Fourth Vector Ch. 46

"Agreed but we'll want to get back to drilling as soon as possible," said Ambros. "These men will need all the training that they can get."

"I'm sure the airfield still needs plenty of clearing up," noted Jack. "We can start there."

"So then we're in agreement? We start with the airfield in the morning?" asked Greg.

Ambros nodded his head. "We might be better off if we start partnering up individual soldiers. We can leave that to the lower ranking officers to do but it would help if one Swabian was paired up with one Galician."

"The Galicians will understand what's going on with that," replied Greg. "We have our own buddy system in the army. Each Galician is paired with another as his main comrade, if you will. They are responsible for each other at the end of the day and they hold each other's wills in case something happens. We can make it an extension of that system."

"I think a limited form of that will be perfectly acceptable here," said Jack. "I doubt they'll need to hold each other's wills but if we make them responsible for the other man, it'll help to foster that camaraderie that I'm looking for."

Ambros actually grinned. "Look at all of them looking over here at us. Do you think they know something's up?"

Ambros' observation was right on the money. Even now, several tables were focused on the sight of the two kings and the general watching over them. No doubt, they were trying to understand what was going to come from this arrangement.

"I'm sure they'll have plenty to yap about in the coming days," said Jack. "But no matter what happens, we hold the course, understand? Even if we end up with men in the infirmary from the inevitable scuffles that are going to break out. This is the hill that we die on, understand?"

Greg nodded his head. "Understood and agreed. This has to happen."

Ambros nodded too. "These men are in for an interesting week."

*****

"The gods piss on me! Looks like I'm getting the stupid-looking one right there!"

Private Brian Mikkelson of the 16th Regiment of the Galician Army let out a loud groan the following morning as the men of his platoon were lined up and instructed to pair off with a Swabian platoon that was directly in front of them.

"Tough break, Brian," replied Sven, one of his tentmates. "At least you're not getting the runt that I got. Your guy at least looks strong."

Brian swore and shook his head. "He looks dumber than a box of rocks. And even for the Swabians, that's saying something."

The object of his ridicule was standing a short distance away. No doubt, the Swabian could hear everything that was being said, but that wasn't to say the Swabians weren't also cursing their luck on the opposing side as well.

"Look at that inbred fucker right there," pointed out Luca, another friend of Brian's. "I think I saw him eating dirt just a moment ago."

"This is going to be a fucking disaster," groaned Brian.

"All right, men, you've all been paired up," yelled out Brian's lieutenant, who happened to be standing next to his Swabian counterpart. Both men looked decidedly uncomfortable at being in close contact, something that was reflected in their men. "I want you all to speak with your new comrade in the opposing army and get to know each other. From there, you'll receive your assignments for the day shortly!"

"Wish me luck," said Luca as they broke ranks. "Let's hope I don't clobber the bastard in ten minutes."

"Let's hope you do," replied Brian. "At least getting put on disciplinary watch might get us out of this mess. Why the hell did I come back to the army?"

"Don't count on it, Mikkelson," replied Brian's lieutenant, who'd heard his comment. "Your new comrade will be with you even there too. You best take to this assignment in the spirit to which it was given."

Brian knew better than to reply to that. His lieutenant wasn't one to hold back on giving out infractions and he'd already accrued enough just since leaving Galicia. With great reluctance, he crossed the distance between himself and his paired Swabian, just as the rest of the platoon (and indeed, the rest of the regiment) was now doing as well.

The strong-looking Swabian who was now his partner didn't look like the sharpest tool in the shed. At least he wasn't the runt, as Sven so casually noticed, but Brian wasn't exactly thrilled with getting an idiot either.

"What's your name?" he snapped at the Swabian as the distance was closed.

The Swabian looked completely uninterested. He looked Brian up and down for a moment before his face filled with disdain, no doubt thinking he could destroy Brian in any kind of physical brawl.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" snapped Brian when the Swabian didn't answer. "What's your fucking name?"

The Swabian growled before he answered. "Corporal Arnold Perera, 3rd Regiment."

"Arnold? What the fuck kind of name is that?"

Arnold grimaced and flexed his hands into a fist. "It's a Swabian name, you cocksucker. Show it the proper respect."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Let's go. Our assignment is at the airfield. We better get moving."

Before Arnold could fall in behind him, the Swabian had one question for him. "Well? Are you going to tell me your name or not?"

Brian grunted. "Private Brian Mikkelson."

"Sounds like a typical Galician name."

"Yeah? That's 'cause it is, you big, dumb ox. Let's go."

Already, Brian was regretting his decision to re-sign up with the army. Sure, the first pay had been very nice with the new promotions for soldiers that had occurred as they left Galicia, but so far, he'd done little but drill and eat crummy food. Now that he was being forced to babysit Swabians, his experience had reached a true nadir.

It wasn't helped by the fact that the Swabian kept asking questions the entire walk over to the airfield, which Brian would only answer as shortly as possible.

"Where you from? What part of Galicia?"

"Kalmar."

"How long have you been with this regiment?"

"Two weeks."

"So short. This your first time in the army?"

"No."

"What made you decide to join up?"

"The pay."

"Have you ever fought before? Any other wars?"

Brian stopped in his tracks and turned to face the other man. "Listen here, man. I'm not here to socialize with you. For some harebrained reason, we're being forced to work together. Our leaders probably think it's going to make us like each other and then we'll get along like one happy army but what it really means is that I'm going to be annoyed dragging you along in my shadow for the next week. So let's work without talking and just try to get through to the other side, got it?"

Arnold's eyes narrowed at being so firmly rebuffed. "Got it."

"Fuckin' grand," mumbled Brian as they moved closer to the airfield.

Needless to say, the airfield was still in shambles from the storm. There were many teams of men, all mixed Swabian/Galician pairs, that were going through the wreckage, trying to clean up the damaged materials and bits of planes that were under all the rubble.

Despite Brian not wanting to have to work the airfield, he found the fact that the Swabians were half the force fitting. Like everyone else, he'd heard the rumors that the responsibility for the collapse of the hangar laid at their feet.

If they caused the mess, it was only natural that they cleaned it up. Brian just didn't know why he had to be there as well.

"Can't let the Swabians be unsupervised," he muttered under his breath.

Arnold turned to look at him, his expression changing into a glare. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, let's get to work," replied Brian.

They moved over to a larger group that was now trying to move a piece of the hangar roof out of the way. This piece was large enough that it required considerable manpower, and it was only just starting to budge before Brian and Arnold arrived.

"You two, give us a hand here," called out another Galician while he gestured with his head to the roof.

"At least your strength will come in handy here," said Brian to Arnold. "Grab a section and let's go."

Sure enough, the Swabian's strength was actually functional and that little extra manpower allowed them to dislodge the roof from the spot it was stuck in. They moved it off the runway, pulling it along toward the grass where it could then be broken up for scrap. Along the way, the remains of several airplanes were unearthed, but none of them were in a usable state.

Quite truthfully, the best word to describe them was pulverized. The weight of the roof had rendered them completely unfixable.

"There's going to be hell to pay for whoever is found responsible for this," said the Galician to Brian's right as they looked at the airplane rubble. "I bet you they're going to kick the Swabians out of the army if the rumors are true."

"We can only hope," replied Brian. "I think we'll all sleep a little easier without the Swabians here."

The other Galician grunted and soon the group was splitting up back into their individual pairs, each one working on a single airplane to get it to the scrap heap.

Along the way, Brian tried to talk to Arnold as little as possible. Of course, the Swabian needed some direction along the way, which didn't come to any surprise but Brian was secretly pleased that he didn't have to explain himself more than once. At least Arnold had enough brains to get it right the first time, and he was strong enough that Brian didn't have to break a sweat like the rest of his comrades.

Quite honestly though, he would have preferred working with just about anyone else. Even the positives of working with Arnold weren't outweighed by the negatives.

"You ever fly in one?"

Brian was caught unawares as Arnold grabbed a piece of the ruined propeller to take back to the scrap heap.

"Fly in what? An airplane?"

Arnold nodded. "Yeah, you ever go up in one?"

"No," replied Brian while shaking his head. "They left that to the pilots in our army. It's a small corps that isn't easy to get into."

"It wasn't like that for us," said Arnold. "In the beginning, anyone who wanted to fly was given the chance. I took a few flights flying in the bitch seat just to see what it was like. Being a pilot wasn't for me but I did enjoy being in the air."

Brian grunted. "I can only imagine."

Arnold continued speaking. "I had a pilot I used to like to go up with, a real professional but he got shot down and that ended that pretty quickly."

"Where'd he get shot down over?"

"Over Daban," answered Arnold. "Right before we pulled out of the country."

Brian couldn't help but shake his head. "So you've been in the army a long time then. How many countries have you invaded?"

Arnold's neutral expression turned dark. "Enough of them. How about you? How many Swabians have you killed before?"

"Not enough apparently," replied Brian.

Arnold dropped the piece of scrap in his hands and approached Brian, getting right up in his face. "I'd like to see you try, little man. Back in Swabia, we would call short shits like you target practice."

Brian had enough at that point. He too dropped part of the plane's wings and used all his strength to push the Swabian back. Arnold went tumbling back before the look in his eyes turned to pure anger. He landed on his back heel and then went rushing forward as his hand cocked back.

It would never get a chance to land. Out of the blue, a Swabian officer stepped forward and used his disciplinary baton to smack Arnold across the forehead. The shock of the blow made Arnold lose all focus and he soon hit the ground, only to be hit twice more by the officer before he lowered the baton.

"Get back to work," barked the officer. "And no fighting!"

Arnold looked up and rubbed the red mark on his forehead that was soon to be swollen. He gritted his teeth and pushed up on his feet, giving a glaring look at the officer first and then to Brian.

"You heard the man," said Brian sarcastically. "Get back to work."

Luckily for him, Arnold had no more fight left in him. The two men continued to work in near silence for the next three hours until most of the damage from the hangar had been cleared. In the process, a grand total of about ten words had been exchanged between them, mostly yes and no answers and nothing deeper.

By the time they were nearly finished, Brian was more than ready to call it a day. It had been miserable spending his entire time with the Swabian oaf, and more than anything he wanted to get some chow at the mess hall and laugh about the experience with his friends in his platoon.

"Come on, we're done for today," said Brian as he stopped near Arnold. "Dinner time. Let's eat."

Arnold said nothing further and he soon dropped the last piece of scrap on the pile before turning away from the airfield, following the long line of soldiers on their way back to camp. The Swabian fell in alongside his Galician counterpart to make the short journey over to the mess hall.

"What do you think they'll have us do tomorrow?" asked Arnold.

"Hopefully nothing together," replied Brian. "I hope this was a one-day type of deal and we can get back to training tomorrow. Training with our own people."

"Still, you have to admit it was interesting to see all the pairs today," said Arnold. "That's the first time Swabians have ever worked alongside Galicians."

"And probably the last judging by how many fights broke out today," said Brian.

They'd been one of the lucky ones, having their potential fight broken up before anyone could land a blow. Others hadn't been so lucky, and many were now on the way to see their commanding officer to find out what kind of disciplinary infraction they'd have because of it.

Brian was thankful that it hadn't come to that but any hopes of seeing the last of Arnold were quickly dashed when they arrived at their mess hall. A long line of men had formed right by the door, and Arnold could see that at the very front of the line, General Greg Vaughn and the former General Ambros Ferberg of Swabia, now King of Swabia, were standing there addressing each pair as they walked into the mess hall.

"What the fuck," groaned Brian as he saw the two men at front. "This can't be good."

"What is it?" asked Arnold.

"They're going to make us eat together," replied Brian. "I just know it. I know it."

Before Arnold had a chance to react, something hard and wet hit him in the back of the head. The giant Swabian pitched forward as a result, but kept his feet. Meanwhile, the men around them all turned, noticing the action and trying to find out what happened.

"Who the fuck hit me?" roared Arnold, showcasing his temper for the second time that day.

"Eat a dick, you big, Swabian bitch!"

Across the way, a group of Picards had been off on a run, moving along the edge of the Swabian camp, close to where the mess hall was. Though they weren't inside the camp, they were close enough to the mess hall to interfere with the people lined up outside, and one of the Picards had stopped to grab a clump of mud, launching it a short distance away at Arnold.

His aim couldn't have been any better, and the Picards roared with laughter as Arnold wiped the mud off the back of his head.

Inside the camp, the men lined up had two reactions in general to the throwing of the mud. All the Swabians, once noticing that it was a fellow Swabian that had been hit, moved to try to strike back at the Picards. Their officers sprung into motion at that instant, using their batons to force the men back in line.

The other reaction was a near uniform sense of amusement on the part of the Galicians, where no doubt many of them were happy that someone at least got a chance to hit the Swabians today and get away with it. Brian found himself snickering as Arnold continued to wipe the mud off the back of his face.

"What the fuck are you laughing about?" growled Arnold.

Brian shrugged innocently. "He just had really good aim, that's all."

Arnold grabbed a thick clump of mud and pitched it at Brian's face. The clump exploded against his cheek, and his sense of amusement evaporated, only to be replaced by indignity.

"You son of a bitch!"

This time, it was the swift intervention of Brian's own lieutenant that prevented him from landing a right hook against the Swabian's jaw.

"That's enough!" roared the lieutenant. "Get your asses in the mess hall right now! The next man that causes trouble will be flogged for the rest of the army to watch!"

That caused all of them to shut up. Despite his anger, Brian had no desire to be publicly whipped, and he tempered his rage to wipe the mud off his face. By the time he and Arnold were at the front of the line, most of the mud had been wiped off of both of them.

The Swabian King took one look at the two of them and couldn't help but let a small smile appear on his lips. "Make sure you sit together for dinner, men. You're not allowed to separate from each other, got it?"

Brian's eyes flickered over to General Vaughn, hoping that the man would put an end to this now.

That hope was quickly extinguished.

"You heard the man," said the General. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Not fucking likely," mumbled Brian as they entered the mess hall. As they grabbed their trays of food, Brian led the way to a table in the corner that hadn't yet been occupied. He put his food down first, and when he didn't see Arnold right behind him, he secretly hoped the Swabian had gotten lost.

Alas, it wasn't to be so, and Arnold soon spotted him and brought his tray to sit right next to him at the table.

"Nothing more lively than shitty food and good company," muttered Brian as Arnold sat down. "Fuck my life."

Arnold seemed content to let that one slide, but it was quickly apparent that he was still in a rage about the mud.

"Why the hell would they do that?" he said, still cleaning mud out of his ears. "What kind of man throws mud at a man he doesn't even know?"

"They're probably trying to get even for the destruction of their hangar," muttered Brian.

Even the mere suggestion was enough for Arnold to slam his fist on the table, rattling their trays.

"We're not responsible for that. No one sabotaged your fucking hangars!"

"I guess we'll see, won't we? There's an official investigation into it right now. So soon enough we'll all find out whether you and your people are guilty."

"And when it turns out we had nothing to do with it, I hope this kind of shit stops," grumbled Arnold.

"Do you really expect it to? This is just a sign of something larger. No one trusts you," said Brian. "You spent the last two years trying to conquer the world and invading every land in sight. Now we're just supposed to trust you because you have a new king? I'm not buying it."

"Like your side isn't entirely without fault. My father's house burned to the ground during the Battle of Dagobern. I lost my brother and two of my uncles to the fighting. It wasn't just your people that suffered during the war."

Brian grunted. "We've all seen losses. But my side didn't have a choice in the fighting. Your side did."

"So that's it then? We're all guilty by association because our Emperor commanded us to war?"

Surprisingly, Brian let out a sigh. "Listen, man, I know you may not have had a personal say in going to war but it still doesn't mean the rest of us are willing to give the Swabians a free pass. You're seeing a lot of resistance because it wasn't that long ago this army was encamped out in front of Dagobern. There's still a lot of trust that needs to be built."

Arnold nodded his head. "Perhaps then, the generals had a point in putting us all together. Maybe that will foster the trust they're looking for."

Brian was tired of arguing. He stuck a large piece of bread in his mouth and then mumbled, "I'm not going to hold my breath."