his blade for the final time, Marsh splashed more water on his bare face. It stung a little bit but the cool water was now a little refreshing. He cleaned his face and dumped the contents of the basin into another bucket sitting nearby.

Marsh Silas walked stiffly out of their small, makeshift washroom and went back to the barracks. Their bunks were gone. Bloody Platoon's bedrolls were arrayed row after row, like caskets on a day of mass burial. Rucksacks were placed at the head of each one like pillows and a few stray kits sat between the bedrolls. He found his own at the platoon command aquad's cordon at the opposite end of the bunker. He was wearing only his field trousers and sweater, as he had woken up early to wash his uniform.