The NorthBoard

The mud was cradling his head but it was not a loving embrace, rather, a damp, sticky, messy thing. His vision was blurry for a moment, he simply rested his head against the ground, one cheek mixing with the earth, the other pummelled by the rain. How long he lay there, he could no tell but when someone knelt next to him and started screaming his name, righting his head and generally making a bunch of unintelligible motions, Daheibegs began to come around.

"Urjeko! Can you hear me!" The man, getting a moan in reply, frantically looked over his shoulder. "I need a stretcher! Man down! Man!"

As several men approached with the stretcher, they pried Daheibegs from the mud. The movement sent a thunderstorm of pain through his exhausted body causing his body to promptly shut down. If he had more aware, he would have seen the crater he had left in the mud. He also would have seen the tears his uniform and flesh, the smoke and fires of the city beyond. He would have also heard the explosions that were engulfing his artillery unit, as well as the cries of those who were dealt the cruelty to not fatally wounded. He would have smelt the mud, too. He had smelt it when he had been on his feet, operating Big Folhueaojin, his crew's artillery piece. The smell of that sordid battlefield was a hard one to scrub from mind or body.

The mug was cold but none of the tea had been drunk. Daheibegs looked at the surface, still and calm and brown like a field after rain. Daheibegs prised his hand from the mug, peeling his fingers away. His fingers creaked as he loosened his tight grip. He sat there for a moment, in his chair, letting the aches fade somewhat. They would never fully leave him, but by now he had giving up waiting for them to. He had abandoned that mission decades ago.

By the door sat his boots, well worn and tattered, but still sufficient enough to be practical. Daheibegs took a minute to stare at them. He picked up the mug, put it down again, stood, picked it up and walked to the sink, pouring the tea away. Pausing after placing the mug on the drying board, Dahiebegs lifted the block of soap from the side and wrapped a withered, haired hand around the tap, ignoring its rusty cries with a stony expression. Daheibegs, in the icy water, scrubbed his hands, rubbing one meaty limb against the other.

The older man's grip was firm but it wasn't much of a handshake. A single pump was all the man gave before moving to the next man in line. When he was done, he moved in front of them all and saluted. Daheibegs, along with the rest, saluted back sharply.

"Gentlemen, you may know why you are here. You have been selected specially. Each one of you has demonstrated remarkable courage in the face of the enemy. As you know, the enemy have advanced to Ejiedendsijosu. From this position, they threaten to encircle Army Group Huewuwegssjesebe. We are launching an offensive on the city tomorrow morning and it has been ordered that Army Group Ildonestegadege will join us. You are to reach their commander, however you can, using whatever methods you must. I trust I do not need to tell you of the consequences of failure. Urjeko will be your commander. He order is final and shall not be questioned. Is that understood?"

Daheibegs, who had been unaware of the promotion, nodded, hiding his nervousness in another sharp salute and a "Yes sir!"

"Good. Get going. You are to set off at once."