- 06, January 1917 -
Schofield exhaled a tired sigh, the dull repetition of the day creating a state of exhaustion within him, the obnoxiously loud shouts of the Sargent had awoken him from a much needed nap to find the new recruits running through a basic training exercise
Schofield was exhausted, emotionally and physically drained. He'd been a part of the war since the beginning, three years ago, and since then he'd experienced so much trauma and violence he feared he'd never be the same hopeful, positive man he was when he'd first entered the war
It was quiet today, he could hear the sorrow of the men's losses in the air...a stale quiet that reminded everyone of the harsh reality they were living
The only sounds were the quiet panting and squishing of mud from the training recruits. Schofield allowed himself to study the younger men's faces, faces of courage and confidence that would soon become tainted with experience and loss
They truly had no idea what they were getting into, they had no idea of how brutal and severe the conditions of war really were, all they had was false ideas of heroics and triumph
Schofield continued to study the men, noticing a similar pattern in all of them...tall, lean, strong
They were all so similar, that the one who didn't share these traits stuck out like a sore thumb, Schofield saw the poor boy bringing up the rear...face flushed with clear exhaustion
He was struggling greatly, his round, soft face was reddened and sweaty with effort as he desperately attempted to keep up with the other, much fitter men who flew through the course with ease and grace
Schofield's first thought was why such a young boy was training with these men...however he knew the young looking boy must be of the same age as the other recruits, though he looked far from it
All the other men looked prepared for battle, wearing stoic expressions of determination and purpose, while the youngster's face remained pained with a look that suggested he was on the verge of tears
The boy was shorter and still had an abundance of baby fat that reminded everyone just how young and innocent he truly was, although it aided in making him appear cute...it wasn't helping him get through the course, and it wouldn't help him in the war
Schofield felt an urge within him upon seeing the boy struggle, it was almost like watching a younger brother or a helpless child suffer....he felt a sudden urge to protect him. Men like him never lasted long in this war, and Schofield had experienced the loss too often
Schofield recalled the faces of friends he'd lost through the years, they all reminded him of this young boy...too innocent for the cruelty of war, taken too soon from a world they'd barely begun to know. He made a promise to himself in that moment to ensure the safety and protection of the podgy boy trying to complete the course
The boy approached the section of the course that required him to crawl along the damp, mushy mud...however as he was approaching he lost his footing and slipped, falling straight on his arse
"Blake!" The Sargent hollered in an angered tone, "get your lard-arse over here!" he barked causing the younger boy's head to jolt up in surprise, he stumbled hurriedly toward the unhappy Sargent
