Never let me go

21: Part two - First sargeant Alfred E. Lindner

Part two

13 October 851 - First sergeant Alfred Lindner 

To my dearest Irma

Five days have passed since our arrival here in Dimigrad. The rain will not let up, and I swear to you, this damp gets into everything. My clothes are wet when I put them on in the morning, ought to sleep wearing them I suppose. Not that it would help with them being wet, but at least I would not have to change into cold, wet clothing. The men complain, but when in the world do they not complain? If it is not the rain it is the rations, the uniform, the heat, the orders, anything and everything they can think of. They ought to be thankful to be serving here instead of at the front if you ask me. It might not be as impressive a tale to have served in restoring peace and order in the borderlands while there's a war raging – But at least they know they will see the faces of their loved ones one more time before being shipped off to the front lines. There has been no word of 'thanks' though, of course. No one wants to be here, and those two make the rest of the men wary.

The academic prowess of his son would make any father proud. I do not mean to boast, but I have noticed how corporal Muntz has taken to going off on a tangent whenever I get into talking of my boy's achievements. Ought to teach him some good manners, Muntz, or he will never advance up the ranks... That other business Roman got involved in needs to be cleared up however. I will deal with that teacher once I get back. What was her name again, Ms. Schobert? Schilling? Either way, the woman must understand that boys sometimes express themselves strongly – It is completely healthy. If she cannot handle such boyish shenanigans I really must question her adequacy as a teacher. We will sort it out or the school board will hear of this, mark my words.

I'm inside my tent listening to the rain pattering against the canvas. It's well past midnight and I know I ought to be sleeping. But if I may be honest with you sweet wife; on nights like these I get no rest. I find myself sitting here, listening to the silence as intently as mother listens for the cries of her child. A few of the men are probably awake too, yet no one makes a sound. We are all just waiting for the dawn to rise. Once the first light of morning is visible on the horizon we will muster our courage and head into the town. It is as unsettling now as it was the first time, but I must keep a brave face for the men. It will take some time to make sure we have completely wiped out all the rebels in this area – Not that I ever think we do get them all. But if we kill enough of their leaders they will settle down and get back to their daily lives. That's how common people work; they need their leaders to hide behind.

Sometimes I toy with the thought of what might happen if I pulled into town before first light. What might I see there in the dark? But then I sit back in my chair, shake my head and chuckle to myself. The idea is preposterous in itself since all I have to do is to wait here, knowing that most of my troubles will be taken care of by someone else. Instead I write you these letters, thinking of my home and my family.

Commander Magath has strongly hinted that this will be our last assignment in these outskirts, and that there is a promotion waiting for me upon my return. Your husband is about to make the rank of captain, and not the captain of just any company. But I must not say too much, you will know it all in due time. Be glad for me Irma, this will be good for us both, and for Roman. Before this war is over he will have a father figure of good standing to look up to; perhaps one day he will follow in my footsteps.

At first I was convinced I had made a grievous mistake in taking those two recruits, but this gamble is about to pay off. I only wish that one made me feel less uneasy, but as long as I sleep a safe distance away I have no cause of complain. Do not worry, I have made it clear to Holt not to bring him to our house again.

Wait for me, Irma. And be sure to iron my best suit. When I return we will have a feast for all our friends to announce my new posting.

Your loving husband,

Alfred E. Lindner

3 February 852 - Reiner Braun

He stood before the window quietly regarding the view of the street outside. The morning mist drifted in long wisps across the rough ground, slipping in between the empty merchant stalls reminding him of spun sugar, or perhaps fluffy cotton balls. The reflection in the window did its best to avoid looking him in the eyes. His body felt heavy, and his thoughts felt dull as if he was still only half awake. Turning away from the haggard looking man he saw reflected in the window, he went over to the pile of clothing at the side of his bed. The shirt only smelled a little. No one would get close enough to notice it, so he put it on. If someone wanted to mock him they had plenty of other material to use. His belt was too long, but it had fit when he first got it. The sigh slipped out of him before he even felt it coming, leaving him feeling deflated. He laced up his shoes with deft fingers. Then he stood, throwing one last look around the room, feeling as if he had forgotten something yet knowing he had not. Nothing was forgotten, only missing.

Heavy steps carried him down the stairs. The wooden handrail felt rough and splintery against the skin of his palm. The hairs on his chin itched endlessly, but he could not muster enough enthusiasm about his appearance to shave it. His lackluster appearance was in no way a reflection of the barren wasteland he felt spreading out on the inside – Unkempt facial hair, smelly shirts and eye bags were just... inconveniences; the inconveniences that came with being alive. Something clattered inside the tiny kitchen, and inwardly he sighed again. He had told her she did not need to get up, or go to any lengths to serve him in the mornings, but she would not listen.

"Good morning dear" Her big, watery eyes wander restlessly over him, never quite content with looking him in the eyes. Her mouth smiles nervously, lips quivering slightly though she makes an effort to hide it. There is bread on the table, and butter. Butter is too valuable and difficult to come by to be had on any regular day, yet she puts it on the table before him the few times he visits. And he turns it down, again and again they go over this little ritual. He mumbles politely, sits, eats his bread with his head bowed low. Her kindness is like a belt fastened around his neck, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

He offers her no explanation to where he is going when he leaves the house, and she does not ask. She smiles as he walks out the door, wishing him a good day in a soft voice only a mother can manage. She loves him and goes to great lengths to show it, more now than she did in the past. Sometimes she calls him 'her pride and joy'. Every time he hears her say that he feels his insides disintegrating.

He bears it for her sake, gulping down all the shit thrown his way, swallows it, ignoring the burning at the back of his throat. Porco is not even the most difficult one to stomach, though his jeers often hit home. Lately he is mostly focusing on how badly he sleeps, and how he is feeling hungover though he has not had a drop to drink. In all honesty he does look like shit, and has been looking like shit for the last week or so. No, Porco's spite is easy – It's people's random acts of kindness that are the difficult to take. A stranger smiling as they meet, someone wishing him a good morning, his mother putting butter on the table; he suffers their kindness.

There's just a couple more days before the train would be heading back out with the warrior unit. It was easier to get up in the morning in the field, less time to think about useless things and more monotone chores to keep his hands busy. Out there he felt less like himself, which was good. The fact that every dead soldier was another mark on his conscience; that he could take. At least for now.

He still had something to do – This war; he would make sure they won it. When the end came there would be one person in the world he had not let down. He would become a son she would not be ashamed to mention to strangers. He would become a son she could think back to with fondness, and the taste in her mouth would no longer be love muddled with disappointment.

He would not let her down again.