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

Why did he join the army? Two months they had been marching, through mud and muck, dust, horse dung and flies. From Poland into Lithuania, then eastward across the steppe. In Lithuania in June there were the rains. The ground was soupy mud and all the horses and carts got stuck. Men lost their boots. They marched on. July was hot and dry baking the rutty roads nearly to brick. Horses stumbled and broke their legs. Dust filled everyone's lungs. They marched on. Now it was August, August the sixth 1812, a Thursday. He remembered it well. It was the day they stopped marching. The order came to halt. They stopped in a cloud of yellow-grey dust. Beneath the miles of grime his Polish uniform breaches were green. His pompom cap was warm but it was necessary to shade the eyes. His shirt clung to greasy, dirty sweat that oozed down his back. It used to be white. It would never be again. His black boots were unrecognizable and he could feel the hot earth through the holes worn through the soles. Piles of green coats with black and red trim and copper buttons lay under thick dust, strapped to the cannon wagons pulled by the horse teams. He hadn't shaved since Sunday and the coating of dust that his face wore was a much lighter hue than his dark stubble. He was a mess. He looked better than most of the regiment. The slight breeze had finally cleared the dust left from the infantry ahead and his six-foot stature allowed him to see over many of the other men. Up ahead Colonel Dodak wiped the sweat from his brow and redonned his shako as an officer on horseback lazily approached. Dodak saluted sharply and the blue-coated French Major conversed without dismounting. Perhaps a hundred yards down the road was a small village to which the infantry had dispersed within. The green crops on either side of the road were in the process of turning gold and waved gently in the wind. The major gestured towards some farm buildings another hundred yards to the left of the road. The conversation seemed to go on and on. In the army even the simplest things took forever. Finally Dodak nodded and saluted sharply once more. The major jerked the reins and his steed carried on lazily past the regiment to the next unit arear. Are we at Moscow? someone asked naively. Yes and that barn must be St Basil's, Altmann joked to an outburst of laughter. Another town taken without a fight, but this one was not burned like most of the others. It was an opportunity for provisions that they could not pass up. There could be a garden here, some eggs, some butter, some chicken. He started dreaming of a bath. The battles had been easy. They fired cannons at the walls of Vilnius one morning in late June but other than that, every time they advanced, the Russians pulled up stakes and ran. They simply refused to engage Napoleon's Grande Arme head on. As easy as the victories were however, the spoils were few, for each time that the Russians retreated they burned their own, leaving nothing for the invaders to take. Why did he join the army? He had been conscripted of course, but he went willingly. He asked himself this question several times a day, and every time he reminded himself of the alternative. Dodak gave the order to march into the village and turn left. New dust kicked up in their steps. It stuck to his sweaty sunburned neck. His bayonetted rifle slung across his back over his pack. They entered the village and turned, boots stomping, horses huffing, carts clackering. There were about a dozen buildings, mostly stone and brick. All the windows were shut. None of the locals made themselves seen. Were there any even there? Briefly, he saw the tents of the French infantry setting up in a field to his right before the dust cloud obscured the scene. Then he followed the boots of the man ahead as they turned left through a gate and onto lumpy grass. His feet savored the cool springy ground. They halted. Out of the dust he could see that they were in a farm yard. To the left was a neat garden, to the right a modest but well-kept barn. A small house stood ahead with a light stream of smoke escaping the chimney. Someone was either home or had fled in a hurry. Beyond were fields of wheat ripening in the August sun. To the south the rest of the columns marched through the main road from which they had come, thousands upon thousands of dust-covered men and horses with varying gaps between the regiments. The parade would likely continue until nightfall. The order was given to set up camp. They were a small artillery unit, six cannons pulled by six four-horse teams crewed by a hundred men or thereabouts. Finally they had stopped marching. His feet wept with joy.