THE FRONT: PART 10
The rain continued, pouring down in a seemingly endless shower. It was cold and even Scott's thick fur wasnt doing much to help keep him warm. He was worried, he didn't want Wynter to die, if he did then he would become a sergeant, and Scott dreaded that form of responsibility. He would probably just get everyone, himself included, killed.
"Sir, Sergeant Wynter is requesting your presence." Scott nodded, it was Private Baker, a squirrel who had been in the army since the beginning of the war, yet had mysteriously never risen past the rank of private. Scott nodded and walked up the trench to where he knew Wynter's dugout was.
Wynter was sitting on the steps of a parapet, shivering slightly in the rain and looking miserable. However, he sat up when he saw Scott approaching and banished the discomfort and misery from his expression.
"Good for you to arrive corporal." Scott nodded and shifted, unsure of what Wynter wanted from him. There was a silence for a second, then Wynter unpinned his brass Sergeant's stripes from his right shoulder and held them out to Scott.
"Sir?" Asked Scott, startled, why was Wynter handing over command, was he already that sure of his own death? Wynter looked unperturbed, and when Scott made no move to take them, he merely pinned them onto Scott's left shoulder.
Scott didn't move, Wynter outranked him and refusing his offer could count as disobeying an order, something that could end an officer's career instantly. Wynter clapped Scott on the shoulder and stood up, a little sadness showing on his face.
"It's inevitable, Corporal, nobody survives very long in the trenches." Scott didn't know what to say, Wynter had completely accepted that the raid was going to kill him. Scott looked down at his shoulder and looked at Wynter's Sergeant's stripes and felt a little pang of sadness.
For a moment Scott was tempted to chase after Wynter, but then he remembered the promise that he had made himself in the hospital and steeled himself. Then he carefully unpinned his Corporal's stripes and moved the Sergeant's stripes to his right shoulder. Wynter was down the trench, talking to the three anthros he would be taking with him on the raid.
Scott sighed and wondered if he could lead a squad. Looking over the twelve anthros that he would be commanding if Wynter died. He felt a twinge of doubt in his stomach and trudged back up the trench.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART ELEVEN...