Thread: Innocence and the Enemy (Sweet Angel Jocelyn & CharmSnake)

He came back around the front of the house to the smell of chicken and borscht. His mouth salivated and his stomach yearned. Three large wash basins were set up and men gathered around, some half naked, some fully, scrubbing their backs underarms and all other places and sloshing themselves with water. The camp was a hive of activity with men moving about, bringing their plates up to the mess line, heading back to their tents or other shady spots to eat, washing up, tending to horses, reporting to the officers. Gregorsz wasn't sure what he wanted more, a meal or a bath, but if being in the army taught him one thing it was that if you got a chance to eat, take it. Retrieving his tin dish and his spoon from his pack in the tent he stood in line as the mess was dished out. He couldn't get his mind off of her. Closing his eyes a moment he hung on to the memory of her touch, trying to keep it as fresh as possible, fearing the thought that it may fade. He wanted to give her a name. Could it be one of those exotic Russian names like Valentyna or Tatiana, or perhaps the simple beauty of Anna or Petra? His mind went back and forth on it, never settling. Then the image of her doing the laundry took over, carrying the water with that asshole Korchinski. At least he knew that nothing would happen to her today. Perhaps after a time and the authority in the camp became more lax the men could get away with more, but for the next few days all the locals would be quite safe. Of that he was very certain. A nudging elbow snapped him out of it. His dish was ladled full with a purple stewy broth of beets, onion, large chunks of potato and some sparse bits of chicken. He returned to the tent and ate. It was the best thing he'd had in weeks. Altmann had a small fire going and was heating a small pot of water. Help yourself, brother, he said. Gregorsz went into his pack and took out a rag, his razor and a glass. The water was warm enough that vapor was visibly rising from it. He dipped the rag in and held it to his beard, the steam loosening up his skin. He held it there for a minute, then dipped it in again and repeated. Hot enough, he said and took the pot off the fire. Then he dunked the blade of the razor into the water and carefully began to shave. Every couple of minutes when his beard dried and cooled he would resoften it with the hot rag. He took his time, eying his work in the small glass propped against his pack. When he finished, his face felt new and refreshed. He put his kit away and headed to scrub and wash himself like the others, rigorously mopping his dark hair with the rag. When he was done Major Kordic came around and shouted orders that Gun 6 go check their gun. Gun 6 was Gregorsz team. It was daily maintenance. Everything had to be checked, the gun itself, the barrel, the chamber, the wicking, the loading broom. Everything was cleaned. The cart was looked over and the axles greased. All the horses had returned from watering at the slough and were undressed, groomed and redressed. All the ammunition was counted and checked, the straight shot and the mortar, and all the gunpowder was counted and inspected, safely stored in the cases and kept dry. All this had to be done and approved by either Kordic or Fleiszer. It helped kill the time and kept the girl off his mind for a while. By the time that this was all completed the uniforms were starting to come down from the line. Gregorsz eagerly went round the house to retrieve his laundry, hopeful to make some sort of contact with her again. On the outside he showed nothing but in the inside his spirit was trying to leap out of his body with anticipation. She wasn't there. The tent was empty. The pails sat next to the well. The soldiers pulled their green coats and breaches down from the lines. The back door of the house was closed. There was no trace. He took his uniform back to the tent and dressed himself. Colonel Dodak had the entire unit assemble next to the barn for a final inspection. It was routine and did not last long. It was late in the day and the cloudless western sky was turning orange. The east was fading into indigo. Dodak ordered Gun team 1 to stand first watch and Gun 2 to relieve them at midnight. The rest of them were dismissed. His sliver of freedom had come. He was anxious, elated and scared. Slowly his feet wandered past the garden, quietly separating him from the crowd, and found the creekside path into the grove. He was a passenger of his own footsteps. What were the chances that she would be there? How long would he have to wait if she wasn't? How long could he wait? Would anyone else see him.