A War Worth Fighting Part 9
Quatre had always wanted to travel. It had been a wish of his from as far back as he could remember.
While doing so through fighting in a war was not exactly how he imagined doing it, he still saw more sights than he had the first sixteen years of his life.
Already, after just a couple of years, the Arabian had seen Iraq, Syria, Italy, North Africa and everything that lay in between. The Indian 4th Infantry Division was truly an elite and effective unit.
They certainly had shocked the world with just how strong they were. No one had really expected an army from in-the-middle-of-nowhere-India to be such an important asset to the Allies-including the Allies, themselves.
Unlike any of his Indian 'brothers,' Quatre was not one of their own. From the planes of Saudi Arabia, the blonde-haired youth came to join the fight against the Axis powers and anyone who sided with them.
Frustrated over his country's leaders in their decision to stay neutral and not take up more of a side in the struggle, the Winner oil field heir decided to take action. After learning of the horrific things that were happening, even a pacifist like himself could not go on with out doing something.
With his father's reluctant blessing, Quatre went to India, where war had been declared against Germany at the very start of the war when Hitler refused to pull his men from Poland. These were a people that were not about to take the situation lightly.
These were a people that he needed to be a part of.
Much to the thanks of being a part of a rather wealthy family due to their pull with the country's oil, Quatre was able to understand and speak many languages. It was just one of the things that helped him when he arrived in India after months of traveling.
Little was questioned when he arrived to enlist. No doubt the recruiting officers could see the fire behind those calm blue eyes when they looked at him. That... or they simply wanted as many men as they could get.
Whatever the reason, Quatre was taken in and brought to his living quarters for the time that it took him to train before becoming a member of the 4th Infantry. [1]
It was against his father's wishes that he went off to fight at all. The Winner family, like so many other Arabians, sided on neutrality and peaceful resolutions. Those ideals, while nice, were just not realistic in this day and age.
Threatened that he would be removed from the family fortune, he still followed his gut and left his family behind.
A day had yet to go by when he regretted his decision.
Between his fair complexion and blonde hair, it was almost laughable how Quatre stood out from the other soldiers. Yet not one of them gave him trouble for not being one of them. To every one of those Indian men, he was a brother.
While his father, family and friends may never understand his reasons for fighting, the Arab warrior did. In the end, that was all that mattered.
Months had become well over a year before long, once Quatre was fighting alongside his new family. After much bloodshed and constant struggling with their enemies, the infantry was now heading for Greece following their victory in Italy alongside the other Allied forces they had joined.
Greece was the only country that the unit was sent to where there was not a fight waiting for them. Only recently liberated from German, Italian and Bulgarian occupancy, the nation was finally able to begin mending itself after the three years since its invasion.
Had it not been for the Russians headed for the country, Hitler's men never would have pulled away. No one stood in the way of the 'Red Army' when they were on the move. Stories of their brutality were worldly known.
Considering the fact that Hitler had turned on Russia, the Soviets had an agenda to return the favor. All the more reason for the Germans to pull out as quickly as they could when they learned that they were coming.
Not only was Greece in need of support to rebuild within, they needed reinforcements to prevent another attack. While there was not currently a struggle there, that did not mean that the people there were completely safe.
Readjusting the rifle slung across his shoulder, Quatre's head rose to peer over the first of many smaller mountain crests that he and his comrades were climbing. When they reached the top, just below lay the border to their destination. Off in the far distance, smoke plumes rose from where cities rested.
In the rolling fields of grass that blew in the wind for as far as their eyes could see, many decomposing bodies were sprawled here-and-there. Taking a deep breath, Quatre whispered a prayer to Allah before continuing on down the mountain crest.
Even without a battle, this was no doubt going to be a difficult placement for the infantry.
* * * * * *
The bastards were fast. He had to give them that.
Wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow, Trowa shook his head and took in the wooded mountain side that he was patrolling. Unable to find any of the handful of soldiers that he had spotted a couple miles back, he hissed, "Damn."
A handful of his comrades of the Puerto Rico 65th Infantry ran up to him. Panting heavily, the green-uniformed solders fought to catch their breath whilst adjusting the gear on their backs. "We lost them, Barton?" the smallest of the group, Juan, asked in Spanish.
Quite amused at how winded his friends were from their brief sprint when he was just getting started, Trowa peered through the long bangs covering his left eye and smirked in the same tongue, "This time. But we'll find them again, Hernandez." As he passed the smaller soldier by, he patted his shoulder in reassurance.
Everyone was on edge since their arrival in the Maritime Alps that ran along the French and Italian border. While France was liberated and Italy conquered, the Germans that had been stationed there had taken to the mountains.
And the Puerto Rico army was one of the forces sent in to flush them out. [2]
This particular band of soldiers was an anxious one. With so many countries making their mark in the war, the citizens of Puerto Rico were anxious to be put to the test. Their fathers and grandfathers had proved themselves in the First World War. They were ready to prove themselves again.
Like many others, Trowa was so determined to join the army that he had lied about his age. By the time any of his superiors realized, he actually was eighteen and had a year of training under his belt. No one was about to tell him that he could not stay in the service. Not with the particular war taking place around them.
He was let off with a slap on the wrist.
Not the largest unit by far, the army consisted of foot soldiers that only spoke Spanish. The commanding officers, however, were fluent in English and Spanish. To readjust to their new situation, those officers got used to only speaking their native tongue around each other for the fact that few people outside of the Latin countries ever bothered to gain an understanding of the language.
Should the enemy ever have the chance to listen in on them, chances were pretty good that they would not gain information from them.
Until April of that year when they were sent to Italy to assist in the fighting there, the 65th Infantry had been frustrated in their waiting for action. Finally, a year after extensive training and boring post jobs here and there, they got the word that they were heading to Europe. Ready and willing, the army went to their assignment.
Italy had been... a challenge to say the least. Hearing and imagining what one would see and do in war was far different than experiencing it firsthand.
Still, the Puerto Rico unit had held out even through the worst of times along with the most seasoned of soldiers of the Allies.
Now, at the age of nineteen, Trowa was combing the mountain ranges alongside his bothers in arms. Trained especially in sniping, he bore a sniper rifle along with his usual semi-automatic gun strapped on either shoulder.
He left behind his sister Catherine at their vineyard within the plains of Puerto Rico. While business was good, the tall Latin wanted to provide for his only direct living relative as much as he wanted to fight for the ideals that he believed in. Memories of his sister crying uncontrollably the day he was sent off still plagued him.
Despite her grief, she understood and never begged him to change his mind and stay with her. She offered her love and support through the letters that came faithfully every with every new arrival of mail.
Looking over his shoulder to his lagging friends, Trowa chuckled, "It would be nice to catch up with the rest of our Infantry before dark. Are you all coming, or what?" He laughed when several middle-finger salutes were flashed.
Juan picked up the pace to fall in step with the clear 'leader' of their little group. Once he regained his breath, he asked, "Do you really think that the war may end soon now the Axis just lost two of their biggest vantage points in France and Italy?"
Trowa removed his helmet and shrugged, "The few remaining powers will not be able to hold out forever after the way the war has turned against them. But that does not mean that they will not give one hell of a fight before they're taken. There have been some big victories, but we're not out of the woods yet."
Frowning, the smaller soldier questioned, "So... when we and the other Allies are finally able to take them?"
Silently thinking over his answer, the tall sniper turned to show his emerald eyes and answered, "Then God help them. Because no one else will." Looking over the small rise that they were climbing, he spotted the dim glow of campfires that were being started.
Casually wrapping an arm around his skittish friend's shoulders, Trowa grinned, "For now, let's just worry about ourselves and what we're doing here. There will be time to worry about the future when it gets here."
Juan gave a small smile in return as the arm fell away from his shoulder. Together, they headed over the rise to rejoin the rest of the infantry with the rest of their group right behind.
The future of the war may be an unknown, but at least they knew that their near future held a warm meal and a sleeping bag to curl in for a brief moment of rest.
* * * * * *
Heero returned from his rounds of Muroran. As expected, everything was as it should be. It had been the norm ever since the incident with Akio.
Life was officially back to its usual, boring standard.
More and more, the sergeant dealt with his itch to be back in battle. Knowing that his people were out there, fighting and dying weighed heavily on him. He was a soldier, after all. He belonged on the battlefield.
This new role of his was far from what he wanted. It was far from anything that he had signed on for when he joined the Japanese army.
Stepping into his office, Heero closed the door behind him and headed for his desk. Ever present in his cell, Duo looked over and grinned in his usual greeting, "Hey, 'Ro. Have a good walk-through?"
As he removed his cap, the officer glanced to his prisoner and shrugged, "Nothing out of the ordinary, as usual." Without further comment, he dove back into his paperwork. Just another constant in his life.
Instantly picking up on the edge in his 'roommate's' voice, the braided private simply nodded and turned back to the windows. Subconsciously, he reached down to the cold cross hanging from his neck along with his dog tags and rubbed it between his fingers.
There was a long silence in the room once more. And it was suffocating Heero for a change. Lately, silence only allowed his mind to wander to the battlefields of which he now received reports on every day. Silently, he wished that he could have been at any one of those islands as opposed to where he was at the time.
Order or not, he was not happy just sitting. Sitting and not helping in any other way than playing a babysitter for a bargaining chip.
Resentment was growing by the minute over the situation... resentment and an unyielding restlessness.
Hands gripping his hair, Heero forced himself to take a few calming breaths. Finally pushing aside his thoughts, he looked back up to the cell. For a moment, he watched as Duo sat peacefully while fiddling with the cross pendant against his chest.
Over the weeks, the sergeant has watched his charge touch or rub that cross as he was now, in quiet thought and probably unaware that he was doing it. No doubt it was a source of comfort him. Like a beacon of hope when times were grim.
Biting his lip, Heero decided to be the one to break the silence in a rare change. His arms folding atop his desk, he leaned forward and stated, "No offense, but you do not exactly strike me as the religious type."
Duo blinked in confusion at him before glancing down at the cross in his hand. Realization filling his violet eyes, he laughed.
It was that warm laugh that was little by little affecting Heero every time he heard it. For whatever reason, it was becoming difficult not to smile or join in whenever it filled the chilled air of his office.
Releasing the pendant, the braided soldier spun on the floor to face him and said, "Actually, I'm not a practicing Catholic, though I do believe in God. My mom, however, is very religious." His hand sought out the cross once more without his knowledge. Clearing his throat, he said quietly, "She gave this to me when I left home to enlist."
Cobalt eyes widening a bit, the sergeant cleared his own throat and replied, "I see." He fought the urge to look over to the top drawer of his desk where a certain pin that his own mother had given him hid.
With so many surprising similarities between the two of them coming to light, Heero once again found himself questioning his opinion of his 'enemy'.
Tilting his head, Duo asked, "Do you believe in God, Heero? I never saw or heard anything to say whether you do or not." He snickered, "And it's not like I have a whole lot of stuff to do other than watch you."
"No," Heero answered quickly and simply. Shaking his head, the words flowed out without much thought, "There was a time... long ago when I did believe. But I have a hard time accepting that any deity, if they did exist, would allow something like this war to happen."
Looking out the window, he continued, "Over a year, I have seen death, suffering and mankind at its worst. And that was in only one corner of the war that is spreading everywhere. There can be no just or loving God that would sit back and watch such a thing."
A heavy silence fell back upon the room at the conclusion of that sentiment.
Duo remained still, not even so much as blinking for a time. Choosing to change the heavy subject, he smirked, "You know... sometimes I think that you have to see the worst in life to appreciate the good when you have it."
His shoulders shrugging, he commented, "I may not be the most devout of believers, but I have a hard time trusting that so much loss and suffering does not have a purpose when it is all over. That much I would stake my life on."
Reeling back in his seat, the sergeant felt the air in his lungs rush out at the notion. His mother would tell him in so many words that the brightest sunlight could only be appreciated after a storm. Otherwise, it would be taken for granted.
Maybe... maybe there actually was something behind that. Perhaps there was a purpose behind the war... something bigger than anyone could understand or accept whilst enduring the worst of times.
Still smiling, Duo spun back to face the windows. From his place at his desk, Heero appraised his charge in quiet admiration.
Once again, the private had managed to take him by surprise.
TBC...
References from historical documented information web pages:
[1] The Indian 4th Division fought in North Africa, Syria, Palestine and Cyprus before being sent into Italy. Together with the 8th and 10th Divisions it participated in the taking of Monte Cassino, after which it was moved to Greece.
[2] On September 22, 1944, the Puerto Rican 65th Infantry landed in France and was committed to action on the Maritime Alps at Peira Cava. The 3rd Battalion, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Juan Cesar Cordero Davila, defeated Germany's 34th Infantry Division's 107th Infantry Regiment.
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