Rumbles to Death (On Hold)

Field Report 5: Soldier, wake the day is peeping

On the western side of Esfra, a large convoy of tanks, Neo-Cavaliers machines and troops were stationed near a hill that overlooked the city. All calm yet with a match ready to set it on fire.

James was looking to the eastern side of the city, trying to see if the Screaming Wolves and the others have succeeded in their mission. Next to him was a man with scraggly black hair, low beard and mustache, high nose, gushy brow and cyan blue eyes. He was wearing a pair of glasses, with red loose pants, belted gloves, heavy braces, strapped armor and rounded shoulders. He had two sheathed swords in his waists.

He was Conner Reily, one of the fiercest warriors Brinja ever has...but probably below Zat.

"Hmm, it's been some 20 minutes and nothing but silence just now." James said.

"You know how long things like these can take. Loyal soldiers should always get the work done whatever they can regardless of time taken." Conner replied

"I understand all that. But operations like this require precision, and time is vital for precision. In anytime soon, the enemy might even spot us and we're on way to our graves."

Conner could only but chuckle a bit for the worry.

"Ah, just the usual bark from high-command."

"I'm serious as hell, Conner." He sternly said with a firm glance to him.

Conner could only reply with a silent look as he frowned.

"Well, what I can expect from a big man like you..."

"It's all a matter of war my friend. that is all you need to know."

"You wish."

Some minutes passed by, soldiers were either sitting in the tank's tracks or simply looking at the horizon, waiting for the signal.

A fellow soldier then approached James, with a sore look on his eyes and trying to keep his composure after being sleepless for two days straight.

"Sir, permission to drink your water?"

"Well, don't your teammates have them?"

"They ran out after sharing it with the others..."

"Well, ask others."

"Not a single drop in theirs as well."

"I can buy you one then."

"Where?" The soldier asked in crestfallen enthusiastic way.

"If we occupy this city I can give it based on your lucky number. Do you have any?

The soldier went silent for a moment, rapidly blinking while making uneven body movements. It was enough to make him drop the gun while shaking out his own hands, which then he looks at them and starts counting.

"Private?"

"One...No! Two! My mistake! Four!"

"Just give me a straight answer! It's just that simple, OK?"

"Well...it's it's...twe-twe..."

"Twenty?"

"No...no...nonono!"

Conner grew impatient from the nervous breakdown of the private. This makes him drop one of his bags and looks for something in it, while James continuously tries to guess the number, while the private was close in sweating a lot.

"Twelve! Everybody's lucky number for the continent!"

"ITS...ITS,TWE-!"

Fortunately, his shouting was cut short when something was shown in front of his face, something no soldier would expect in a battlefield. It was a 9 DP Glessgon Whiskey bottle. This makes the soldier immediately hatch it away, and stares at it profoundly, like a newfound love in his life.