A Listless Patrol

As one might expect, moving a platoon inside the trenches inhibits combat efficiency. At most, we can get a shot per rank of the line without cover, otherwise, only two rifles can be used at a time. There's only so many opportunities fighting on the offence with such a small combat width. In spite of that, I still actively discourage anyone attempting to leave the trenches for a better firing angle. Even if this approach is meticulous and slow, the risk of an uneven firefight is substantially smaller.

As a single-file line, listening for sounds just slightly above the threshold of silence is challenging. The creaking floorboard and the boots caused by the platoon overpowers any faint noise that may have originated elsewhere. Telling an absolute direction of a noise without assumptions clashing is prevalent and worsens our situational awareness. Even commanding from the front of the platoon, there will always be four members with differentiating guesses regarding the direction of a single gunfire.

Perhaps I'll split the platoon in two, with the other half led by Sammy. So I gather everyone in an emplacement foxhole and in it, we halve the group and decide on routes, meeting points, possible locations of resistance, boundaries of advance, and whistle signals. In retrospect, I should've done this earlier in the briefing but amending tactics in the battlefield is good strategy improvisation, at least that's what I want myself to believe. I dismiss the platoon and leave half of them under Sammy's care.

According to the plan, Sammy's section will act as a spearhead quickly traversing the front-line trenches, acting as a temporary shock unit, whereas mine will walk and keep guard of their rear in case anyone attempts to flank them through the support trenches. In the case of a fight, the forward team will signal accordingly based on the enemy's estimated size, whether manoeuvring around them is feasible, and urgency. Time to see whether my experience on the field has paid off.

----

We walk for quite some time, expecting the blow of a whistle or rifles crackling to suddenly erupt but no such cues have occurred. It's an ambiguous level of surprising, since I thought a larger group would undoubtedly increase the chances of hearing or seeing something unusual. Then again, yesterday's brawl took the rest of the day to find. Fate shall dictate the course of this operation and we will receive her with open arms.

One of Sammy's section member reports of an abandoned and operable machine gun, albeit with no cartridges. I tell the messenger to leave it. We'll loot it on the way back, I doubt anyone is going to come back for it. It's not exactly a high priority equipment, even emphasised by the lack of bullets to even use it. At the end of the day, we'll hear from our runners regarding the sappers and possibly a supply replenishment.

Besides that, nothing else happens. Not even distant gunfire is anywhere to be heard. The thump of artillery guns also completely vanquished.

"Sergeant Adiline?"

I was basically out of it, so that made me bounce a little. I turn my head and see that it's Victor.

"Yes, private?"

"What exactly are we doing? We're just pointlessly walking. Even the guys behind are just idly chatting."

"Well, unless you want to run ahead and be our bait, this is how it is. You're still alive aren't you?"

"I mean, yeah, I am..." He says that monotonously with his head down, shooting an attempt at an inconspicuous glance at me, "Sergeant?"

"Mhmm?"

"Were you always fighting in the front during your entire service?"

"Fighting in the front as in leading a team or assigned to a front regiment?"

"The latter."

"Huh, let's see." I look above at the sky, as if attempting to project an era bygone on the sky as a blank canvas.

"This war... This war of mine... I've fought in this war for 3 years now and, unsurprisingly, it's probably going to go up undeterred. Conscription back home is quite indiscriminate, you know? Indiscriminate, but a gamble. At a youthful age of 13, you are essentially eligible for conscription, albeit at a lower chance than someone at 21. Evidently, it also depends on multiple other factors but kurzgesagt that's how it works." I carried on, ignoring Victor, "My first major fight was in the Northern Frontier, but dissimilar to you, I wasn't thrown immediately into a charge, so you and your other fellows pulled the short end of the stick."

"13?! Wouldn't they just be sent to their demise?!" He exclaims with his voice raised.

"Hey, pipe down a bit, will you? I understand it's erroneous, but have you not realised?" I attack, "The Isles is funnelling everyone from everywhere into this war, we haven't seen a year without fresh, green reinforcements such as yourself being used to replenish veteran combat losses. We in the front don't need more soldiers, we need better soldiers. We want better equipment, but whining isn't going to make a difference, isn't it? Or do you reckon if you cry loud enough, high command will supply us with their fancy automatic rifles sitting in the armoury rusting away to the next war?"

Victor doesn't respond. He wears a stiff expression, only facing forwards. He continues to walk beside me but nothing is exchanged between us. I suppose I've snapped too hard at the rookie, he has just enlisted after all. No, I definitely did.

"See, I don't want you take what I said too harshly. I understand this war is unfair. Imagine all the people who have lost a family member to the war. I understand that it's unfair to them. I'm also annoyed with some of the decisions that's been made. Gradually, I came to terms with the reality of my situation. I want you to understand that it's either fall here armed or helplessly struggle at home."

"Mm." he only grunts.

I sigh and say nothing more. It's not up to me when the people I fight side-by-side with, especially those with minimal experience, realises the gravity of this war or how bleak the prospects of peace looks. It's preferable to quickly learn that without having to get shot first since it would bring less heartache in the case something unfortunate happens in the future.

----

Our shadows rest on the trench walls and the sky is now a warm mix of orange and red. I send Victor to fetch Sammy's section and order a quarter of my section to prepare the abandoned machine gun for transportation. Everyone, including myself, sits at ease waiting for the forward team to return knowing we're in no hurry.

I think about what I said to Victor, about the war almost never-ending. It's a grim thought that I can perceive as though it was fate. Somewhere deep in me, I can recognise that a depressing future lies ahead of me but I so casually brush it off. Normality in insanity, that's how you keep your composure here.

I'm in a virtually calm state, that is until I hear Sammy. I look over and see Sammy running delightedly towards me. I wave at her but notice something. Her rifle is hung on her backpack... And it has to be loaded. I loose my backpack, stand, and similarly approach her. I run into and hug her, she returns the sentiment. Sneakily, I try feel the side of her backpack for the bolt. I open and pull it downwards while feeling the chamber. It's empty.

"Hehehe..." Sammy titters, "Did you really think I wouldn't know?"

This kid really loves pulling these kinds of plays. I push her away with hands on her shoulder, eye-to-eye. Then I pinch her cheeks and playfully comment, "You're very cheeky, aren't you?" We both just laugh ourselves away.

We all assemble again and make our way to pick up the machine gun. Only after everyone's accounted for do we go back to the encampment, as a platoon.