Matteo bounced near the end of the 2nd platoon’s transport truck. They were third in column of ten vehicles, traveling along the hills to take position above Wenderguard. His youthful lieutenant, Lucas Benasso, sat beside him to his left, and the new radio operator Simone Meneghin sat on the last seat to his right. Sergeant Zanon and sergeant Medati sat with corporal Denato across the aisle.
They wore their sky-blue greatcoats, rugged leather boots, and comfortable gloves. Caps lined with sheep’s wool kept their ears warm. Beneath their bare-metal jump seats—what the lieutenant called dumpster seats—were cases of ammunition for their rifles. Matteo held his butt down between his legs; it jostled, rattled on the floor whenever the truck bumped on the road.
“Beautiful day for a battle,” Benasso said.
Corporal Denato tried to turn his head, but he was caught between two quite large men, and so couldn’t see the city behind him. “I can’t even see anything,” he said, and gestured at the snow-capped mountains behind Matteo. “The mountains look nice, I guess.”
“Are you making a joke?” Meneghin asked Benasso.
Matteo looked over his shoulder and saw the radio operator sitting with his arms folded. There were no buckles or straps to keep a man from tumbling out the back; even Medati held his seat with his hands. Meneghin didn’t seem to mind the tribulations of an uneven road while he kept his heavy backpack stable between his legs.
“Not a fan of inclement weather?” the lieutenant asked.
“It’s the battle, not the rain that bothers me,” Meneghin replied.
“It was a joke,” Zanon said.
“We’re a reserve company,” Benasso said to Meneghin. “We don’t actually see any fighting. I may as well say beautiful day for a picnic.”
“No one’s happy to go to war,” Zanon added.
“Speak for yourself,” Denato said. “The fields were awful this year, awful last year, and awful the year before last. There’s nothing at home for me, or any of us, I bet.”
“Did you hate Bastilhas?” Zanon asked.
Denato shook his head. “No, but—”
“These were their fields,” Zanon said. “Tilled by honest folk, like us.”
“It’s them or us,” Denato said sharply. “Without coins, it’s my folks that starve. The army pays serious prints. If I’m not lucky enough to be twice cursed as an adventurer, I’d be damned if I wasn’t happy being cursed as a soldier.”
Matteo pinched his eyebrows together. “Lucky?” he asked.
Denato smirked at the boy. “You don’t think those adventurers are lucky? They make eight times what we earn in a year, in just a month.”
“My dad died doing that work,” Matteo said.
“Soldiers die too,” Denato said, nonplussed. “But when your dad died, he was worth as much as every head on the back of this truck. More than you, me, or pretty boy Lucas. Isn’t that something to smile about?”
Matteo frowned, leaned back in his seat. The truck bounced hard and knocked the ammunition around.
“Some soldiers might die, but that’s not our job today,” lieutenant Benasso said. “So, let’s just relax and enjoy our pay. We show up to the fight, applaud, have lunch, and head back to base.”
Meneghin leaned forward. “Were you there for Sedencenco?” he asked
The lieutenant nodded. “I was,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
Meneghin smiled. “You’re very confident.”
Matteo tuned out the conversation and pressed his forehead against the end of his rifle. Truthfully, he felt a little sick having gorged himself on pasta before saddling the truck. He did his best to keep his meal down for the rest of the trip, until the truck stopped at the top of a tall hill.
“Looks like we’re here,” Benasso announced and Matteo opened his eyes.
The boy turned his head up and saw the town of Wenderguard. It expanded for miles along the shore below, with its industrial dockyards, townhouses, and its own civic center. While it was larger than Cohenburg, they were hamlets when compared to Vultheras, that great city on the horizon. Its majestic, mithril-suspended bridge reached like a steel sword across the water; from the clockwork tower to Matteo’s own feet.
“Is it alright we hop off?” Denato asked Benasso. “Stretched our legs?”
“Stay close to the truck, on the off chance we have somewhere to be,” the lieutenant answered. “But, yeah. Everyone, feel free to take a look around.”
“Awesome,” Denato said, but as he stood, he caught a stink eye from Zanon.
“Awesome, sir,” the sergeant added.
The corporal made quiet, nervous laughter. “Sir,” he said, “yes sir.”
The truck swayed as Medati dropped off the back. “The lieutenant said it could be a picnic,” he said, turned out to look at the city. “But that was a joke, remember? This is war, so keep your eyes straight. It’s the least you can do for the rest of our boys that are down there doing the leg work.”
Benasso, Denato, Zanon, and Medati left with the others, leaving just Matteo alone with the radio operator, Meneghin. The operator reached into his radio pack and retrieved a carton of cigarettes. He glanced at Matteo.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
Matteo shook his head.
Meneghin nodded and searched further through the pockets for matches. He struck a red-headed stick on the side of a matchbox and set it alight, touched its flame to the cigarette he held between his lips. A breeze agitated the flame, but the cigarette did light and smolder with its orange glow. Meneghin killed the match with a flick of his wrist and tossed it off the side of the truck. He removed the cigarette from his lips and relaxed with it between his fingers.
A drop of water hit Matteo’s nose and the corporal looked up. A second hit his cheek and a third dropped in his eye; he winced and lowered his head, rubbed his face with his hand. It began to rain.
“How old are you?” Meneghin asked Matteo.
“Me?” the boy asked.
The operator smiled. “Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh,” Matteo uttered, glanced at the empty seats. “I’m 16, sir.”
“I thought conscription started at 18,” he said.
Matteo nodded. “That’s what they said, but….”
“Quotas or something?” Meneghin wondered aloud. “If the empress says she needs X number of soldiers, it’s the recruiter’s job to provide them, no matter how young.”
“It’s not like I asked to go,” Matteo said, clutched his rifle by the barrel. “But they couldn’t take my older brothers, because they were too important. I was given up in their place.”
“So, you were sacrificed,” Meneghin said.
Matteo looked out over the hill. There were two roads, separated by fields of tall grass, down the slope ahead. Each of the roads was occupied by a row of trucks led by a tank. Soldiers milled around them, paced with rifles in their hands.
“Denato wasn’t wrong,” Matteo said. “There’s nothing at home for me. I can’t read, or write, so, that’s means no school. The fields are awful, so there’s barely enough food to go around.”
“To say nothing of earning coin,” Meneghin added. “I get it, but you speak well. Was there nothing you wanted to do?”
Matteo shook his head. “I didn’t really think about it; honest.”
“You said your dad was an adventurer.”
“I didn’t want to be an adventurer,” he answered.
“Even if you had mana, you mean?”
Matteo nodded. “Dad left home and never came back,” he said. “It just… didn’t seem right.”
“Did he ever send you anything?”
The boy glanced his way; eyed him curiously.
Meneghin blinked. “Something on my face?”
“Someone else asked me that,” Matteo said. “He just sent us letters and money.”
“It wasn’t enough to set your family up for life?”
Matteo shook his head. “No,” he said. “He was only bronze, I think. Not high grade, even.”
“I see,” Meneghin said and sighed. He paused for a bit, rolled the cigarette between his fingers, before he looked at Matteo. “You… are actually an angry kid, aren’t you?”
Matteo made a surprised, half-hearted smile. He deflected his eyes to the floor. “W-What?” he asked.
“You just seem like the type to dwell on things,” the operator continued. “No sense of wonder, no dreams or ambitions.”
“I have dreams,” Matteo said, snapped his head; held his rifle more tightly.
“You were the one that called out that angel, right?” Meneghin asked. “Why did you do that?”
Matteo frowned, turned away again. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You asked if we’re going to win.”
The boy said nothing, stared at distant Vultheras.
“Isn’t that a strange thing to hear?” Meneghin wondered aloud. “What does winning or losing really mean, anyways? Should someone worry about dying if they haven’t really lived?”
“If I could do that over,” Matteo said, eyes fixed on the mithril bridge. “If I could… just ask again, I think I’d say something different.”
Meneghin glanced at him, cigarette loose between his fingers. “Oh?”
“When all of this is over,” he began.
“All of this?” Meneghin asked.
“When we’re at the end of the road,” Matteo added.
Meneghin squinted at him.
“It feels like my life is just… something I can’t control,” Matteo said. “I till the field, but the crops don’t get better. I get sent to war, but I can’t change the outcome. I leave my home, and my family still starves. Even my father tried to give us a better life in his own way, and he failed completely.
“Where did that… all of that start? Where did it begin? And at the end, will I still… feel so hopeless?”
“Damn,” Meneghin said.
“What do you think?” Matteo asked, turned to look at the operator. “As an adult.”
“Between us,” the operator said. “I think about it every day.”
Meneghin’s radio pack beeped and the operator leaned in to touch its exposed dials and switches. He activated the speaker.
“Wrathful Thunder commences in thirty seconds, brace for combat,” a man squawked. “Over.”
“Lieutenant!” Meneghin shouted. “Eyes up, they’re about to start firing!”
The operator looked at Matteo. “Are you going to hop off and watch with them?” he asked.
Matteo shook his head. “This is fine.”
“Suit yourself,” Meneghin said. He squeezed out his cigarette with his thumb and forefinger; tossed it to the ground.
“Did you smoke at all?” Matteo asked.
Meneghin smiled. “What’s the point of that?”
The report of a hundred cannons firing simultaneously was so loud that Matteo covered his ears. It rolled over the hills like the trampling of stampeding animals; echoed across the shore and sea. The boy glanced at Meneghin and the operator appeared to mutter beneath his breath, as if counting down the seconds.
Seven? Matteo wondered, looked at Vultheras. Eight? Nine? Ten—
A crown of fire appeared around the fortress city and its barrier shined with blue light. So bright was the shield that it blinded Matteo and forced the boy to turn his head. The roar that followed was thrice as loud as the report of their many guns. Matteo felt sick, disoriented.
“Hey!” Meneghin shouted, shook the boy by his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay!”
“I promise!”
