The Golden Soldier (Call of Duty: WW2 Fanfiction)

Chapter 20

The morning reminded me of waking up as a stupid eighteen year old who'd been at a party all night. My head throbbed as I sat up in my cot, making the world spin until I regained mental balance. I felt disgusting for my mouth being drenched in alcohol with no cleaning before sleep. And it was so dehydrated too. I ran a hand through my hair, tangled.
In the tent with me was Stiles, still sound asleep. It told me it was early because the man would usually be up before me. The question was: where were Daniels, Aiello, and Zussman?
I carefully got up, putting on my boots and fixing my uniform. I used a rubber band to tie up my hair and put on my helmet. In silence, I snuck out of the tent to the morning light outside. I flinched to the temporary pain and then adjusted.
At the makeshift campfire in front of me was Turner. He looked expectant, pissed off even. His eyes moved from the small flames to me and narrowed. I stepped forwards, sitting gingerly across from him.
"Good morning," his voice was hard and unapologetic, maybe even taunting.
"I'm sorry you had to deal with that last night sir," I bowed my head.
"It's the fact that all of you got there that pisses me off," Turner snapped. "Only one who didn't was Daniels."
"Where is he now?"
"Hunting down Zussman, who never came back last night," Turner hissed.
"And Aiello? Pierson?"
"Oh, they're off beginning their punishment," Turner smirked, his eyes cold.
Dread spread through me and I nodded, looking at the fire.
"Are you awake?"
"Yes sir."
"There's a freshly-hung French flag hanging around the corner, a couple of miles down," Turner was short. "You will run to it and back. Don't make it back in a decent amount of time and you'll do it again."
My jaw dropped, thinking of how painful the run would be considering empty stomach and my nauseous feeling. I stood without another word and then took off away from camp. As I left the outskirts, I caught sight of Daniels and Zussman coming back from the direction of the pub.
Poor Zussman.
I found my run going fluently, briskly, despite the uneven ground and intimidating distance--the flag was a small spot down the stretch of road. My breathing was becoming incoherent halfway down, my knees shaky.
In burning pain, both in my lungs and legs, I reached the flag. My hands slammed against the side of the brick building it was hanging against and I wheezed uncontrollably. Looking to my left, down another street, I noticed a small figure advancing in my direction.
Squinting my eyes, I realized it was a dog. My heart melted in the first few seconds, imagining the skinny thing barely walking over. Then I realized it wasn't walking, but running, and the dog was healthy. I also came to the conclusion that it was a German Shepherd...and not a friendly one.
I looked around for an outlet of either escape or action. My hands came to a large, rough rock that could do damage. The dog growled as it came closer, taking a leap as it got close enough. I dodged to the left and then swung the rock to hit the dog in the side. It yelped and then spun around in anger.
The beast tackled me, biting at my face as I held it at arm's length. I brought the rock in my left hand in a swinging motion upwards. When the rock connected with the dog's skull, I let out a whimper of sadness. The dog went limp as I threw it to the side.
I stood straight, glancing down at the attack dog. I studied the surrounding area, expecting a German to show up eventually, but there was no sign. I look back to where the stretch back to camp loomed. My lungs expressed a sigh as I started heading back for it.
I didn't take half as long to reach camp heading back and I think it had to do with adrenaline from the attack. Upon reaching the waking camp, I noticed Turner was standing, speaking to Pierson. Wrong...they weren't speaking, they were arguing.
"...what soldier does that?" Turner hissed.
Pierson opened his mouth to speak and then noticed me. His eyes narrowed into slits, glare growing more threatening than I'd ever seen it. If he was trying to blame the whole thing on me, he was in for a treat. It'd been him who drank so much. I hadn't even had control over the dance either.
"You took quite a long time," Turner spoke upon seeing me.
I wanted to explain the attack dog, but I could tell his patience was much too thin. I was simply silent, waiting for him to decide my fate. And he sure looked like he was deciphering hard.
"Since you two were working so well together last night, you will load armory supplies," Turner glared at Pierson when he spoke.
I stomped forwards, passing the two to head towards the station set up on the far side of camp. I could hear Turner snapping at Pierson once more and then I heard the angry footsteps of Pierson following me.
I reached the backside of the truck to be loaded, out of view from camp, and started to unlock the tailgate when Pierson stormed around the corner. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it painfully and spinning me around. I let out a squeal of surprise and tenderness, glaring up at him.
"This is your fault!"
"Mine?" I gave a laugh. "You're so blind by your rage at your own mistakes, you're blaming me? Fuck you Pierson."
Pierson gripped my wrist tighter, his gaze twisting into rage. "Ever since you came around, you've been destroying this platoon."
"Oh really? How?" I demanded.
Pierson must have expected me to bow down and apologize because he grew silent. His eyes glared into me, hoping to shrink my very form even smaller right then. I stood up straighter, gaining memory in my free hand to clutch his hand and rip it off my pined wrist--which had turned red underneath his grasp.
"If we don't work together on this and finish it, then there's going to be more," I stated flatly, holding my wrist and glaring up at the frozen brute. "Get it together sir."
Moving past his close proximity, I started to load up the ammo and weapons in an orderly fashion. Pierson came around, eventually helping load things. I hopped in the truck after a while, receiving the crates and objects he would hand me.
It didn't take us long to be completely loaded. Between his strength, my speed, and our organization, the entire armory was loaded up pretty quickly.
I went to hop down, sitting first, and then sliding off. As I did it, I thought I saw Pierson's hand twitch to move to help me, but the body part never shifted forwards. I closed the tailgate with his help and watched as he put the pin in on the side.
Without two words to him, I headed back for Turner. Whether he was following or not, I made my way to the canopy where Turner was overlooking orders on where to move. I stopped a fair distance away, hands behind my back.
"Anything else sir?"
His gaze moved to where I stood steadily in front of him. I saw his lips twitch in amusement, impressed almost. He straightened and then shook his head.
"I appreciate the enthusiasm, Avaline," he spoke more normally down. "Perhaps you should pass it on to the others whenever you see them."
"They're still working?"
"They're getting a harsher morning because they know better," Turner explained, his gaze turning into a glare. "Especially, the oldest of them."
Pierson stopped next to me, his form filling up the air next to me. I glanced his way and then the opposite side, looking towards the ground in discomfort. Turner leaned more on the table, studying both of us in silence for a long moment.
"Sir, we've completed what you asked," Stiles spoke behind me.
Turner looked to him and whoever was with him. I could see another plan forming in his head, another punishment, and took a slight step forwards.
"Sir," I spoke just loud enough for him and Pierson to hear and he snapped to me. "My father once told me that too much work could make you lose respect for whoever was giving it to you. Please keep that in mind. I'm sure they've all thrown up by now and get the point."
Turner glared at me like I'd just told him how to run a whole platoon. I took my step back and closed my eyes for seconds. I could feel the glare of Pierson on the side of my face, so I opened my eyes and returned the gesture. Something deep flickered in response and then he looked forwards.
I'm not fucking around with you anymore.
"Get some breakfast boys," Turner sounded like he was talking to all four of them. "Keep in mind it could've been a lot worse."
"Yes sir," four voices replied in unison.
Turner looked to me as they scampered off. "And you. Do the same, but don't ever do what you did again."
I simply nodded and spun around, heading for the others at a fire pit. As I neared, I received tired, pained looks. I plopped down next to Zussman, who was looking paler than ever.
"Never drinking again," Stiles groaned, holding either sides of his glasses. 
"Never making a deal with Pierson," Aiello muttered in response as he started two large cans of food for us to share.
I looked into the fire, saying nothing. Zussman shifted next to me and I glanced his way.
"I've never seen Turner that bad," Daniels commented.
"We all did something we knew better than to do," I pointed out. "We got on his nerves and we're paying the price."
"I guess so," Zussman muttered.
"Hey Ava," Aiello said from across the pit and I tiredly glanced to him. "You look like you're dead."
"And you look like death itself. Your point?"
The fact that my stubborn comment gained chuckles from everyone made the morning better.

--•--•--•--

A shorter chapter, but hopefully the next few will be more action-packed! Hope you're enjoying and apologies for not updating last weekend...had no service at the family cabin.
Happy Saturday--here's to the next!!
Song: Is this The End by Hidden Citizens (ft. Sam Tinnesz & Young Summer)
~MS~