W A R D O G

Anders Malthier 27 . Tank Gunner . Heir "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." — Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

[wardogmalthier-blog]

( DOGMA. )

Hearing a voice that of another, and not that of the poor boy he had just assaulted a few moments before. Maddox turned his attention from inspecting the tank and towards the other tank crew member that now stood in front of him, his figure now blocking the warm afternoon sun that only moments before left its warm touch on his back.

“Well, thank fuck for that” Maddox finally replied as he looked the new comer up and down, as he inspected his next possible wrench victim. “Stupid kid wouldn’t know what a wrench was, even if it hit him in the side of the fucking head” he continued, a light chuckle breaking from his lips as he spoke before turning his attention back to the tank. 

A few silent moments passed before Maddox heard the man behind him mumble something to himself, or at least what he has assumed was to himself that was. “You what pal?” Maddox replied loudly over his shoulder, almost his full attention now on repairing the tank. “If you have something to tell me fucking say it then move on, I’m busy as it is already.”

“You got him square in the back. Aim a foot higher next time, and we’ll test that theory,” he answered, returning the appraising gaze fixed on him as long as his English nature would allow. Awkward stretches of silence were terrible for him, so he was relieved when the dark-haired man turned his attention back to the tank. Fingertips meant for brittle, yellow parchment, and the boiled leather of library books were laid delicately upon the sun-cooked side of the tank. 

A rather ragged swallow seized his throat as the weight of his new reality sunk in. The likelihood he would die inside the great metal deathtrap was far greater than the chance of his survival. 

When the nameless man spoke up, his tone sharp and dismissive, Anders was deep in the trenches of his own labyrinthine thoughts. It was akin to being snatched up by the collar, and man-handled like a child. Despite himself, he bristled slightly, but years of stifling etiquette was what kept him from snapping back like a rabid dog. Anders simply lowered his hand to his side, and took a step back — allowing the volatile soldier some space. 

“I just wanted to get a look at her. I’m the new gunner.”

[wardogmalthier-blog]

The sensation of being out of place, of not belonging, wasn’t a foreign one to the corporal. It was a feeling he knew better than he knew his own mind, and one might argue that it was the unequivocal and defining truth of his existence: Anders belonged no where. So, when he found himself in Belarus filling the post of a deceased tank gunner, he was not disappointed to find that the same truth awaited him there. An empty, unfamiliar bunk, and a sea of strangers in the mess hall who spared him nary a look. He watched from the sidelines as the cogs of the great war machine came together so easily, and felt his legs twitch, begging to take action. Friends embraced one another fondly, marking the end of a long absence, soldiers marched supplies to and fro, tents erupted out of the earth, and a semblance of order began to appear.

Anders helped where he could, but ultimately found himself propped against the tank to which he’d been assigned. Hiding in its shadow, he wrote in his leather-bound journal idly and without much direction. Beyond the tank that hid him handily, he could hear the camp’s activities streamlining. Fires were being built, casting an orange glow against the autumn sky, and barks of orders had dissolved into the roar of friendly conversation. 

[wardogmalthier-blog]

( DOGMA. )

“Get the fuck outa here you stupid fucking wrench monkey!” Maddox yelled as he picked up his spanner and lobbed it at the now fleeing, young mechanic boy who had been sent over to look the tank over. Letting out a small chuckle to himself as he watched the wrench strike the back of the boy, Maddox turned back to inspect his beloved tank for any damage the boy may have caused.

A few moments passed as Maddox began to inspect the tank, when he heard another set of footsteps approaching him from behind. “If thats you again James you better have your fucking running shoes on, I wasn’t joking when I said I would start breaking ribs” Maddox called over his shoulder with anger in his voice, not bothering to actually look and see who he was talking to. 

The clank! of metal knocking bone, and the subsequent grind of bare knees on gravel made the blonde grimace. Anders made to help the boy up, but was met with a fit of scrambling akin to a wet cat trying to escape a barrel. In a plume of dust, the offender disappeared, and Anders was free to continue his arc around the back of the tank. The tank that would be his new home. It made for a rather intimidating sight —great and hulking and deadly — and Anders felt small and insignificant in its shadow. It was one thing to be a tank gunner. It was quite another to be a tank gunner in the Shadowed Commandos. Fear was a cool prickle on the back of his neck that he ignored expertly.

When he crested the front of the mechanical beast, he was met with the bark of another soldier and stopped short. “He’s furlongs away by now,” he reported, mismatched eyes running along the body of the tank with a well-measured interest. “So, this is it,” he said, mostly to himself.

[dopy]

[vyprens]