Before You Start A War

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning when Harry wakes up, he tenses at the feeling of breathing against his neck. His old tentmate would never get too close that they could feel each other's breath, and even though all the men were freezing cold in the barn, no one ever was in close enough proximity for Harry to feel their body heat. However, waking up today, it reminds him a bit of when he was younger and his mother would coddle him and hold him close after waking from a night terror.

Harry shifts slightly and hears the bones in his back pop into place after sleeping on the uncomfortable ground. He stretches his arms up before sighing rolling over, coming face-to-face with an unconscious Niall.

Harry reels back slightly after their heads almost touch, not wanting to disturb the man. He knows how little sleep Niall must've gotten while being locked in the cellar. Instead, he sits up and collects the remaining layers of his uniform, knowing roll-call will start soon. He pulls his blue jacket over his shoulders and stuffs his arms into the holes, wishing they were longer so he could keep his hands and fingers covered. He shakes around his canteen a few times, hearing the water slosh around noisily. He should have enough for the rest of the morning, at least. Finally, he ties his boots and pulls his rucksack securely onto his back.

After pulling himself together and spending a few moments in the nice quiet, only the sounds of Niall's breathing reminding him that he's really in this world and not dead like he sometimes thinks he is, he crawls out of the tent. The sun has barely risen and the camp is mostly quiet except for a few other men stirring after their slumber. Harry stretches out his back further and pops his knees as he watches their drill sergeant make his way to the center of the field where they all meet first thing in the morning.

More and more men come out from their tents and into conversation with each other. Harry finds a lone spot in the field as he waits for the sergeant to begin roll-call. He can hear people's whispers, and obvious word has gotten around that Niall is very much alive and staying with them. A few people throw him disgusted looks when he looks over.

Harry shrugs them off. He believes Niall will grow on them soon enough, as long as his implementation is slow and not shoved in their face.

Soon, a whistle is blown and everyone stands to attention toward the drill sergeant. All of Harry's comrades have formed their ranks in front of the intimidating man, their conversations cutting off as soon as they began.

All men, and including Harry, lift their arms in a salute as the man walks in front of each man, gauging their reactions. If this were bootcamp, people would be quivering and biting their lips, hoping they aren't singled out for anything. However, as he walks past, all men are determined, hard-faced and ready for commands to be given.

The drill sergeant walks past Harry, sending him a strange look. Harry keeps his eyes glued forward, his salute not moving even an inch. He walks past without any issues arising.

"Men, whoever cleaned the dishes last night did an atrocious job. You all are to clean the dishes again, lest you enjoy eating out of shit-covered bowls." The drill sergeant starts, not naming any names, as the men who were responsible for cleaning yesterday knew who they were.

"The fields are nearly ready for harvest, and I expect all of you to be out there picking corn and wheat, or else you will get nothing to eat for the rest for the rest of the winter." Harry hopes harvesting the fields will be Niall's chance.

"We have have hand-to-hand combat in sessions today. Your partners will be picked for you, and your fighting skills will be assessed by the corporal himself. Be prepared."

"Final announcement, men. We have a new recruitment today." Harry is tempted to look around for the new face, but is stopped when the drill sergeant calls, "Styles, mind fetching him for us?"