Love is a pointless concept, created by men to justify their disgusting ways. Love is a tool, used with selfish intent by selfish people. In this world, there is no such thing as love.
He trampled her heart, ran it over. He shot at it more than he shoots at the enemy. He was reckless. However, today rather than to gaze into his, fittingly, green eyes, Lilly will wake up to a frozen window, the only thing she sees is the clouds. Until her plane lands, the clouds vanish and the only thing she can see is the most war-wrecked country on this planet.
"Good morning ma'am," some measly private screeches. He can't be too long out of basic, I can still see the remains of spots all over his greasy forehead. "Private," I reply. I can hear the chills in my own voice. The crunch of boots on the sand, the sun on my neck. It's good to be back... and now I'd quite like to fuck off to England.
I drop my shit in my office, I don't particularly want to sleep in with the rest of the soldiers, but I suppose eventually I'll have no choice. "Staff Robinson that was a quick honeymoon," somebody calls out. I look up, of course, it'll be Johnson to barge his way through NCO* offices just to see me. "It's ma'am. I'm your new Company Sargent Major... and we're sticking to Moore," I sigh. That was definitely not an undertone of disappointment. "I see. I always knew he was a cunt anyway," Johnson chuckles. I raise an eyebrow, Johnson's such a tosser. "He was your recommendation," I point out. Johnson waves his hand, dismissing my comment. "And your future husband" there's a pause, "Did you hear what happened to Brooks?" he asks me, "No, I haven't," I reply, he raises an eyebrow, it can't be good news then. "Drove over a landmine," Johnson tells me, "And?" I respond. Johnson shakes his head, that's all I really need to know
I think he'd be happy he went that way. Brooks always said he wanted his death to mean something. I can imagine him up in heaven proud of what he's done. He should be though, he was a great soldier.
"Were you there?" I ask. Johnson nods, "Was he in pain?" I continue. Johnson sighs, I know memories like these are painful, but I want to make sure Brooks was alright. "It was very quick, he drove over and the Humvee went up in flames and parts were blown everywhere. I don't think he even had time to react," he tells me. I sigh, I'm relieved it was at least quick. I can't feel too sorry for Brooks, he did drive over an IED*, should have checked the road first. Johnson looks at me judgingly and I can tell my look has soured.
He raises an eyebrow. I know, he was my friend. I can't bring back the dead. I decide to take the same mindset as everyone else who's died for this cause; I just shrug and return my attention to work. Rather, unfortunately, every page I turn it's a letter about another dead man. "That looks like it'll be a fun write up tomorrow," Johnson states. I nod. "I have to count the numbers first," I reply. He stands there, contemplating for a moment. "Would you like some help?" he finally asks. I hand him a pile of paper. "Tell me how many dead, how many wounded, and how many I have left," I tell him. Johnson chuckles. "You're really the laziest Warrant Officer I know," he laughs, "I'm a soldier, not some office worker," I agree. His smile fades. "About that," he starts. I put my hand up silencing him. "If you tell me, I'll hate you forever. Let the CO* do it, when he gets round to it," I cut in. Johnson just nods.
I zip open my bag, pulling out my uniform. "That's a lot of ironing," Johnson sniggers, "Yeah, a hell of a lot," I agree. For some reason, I'm not in the mood for a joke. I pull out the ironing board and lay down my shirt. The iron slowly heats up, when the light turns off, I begin to smooth the metal over the fabric. Personally, I think ironing is the most time-consuming part of the army.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. I glare at Johnson. "What is it?" I snap. He just laughs. "What?" I ask again. There's an awkward silence. "It's itching, what happened with Robinson?" he asks. I sigh, I was trying to avoid having to talk about it. "I'm not sure if he married me for my rank, though he could climb higher. Maybe he was a bit bored, either way, he was fucking the girl he really liked the day before we got married," I explain. I can definitely feel a bit of emotion. "Did you go through with it?" he continues. I shake my head. "No, I didn't, left him at the aisle," I chuckle. "Oh well, once a Private always a Private," He says, "Mmhmm, don't let the TOMs hear that," I laugh. I love that army saying: TOMs, totally obedient morons, otherwise known as a Private. Johnson and I look at each other and burst out laughing.
Our conversation is interrupted by a knock. "Excuse me, ma'am, I don't mean to interrupt," a voice says. I look up, take one glance at the rank slide. Private. "Speak of the devil," I mutter. I can hear Johnson snigger. I kick his knee and glare at him, his face goes dead serious. "Private, has anybody taught you how to knock?" I ask. The private nods his head, I raise an eyebrow. "Then what the fuck do you think you're doing?" I snap "You knock, and wait for a reply. You don't start fucking talking until I invite you to,". He begins to cower away, taking a few steps back. I thought they would have knocked this out of him in training. I glare at him for a moment longer. "What do you want?" I ask, "Uhh... Captain Smith wanted you," he stutters. I wave my hand dismissing him. The Private runs as fast down the corridor and I can't help but laugh. "Morons," I chuckle, "Have you ever thought they might respond better if you were nice?" Johnson asks, "They didn't join the Princess Parade. This is the British Army and I expect the best. If they can't cope with a blocking, they bloody well can't cope with a firefight," I explain, "True," Johnson agrees.
I sigh, suppose I better see what the CO* wants. I knock on his door. "Come in," a voice says on the other side. I open the door and march in. I salute and wait for a return before I put my arm down. "Good afternoon, Moore," The CO* says, "Good afternoon, sir," I reply. I hate talking to him, his standards are so shit. "Have a seat," he tells me. I nod and sit down. "How can I help?" I ask. This is taking far too long. The CO* hands me a file. I look at it before opening it. It's filled with satellite photos and doodles. There are a few OP* notes. "What's this?" I ask, "This is the notes for the stronghold. I've had an OP set up nearby. We believe that they're holding chemical weaponry here, I want you to march there with your men and take the building," He explains. I raise an eyebrow. "You want me to take Tanks... to Chemical weapons..." I say. The CO* shakes his head. "No, you'll be providing back up for the infantry soldiers who are already there," he explains. "Yes sir," I reply. I find it's always better to just agree with the officers. "Excellent, I'll leave it in your capable hands, Moore," He tells me. I nod and pick up the folder in my right hand. I salute and leave the office. This is fucking confusing.
I drop the files on my desk and slouch on the chair. "You don't look impressed," Johnson chuckles, "Why the fuck are you still here?" I snap. Johnson laughs, why does he find everything so fucking funny? "I ironed your uniform for you," He tells me. I soften my expression and look at the ironing board. Sure as day, there's my uniform, perfectly ironed. "You're welcome," he adds. I raise an eyebrow. "Good job Sergeant," I reply. My voice sounds so patronizing. I pull out my hangers and slip the uniform onto the metal. The uniform zips up nicely onto the hanger. I straighten the rank slide and nod in approval. "That'll do," I agree. I grasp onto the hangers and walk further into the barracks. "Please tell me my room is still standing," I pray, "Nobody's been stupid enough to go in there, don't worry," Johnson chuckles.
I leave him behind, opening the door. Everything's still there. There are fresh sheets on the end of the bed, the locker is open and empty. I hang my uniform up, straightening the hangers to make sure they're the same distance apart. Then I spread the sheets on the bed, doing neat hospital corners to tie it off. All my time in barracks has made making beds so much quicker. Setting up a room is automatic to me now. I throw my bag into my Civi* locker. I clasp the lock around the handles, I've had enough shit stolen to know to lock my crap up.
"Hey," A much softer voice says. That definitely can't be Johnson. I turn around, blue eyes, blonde hair, cheesy smile. It's Evans. Evan's and I were at Harrogate together. She couldn't run for shit so I helped her. Fitness was always easy for me, and in return, Evans helped me with Military knowledge. We didn't find out until week 10 we were headed to the same regiment. So for the remaining 39 weeks, we were inseparable. I wouldn't call her my best friend, but we're definitely close. "Hey, are you alright? I didn't hear from you at all during my leave?" I ask. I know she and Brooks were close, so lord knows how she's taking it. "I'm alright given everything that's gone on," she replies. I smile sadly at her. "I'm sure he's much happier now. He hated everything that was going on. He'd be proud his life meant something in ending it," I tell her. Comforting people is not my strong point, but hey I try. Evans nods. "I suppose, you're right," she agrees, "Come on then, let's see that smile of yours," I say. She smiles, but hey eyes stay sad. So I give her a hug.
"Alright, so. We need to talk about this rank slide," Evans chuckles. I look down at my uniform. "Yep, I got-" I pause. That's when notice the crown above her three chevrons. "You got promoted?" I explain, "Yes!" she nods "Somebody had to replace you," She chuckles. I grin, "And now you must do my bidding," I laugh, "Come on, I wouldn't want to make Johnson redundant," She jokes. I suppose that is true, he does do a hell of a lot of my dirty work. "Be careful or he'll hear you," I whisper, "What with his massive ass ears?" she adds. See, it's people like this that can make war-zones feel like home. "So no wedding band?" Evans says, taking a hold of my hand. I shake my head, "No, he was a cheating cunt," I reply, "Have you found a replacement yet?" she asks. I shake my head. "Maybe Johnson will do," She laughs. I laugh too, only because I know there is no way in hell I'm ever dating Johnson... he's too... Johnson. "Oh don't tell me you're actually considering it," Evans says outrages, "Oh please. If I ever wanted to kiss him on the cheek, I'd never get past those ears," I laugh.
The thing about having good friends is you can never tell how quickly time is going until something interrupts you.
There's a loud thud, and my focus is taken away from Evans. I peer out the window and I can see a moving tank. "Alright, what dumb fuck decided to go for a ride?" I snarl. I storm out of the barracks, I can hear Evans running after me. "Moore! Moore wait!" she yells, I'm not waiting. I refuse to stand on the side while some stupid private hits somebody with a tank.
"What the fuck is going on here?" I exclaim. I glare at the incoming vehicles. This is my god damn base, what the fuck do they think they're doing? In-plane sight, red, white and blue, it's the Americans. Evan's hand rests on my shoulder. "Moore... wait... They're not British tanks," she pants. Evans takes a moment to take large gulps of air. "They're American," she finishes. I raise an eyebrow and point at the flag flying high above the sky. "I can see that," I snap, walking back into the building. "Alright, when did you get so rude?" Evans asks me. I laugh, "When did you become such a know it all?" I reply. Evans raises her eyebrow. "Just because you're a Sergeant Major now!" she explains, "Look I'm sorry alright. I'm just a bit stressed. Let's leave this and revise this conversation later," I reply, trying to make my voice sound calm. "Alright then,"
I see Captain Smith walking out the door so I chase after him. I find myself having to run to catch up. For a fat officer, he walks fast.
"With all due respect sir, what are they doing here?" I ask, trying to contain my outrage. The CO* looks at me, I'm about to get dismissed, I can tell. "Moore, worry about your own men," he says. I can't organise shit when I don't know half of what's happening. "Sir... please, is this going to interrupt at all with our plans?" I ask, "Miss Moore, they're part of your plans," He tells me, "You'll have to corporate with them,".
What the fuck does he mean they're a part of my plans? "It's all on your desk," He adds. I smile and march on. Once the CO* is out of sight, I roll my eyes. Honestly, if he thinks I'm working with Americans he's got another thing coming.
I have a lot to figure out, and not a lot of time. A hand rests on my back. I spin around, my eyes meet another soldier's gaze. I have to take a moment to look into their honey-brown eyes, a look that could make me melt. I study the rest of them. Digi-camo uniform, shirts not tucked in, American flag, oh great! "Apologies miss, we're looking for the man in charge," some Yankee tells me. I raise an eyebrow, seriously? "That would be me," I reply, "Sorry, miss. We're looking for a Sargent Major Moore. I think you may be confused," the Yank elaborated. How dare he! Sexist cunt. "Yes, I'm Sargent Major Moore," I respond. I gesture to my rank slide and then my name. I watch as the soldier's expression turns from surprise, to worry and maybe a hint of guilt. "How can I help?" I ask, feeling a little smug. "Sorry... um... ma'am,", I think the pause was to figure out how to address me, "I'm Sergeant Ferenczy. I believe we have a few things to discuss," The American extends a hand and I reluctantly take it. I suppose this is the fucker I'm supposed to cooperate with? "If you'd like to follow me to my office," I say.
I'm relieved to find the iron and ironing board have been put away as I lead the American into my office. "What would you like to discuss?" I ask, "Well... I'd hoped you'd be able to tell me that," Ferenczy replies. I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm sorry, I just got back from leave approximately 3 hours ago and nobody thought to tell me anything," I tell him. "That's alright, I was just told I was going to Iraq and to expect to see Brits," he chuckles. I don't really want to have a friendly conversation with that man.
"So why were you on leave?" he asks, "I was getting married," I reply. Again, this conversation. "Oh congratulations," He says. I smile a little. "Don't bother, it never happened," I sigh. He nods, almost in understanding. "Anyway, about why we're here," He finally says. I just reply by chucking the file in front of him. "Be my guest," I say. I kick my feet up onto the desk. "You Brits are really laid back," He comments, "Incorrect, we just know when something's a lost cause," I correct him. He flicks through the paperwork. "This is really a mess, who's your CO*?" he asks, "Beats me. Changes nearly every day," I reply.
"So personally I think the best approach is to..." his voice trails off, "What?" I ask. He shakes his head, "Nothing. Sorry, if we came in from the west. I'd form an all-around defence here. I'd have your scouts... um... go by foot," He continues. I put a hand up, silencing him. I put my legs back down and glare him straight in the eye. "Sorry, are you a Tankie or a Scout?" I ask, "I don't see why that's important," He replies. "Just answer the question," I snap, "I'm a Tanker... but that doesn't-" he tries. So cute, the way he tries to defend his effortless job like a little boy. "That proves my point," I cut in "I'm a scout, and unless you're willing to put your ass on the line, I suggest you don't order others too," I continue. I take the photo off him. "Our mission is to provide backup. I recommend you don't start making plans until you know who you're backing up," I tell him. I can see the surprise register on his face. "Yes ma'am," He murmurs. Just like a TOM.
My radio begins to buzz. I glare at it, as an orange light gleams out. "This is Bravo Golf. Requesting the assistance of Foxtrot Echo. Over," a voice screeches. I want to sigh as I press my finger against the button. "This is Foxtrot Echo, receiving. Over," I say, ". Ma'am, I require your assistance at the guard room. Over," A reply comes, "Rodger, out," I respond. I clip the radio onto my belt. "Sorry, duty calls," I tell Ferenczy. He nods and walks out my office. Honestly, if he was British I'd have a massive go at him. Nobody leaves my office in such a rude manner, not even Americans. So we're just walking out of offices now? No marching? Appalling.
"Alright what do you want?" I ask the MP*. He turns around and reveals two, very drunk, British soldiers. I'm not sure if I'm ashamed or annoyed. "What's this?" I inquire. The soldiers stumble over each other. I glare at their ranks slides, a Lance Corporal and a Sergeant. They look like they've just come from a strip club. "Corporal, Sergeant, come along," I order them.
I march them into the barracks. In their current state, they're not fit to be seen. "Now, I don't know exactly what the fuck went down, but I swear to god when you've sobered up, you're in for it," I snarl, "Now. Get the fuck out of my sight,". The soldiers nod and wander down the corridor. I swear my job has become more babysitting than anything else.
My body bashes against somebody else. I glare up, it's those bloody honey brown eyes again! The American flag and everything. My anger boils over. So now they walk into me. "Excuse me!" I snap.
* key for confused humans,
Billet =Sleeping Quarters
CO =Comanding Officer/Commisioned Officer
NCO =Non Commisioned Officer
IED = Bomb
OP = Observation Point
Civi = Civilian
A/N Thank you so much for reading my story! It really means the world to me! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think of Lilly Moore and about the Americans! If you could vote on my story (by pressing the star) it would mean a lot to me! Thank you so much ^^ I'll be posting the next chapter around the 19th of Jan
- Violet