War ⇔ Cashton ✓

Trench

ASHTON

"Come on!"

Voices ring all around me, shouting warnings I can't bother to listen to as I duck my head, crawling on my elbows through the thick mud as I struggle to get to the trench. My gun is in the crook of my arm, my finger carefully pressed against the trigger as I struggle not to accidentally shoot it. An arm shoots out from the edge of the trench, and I can't tell who's gloved hand it is, but I'm grateful for whoever it is. This is who we are- we are a team.

I tear my arm out from the mud, gripping onto the hand and letting the man drag me out from the slush, pulling me into the deep trench. I can't see the face of the man as we both tumble down the way until we hit the bottom of the trench, resisting groaning at the impact.

I turn my head painfully to see the familiar green eyes of Michael, who's face is smeared with dirt and mud from helping me get into the trench. We both sit up, catching our breaths as I look up, seeing the trench packed with boys in identical uniforms as me. They are less dirty as me, seeing as to how they have been in the trench for the majority of the day. I was the only one who risked going out there to see what was going on, although Michael had offered.

"So? Irwin?" a boy with musky dark hair asks. I can't tell if it is the mud that has made it so dark, or if it is natural, but these kinds of things don't matter here.

"Machine guns. A lot of them. No tanks. No gas." I report, coughing roughly. I can taste the spongey texture of my lungs in my raw throat.

"Did you get shot?" I hear Luke's familiar voice on the other side of me, and I turn to look at him. His eyes are bright under the shadow of his helmet, his lips cracked and dry, no different than the rest of us. I release a breath as I shake my head a little, pointing halfheartedly to my leg.

"Just grazed." I say, my voice low so no one else hears. Luke and Michael's breath hitch and Luke fumbles for his flashlight, switching it on and shining it on my leg, which is flooded with red.

"Shit, Ashton." Luke mumbles, glancing around for any gauze. I lift my hand and push his arm, shaking my head.

"No, it was just grazed. Just a bit of blood. It's fine." I say, and watch Luke relax a bit, flicking off the flashlight. His ocean blue eyes level down to the dusty ground, sinking down and leaning agains the dirt walls as we listen to the roar of machine guns and men shouting above us. Our guns are held in position, ready to strike at a moment's notice, but we know that it won't happen for a while.

Some of the new recruits, young at the age of just eighteen, shiver from nerves in the corners of the trench, probably shitting themselves they are so terrified. I don't blame them at all, none of us do. Michael, Luke, and I have all been here months and months longer than them, so we have grown accustomed to the sounds of horror surrounding us.

I do still remember my first month in the army. It was indeed terrifying. I hadn't met Luke or Michael yet, and I was just an eighteen year old boy with bright hazel eyes. I had never seen or been in any atrocious moments in my life. The only time I ever saw a lifeless body was at my great-grandmother's funeral. I was so excited to join and run across the battlefield, hiding in these goddamn trenches as though it were an X-Box game.

The first time you see one of your men die though... it will scar you. It scarred me, it scarred all of the new recruits like me. We were just hopping off the helicopter onto the field, running at full speed through the trees with our guns held in our inexperienced hands. I saw a different uniform slip from behind a tree, and I dodged the bullet just in time. However, a boy just behind me wasn't as fortunate. The sound was sickening. In all the chaos, with all the bullets whizzing by your head, I still heard the collapse of the boy's lungs. The sound his body made when it hit the ground in a bloody heap. I had frozen in place, staring at the boy who had just been on the helicopter with me, breathing in the dusty oxygen. We had been on the field for less than five minutes, and one of us were already dead. I watched his skin fade paler as his eyes stared up at the colorless sky, and I watched the life be sucked out of his limp body.

"What are you doing? Come on!" A voice had barked in my ear. I had turned to see a boy with green eyes and pale skin, just as pale as the dead boy beside me. That was the first time I really saw Michael. If anything, he saved me that day. I could have had the same fate as the dead boy if he hadn't shaken me out of my daze and pulled me from the chaos that was hidden in those woods, yanking me into the nearest trench to save me from the machine guns aimed my way.

I learned, not too long later, that Michael and Luke were best friends, and they signed up for the army together, the moment Luke turned eighteen. It was the kind of friendship I had always envied.

I glance over at Michael, who's helmet has slipped the the side to reveal his closed eyes, blocking out the dirty sight of this trench. My leg pangs with sharp bolts of pain every once and a while, but it is nothing I haven't coped with before.

I hope and pray that we won't have to stay in here for too long and that the opposing soldiers will stop tossing grenades above us soon.

However, as the day draws out and the weak light filtering through the top of the trench fades into darkness, it becomes apparent that we will be staying down in the mud for the night.

As if summoned by some unspoken agreement, we all begin loading up weapons, refilling them with bullets. We stack the unused gas masks in the corner and push away some extra ammunition before settling down, huddling close together in the tight area.

I am stuffed in the middle between Michael and Luke, who both lie with their arms crossed over their chests, their helmets sliding down to shield their eyes. I try and close my eyes, but each time I do, a bomb explodes and rattles the earth walls around us. My bones tremor, and I wish I could cuddle up next to Luke or Michael and sleep in a warm embrace, but I can't. We are soldiers. We have to be strong. If I let my guard down, then the young recruits will as well.

In all honesty, I don't really seek the warmth and safety of sleeping beside the hard body of a soldier. I want to be back at home, back in my bed listening to All Time Low. I want Calum.

Calum. I left him. Not by choice, but I still left him alone at home, waiting for letters that won't arrive soon enough to settle his flaming nerves. I know how anxious he is while I am away. I can see the torture encrypted into each word he scrawls on his letters, his silent pleas for me to return back home. I would. Oh, I would. But I can't. I'm hidden deep in the ground, cowering under layers of earth that can't silence the explosions of grenades above me.

I know he feels alone. He's told me in his letters. I ache for him, but I am a lonely creature as well. I'm lonely in a different way though. Calum is physically lonely, and lonely for me. I am not physically lonely. My body is pressed up against others, sweltering inside this cold-resistant uniform, my feet bruised and sore in my torn up boots. I'm surrounded by people every day.

The army, us soldiers, we are a team. None of us are individuals once we step into line with the rest of the boys. It doesn't matter if you have blue hair and purple eyes- you will be treated just as harshly as the rest of the population. Being a soldier isn't what the movies make it out to be. Rarely do I go running away from a building bursting into flames, sparks glittering the sky and a few swipes of dirt marking my cheeks. The explosions created by bombs aren't huge, magnificent flames, brilliantly red and orange and yellow. They are smaller, but deadlier. They are pitch black, as dark as the sky after a firing session. Breathing in the toxins created by the mass explosion will kill you. Being a soldier isn't about bravery. It isn't about coming home and having some huge welcome. It isn't about having Veteran's Day be dedicated to you. If anything, we barely notice the holiday of recognition at all. Being a soldier is all about teams. We are one huge mass of bones and thumping hearts. Being a soldier is making it out alive with as few scars as possible. Being a soldier is surviving.

And if surviving is what I have to do to see Calum's dark hair and fluffy cheeks again, then hell. I'll fight through the ends of the earth for that boy.

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A/N cashton bc cashton is fucking amazing

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