Begonia | A Ukranada Countryhumans Fic

3: Don't Lose Your Head

[POV - Netherlands]

Predict the future.

I'm going to predict the future in 3... 2... 1...

We're all going to fucking die out here.

At least that's what it feels like. Every day I wake up in this hell, with only one person I can tolerate. Well, I more than tolerate Nada, but I digress. This jungle sucks. I miss my home. I moved out at 16 and got a job to support myself. What was that job? Fighting in a country 10,000 kilometres away in a war that I didn't start, but I intend to finish it.

It has been three days and we haven't seen a single enemy–which is usually good, but it isn't when you know that eventually you're going to find them.

Ready or not.

This just feels like one big shitty game of hide and seek, and we're the prey. I never liked hide and seek. Canada and I always preferred Cross Canada. Go figure.

Before this war started my plan was to become a lawyer. Law has always interested me. Guilty vs. Not Guilty, Good vs. Evil, Right vs. Wrong. The question I always ask myself is "Which side is Right and which side is wrong?". Of course, I think I'm on the "good" side, but so does the Eastern Bloc. Which one of us is guilty? How do you answer such a complex question? I'll be the first to tell you.

Whoever wins is "Right" and whoever loses is "Evil".

That's why I'm here. I need to defend myself. I'm the defensive and the East is the prosecutor. And the Judge? The Judge is history.

In 100 years we'll see who's evil and who's right.

Damn. Maybe I should become a philosopher. All poetic and shit.

"Hey Canada, do you think I would be a good philosopher?" I asked.

"Like Herbert McLuhan type of philosopher?" He responded.

"Who the fuck is Herbert McLuhan?"

"A philosopher"

"Oh, well yeah, would I be a good Herbert?"

"no"

"Why not!?"

"I have never seen you do-slash-say anything philosophical in the over 100 years I've known you."

"What if I just said it a long time ago!?"

"I don't know, I thought you said you wanted to be a lawyer?"

"Well, I still do!"

"Ok, well I think you can do anything you put your mind to."

"Thank you! Damn, was that hard?

"Yes."

"Dick". I shot back.

By the time we finished our half-argument half-conversation, we had reached the next trench. By now it had become a routine. Get in, set up camp, eat, sleep, but something felt off. There was a small Vietnam hut in the trench, so me and Nada decided to search it.

When we entered I immediately noticed the clothes and food scattered around. They must have left in a hurry, huh. Weird. In one of the beds, I located a small picture of a family. There was a man who looked to be about 170 centimetres, also there was a woman and a small child who couldn't have been older than three or four. It was weird to think that this man might be dead now. His son would grow up without a dad. But out here you have to remove the humanity sometimes. A Vietcong dead is an enemy dead.

"Hey, Neth!" I heard Nada shout from across the room. He sounded worried, so I walked over. There he was staring at the coal oven. It was metal with a large door in the middle. It was surrounded by bricks to prevent fires it seems. There was a small compartment to put a kettle or pot on I assume. It looked like it had been through a lot.