Holme Again

16

March. The 16th of March. Another announcement.

This morning, members of parliament agreed to lower the age of conscription to 16 years of age. From tomorrow, anyone of that age or above must register with the local regiment committee. Anyone failing to do so will be heavily fined and possibly imprisoned.

My hands shook as I listened to this revelation. I had seven months and twelve days. By my sixteenth birthday, I would have to sign my own death warrant.

"Magnus." Mycroft sounded calm. Far too calm for the circumstances.

"What?" I was surprised by my own voice. It sounded as calm as Mycroft's, but held a hard edge to it.

"You have time. They may change it again, the war may be over by that time. I'm war, nothing is sure except death, just as in everyday life." He seemed to be trying to reassure me, but I could tell that he didn't believe that I wouldn't have to go at sixteen. That they'd lowered the conscription to sixteen meant that they were running out of people. Running out of soldiers.

"Did you hear?"

"About consription? "

Toby had cornered me into the conversation as soon as I arrived at school.

"Even if I hadn't, the school's buzzing with it."

"We'll be the oldest year group in the school. They're going to merge the few Year elevens that'll be left into our year."

I sighed. People seemed to be under the delusion that if they talked about it enough, it would stop being real. The sevens and eights were very excited at the news. Year nines were a little disquieted. The rest of us were either panicking or trying not to think about it, like I was.

As I walked through the school that day between lessons, I heard constantly of it. Furtive whispers; the occasional outburst of passion and emotion that would be quickly hushed by a nearby friend of the offender. Toby and I took refuge in the library at lunch to try to avoid it. More than ever, too, there were rumours of what army life was like, and the horrible tortures we'd be submitted to if we were caught by the enemy.