2 weeks passed before I was "ready", at least by Danev's standards. I knew that even after those 2 weeks, I wasn't ready for any real combat. Outside of a moving vehicle, I'd literally be caught dead. Moving was a struggle, putting one leg in front of the other a conscious and painful effort. I still had no feeling in my right arm that remained blinded around my neck, held in a constant position. I felt absolutely nothing in that arm, thus moving me to make a deliberate effort to do whatever necessary to be able to fight even half competently with my offhand. It wasn't easy. I gained an edge over Danev that first time, but from that point on, I lost time and time again. Improvement was hard to observe, but he countered saying it was slight, but it was there, which, frankly, did little to raise my spirits.
I was quite literally a cripple. As temporary as the medics said it was, I was half of the fighter I used to be, and I wasn't particularly a master warrior back then anyway. There was only one field where I could actually see a form of improvement. My bending. Not only was my aim becoming more accurate, but I began to feel the strength of my bending becoming greater as though, lacking one output being my right arm, it concentrated itself to my left. I knew it didn't work that way though. I knew that wasn't how supposed "chi" or whatever it was called was supposed to work.
All the same. I hardly understood even a portion of what bending was. I had only been one myself for around half a year and was no doubt a novice at that. Gan and Gi Gu used to tell me they could constantly see me getting better, but I found that hard to bel-No. Stop thinking about them. It's over. They're gone.
I had my doubts about this new squad I was being assigned to. I had read over the details of them. Crimson Army, Steel Dragon Battalion, Scorched Platoon, Squad Iron Fire. Much more creative names than in the 5th Corps. I had to give them that much credit. But names didn't mean shit on the field.
Then I saw it again. The same image that came to my mind almost every hour of the damn day. The top half of Zand's tank coming straight off from the impact of the blast of solid Earth, sending it plummeting straight downwards onto the Iron Gauntlet, tearing it apart from that iron chain and the only ting keeping that tank secured to the wall. That chain tearing out with that horrible metallic screech and the tank plummeting down to the Earth, straight past us, missing us by inches. No fancy names saved the Iron Gauntlet.
I knew one thing as I walked through the camp, somehow on my own towards where my new assignment was camped. I knew that I wasn't going to make the same mistakes. With Gan and Gi Gu, I made the decision to become their friends. Where did that get me? Now they were dead, I was alive, and I could still feel their combined conscience wearing me down, as I still remember Gi Gu going from talking to silence in the span of a single second and the terrified look in Gan's eyes as he saw what I was about to do. For all intents and purposes, his death was on my hands. It was an unreasonable thought. If we had stayed up there, and I hadn't done what I did, we would doubtlessly both be dead, but that was of little consolation. I made the decision I made not just because I knew it was our safest bet at survival, but because I knew I was scared. I wasn't afraid to admit that to myself. I did what I did because I wanted to live.
This time around, I avowed to do two things: to not become attached to these new people. The second I did, I put myself at risk of the consequences that would proceed when they inevitably died. And two, I vowed to limit myself to only one emotion while I was on that field. Anger. I was a firebender. Our emotions are what strengthens us. One above all the others. Anger. And by Raava, I had a lot of pent up anger I was ready to release. This squad was a means of putting me back on that field, because I wasn't done yet. Half a cripple as I was, I was no less dedicated. Only more-so to bringing this city down. And nothing was going to stand in my way.
So by the time I got to the spot of the camp where Squad Iron Fire had set themselves up, I knew my purpose there. They didn't have to like me. I didn't have to like them. I just had to get back out there.
I stopped a good 50 feet away from the camp, getting my first impression of it before stepping any further inside of it. The tanks were the first things I saw. 4 of them, lacking 1 that any other armored tank squad would have had. All the same model, except for one. Where the gunner's turret was supposed to be situated, it was stripped off, the seat exposed. Except it wasn't. A wooden ballista was attached to the top of the tank, bolted down and secured, perfectly fireable from the gunner's seat. It scarified protection for firepower, but damn did that ballista look good up there, ready to load on command with the side mounted bolt rack and a loading mechanism that looked like all it required was the flip of a lever to load another round.
Somehow, that sight had gotten me excited. It sounds rather simple, but it was a nice change to see that I was actually part of a competent army now. Iroh definitely had a better grasp on this siege than Zahckrael ever would have had. It was probably for the best he was naught but a cold carcass in his command tent now, but I could say the same for the men under his command. Those were almost 5000 soldiers that could have served as actual competent soldiers under the Dragon's command. What a waste.
It was a while past midday, but not quite dark yet, so there was no fire burning in that camp, but all the same, I saw 3 silhouettes gathered around the fire pit. One looked to be reading, one whittling, and another sharpening a blade. Beyond them, 2 were engaged in target practice, firing crossbow bolts at target dummies attired in Earth nation apparel, very similar to the targets I would train with. Two further on were sparring with sparring swords and I wondered how to make my approach until the whittling soldier decided the choice shouldn't belong to me. Putting down his wooden block and his carving knife, he said something that I could make out to be "Shit. Is that the replacement?"
"Can't be." Said the one sharpening hush dagger. "He's just a damn kid."
"So are we. He's just a bit younger. Hey kid? You looking for Iron Fire Squad?"
Great. I thought to myself. He's friendly. Why'd he have to be friendly? "Yeah." I responded. I take it you're them?"
"Indeed we are. Welcome to the party!"
They just had to be nice.
I tried not to allow myself to fall into a false sense of camaraderie and friendship as I made my way forward, trying to reassure into thinking not everyone would be near as nice as him. I walked towards the fire as he motioned me over. Those previously busy at other tasks began to put them aside to look at the newcomer, being me, and I felt myself remembering my first day with the Hornets. All too similar situations with, most like, far too similar outcomes.
I could now see the figure of those who had previously been silhouettes. The one who greeted me over, he was undoubtedly the youngest of the 3 gathered around the fire. He had dark brown hair that approached black, a face that, despite showing weariness, remained optimism. His wide eyes and big smile only helped to further along that view of him. He along with all others, were taller by me, but he was obviously one of the shortest among this group, I thought, placing him at around 5'7. He met me midway on my way to the fire and motioned me to sit at an unoccupied log in front of the fire, saying "Name's Zek. The one with the book who still hasn't noticed you is Haz", he said, motioning to the bookworm who gave a wave with his right hand while maintaining his grip on his material with his left. He was a bit taller, bearing short black hair, thin of face with weathered features. "The one with the knife who has noticed you, but just doesn't care is Chez." He added, nodding to the long black haired man I would place as the oldest in the trio, being only shorter than Haz, but far more intimidating, bearing a long red scare that spanned from the bottom right of his face, just below his mouth, to the top left, right above his left eye, cutting straight through the eyebrow where it clearly wasn't planning on growing back any time soon. "And you are?" He asked.
"It took me a while to realize Zek was talking to me, but as soon as I sat down on that log, it came to me, and I was able to answer with "Luke."
"Luke? Weird name. Where's it from?"
"Nowhere. I made it up."
"Made it up? Shit. That's allowed. Wish I had known that a long while ago. I would've chosen something far more badass than 'Zek.' So where you from, Luke?" He asked, sitting down across the fire-pit from me as the two others didn't deign to leave their tasks and the rest in the camp, having taken their accounts of me, went to their own business.
"Citadel. Fire Nation city a few hundred miles to the East. Fun place."
"Is it. That's the slums isn't it?"
"The entire city isn't a slum" interceded Haz, not looking up from his book. "They got big industry in the center. Just have a slum surrounding it for a human shield."
"Not surprising" Zek said with a dying grin, adding "That's the Fire Nation for ya'. How long you been in the army, Luke?"
The way he kept on saying my name. He was trying to remember it. How new was he to this war? How few people had he seen die to realize it wasn't a bright idea to go on and start remembering names?
"'Bout half a year now."
"Armored?"
"Yeah. 15th."
He whistled a falling note akin to that of a dropping bomb, adding "That's rough. Heard what happened during the assault. Not fun, that."
"Nope." I simply answered, directing my gaze to the fire-pit and how deep it went, wondering it they had dug up dead bodies here when setting up camp, next to that wondering if the bodies of the 5th Corps were already buried by the excessive rain and landfall, and who next would be finding there bodies, and how many insects and rodents had already burrowed through their corpse-"
"Luke?" I heard Zek's voice ask, thankfully taking me out off that all-to grim train of thought.
"Yeah. What?"
"I asked if you were a bender."
"Uh yeah. Fire. Been practicing for about half a year now."
"Oh. So you're good" he asked, containing as though nothing had happened.
Before I could answer, Chez interceded, saying "How good can he be? He has one arm. His left one too."
"I have two arms."
"Dead weight that other one. You'd be better off cutting it away. It's weighing you down."
"Seems like a bad long term investment to me. A broken arm can be fixed, but I don't think I'd grow a new one back any time soon."
At that, Zek chuckled, but Chez remained convinced, setting aside his knife, looking at me straight into my eyes, saying "Dying out there, or hell, getting picked up by the Earth Kingdom. That's a far worse long term investment. Ou know what they do to those captured. I hear they erase their minds, put them into their own uniforms, and send them to the front lines to waste enemy amm-"
"Thanks, Chez. We get the picture." Said Zek. "The grim, gory, depressing picture. This kid was in the 15th. I think he's seen enough of that shit for the last month."
"He hasn't seen shit. If he's alive I doubt he was really part of that battle." He turned to me now. "Where were you, kid. Rearguard? Skirmishes?"
"Van, asshole. I've seen more than I've cared to see, but if it makes you feel better and less intimidated by a 12 year old you feel the need to establish your dominance to, I didn't survive cause I'm a good soldier. I got lucky. That's all any of us can do here. Get lucky. The good soldiers die. The lucky ones live."
At that, Chez eased up, saying "Guess he isn't as much a dumbass as you, Zek." Proceeding that, he gathered his knife and his whetstone, standing and leaving the fire as Zek stayed behind at the fire, waiting a few seconds before saying "The fuck did I do?"
I could see now the relationship between these three. It wasn't just a squad relationship. "You guys share a tank?" I asked.
"Yeah. Well. Kinda. I'm the driver. Grumpy's the gunner. Bookworm's not with us though."
"Why's he so pissed at you, then?"
"He's always pissed, but I guess now more than normal since he blames me for that scar."
"Why's that?"
"Going up the wall. There was a rock coming towards us, so I went to the left of it's path to get out of its way. The rock missed us, but I drove us right in front of another tank that hit us in the rear, sending us forward, distracting Chez so he couldn't see the crossbowman above us who shot him right at the face, grazing him, giving him that scar. Never got over it."
"Seem's immature. That's how the world works."
"Oh. He's not pissed about that. He couldn't give two shits about his face. He's pissed cause he said the path right was much more clear and that if he hadn't turned around at the right moment, the bolt would have killed him, we'd be short a gunner, and we'd no doubt have been killed on that wall. He's really practical like that. Or at least, he likes to think that he is."
I was looking around now, seeing far too few people to account for a full tank squadron. "So where's the rest of the squad. Is this it?"
"Oh no. Our commander's off on a scouting mission. Be careful around him. Then, aside from that, the rest are sleeping and we're missing 3 guys. 2 gunners, one of them being our commander's, and a co-pilot.
At that moment, I began to hear the noises of machinery in the distance, thinking it before as just the movements of the camp until the noise began to close the distance between us and it.
"Huh," said Zek. "Speak of the Devil."
"That's him then?" I asked as the tank came over the series of hills, approaching the rest of the tanks, parking."
"Yep. Still missing it's gunner. That's where you come in, I guess. Best to introduce yourself now and get it over with. Let's go."
So I got up and approached the armored vehicle that, at the moment, was unloading. The first man I saw to get out of the tank was a more thickly built one, wiping the sweat from his brow as he slid down the tank, pulling his gear with him.
"That one's Gordez. Bad fighter. Good mechanic. If something feels wrong with your tank, from a loose bolt to a missing tread, he's your guy. He won't only fix the problem, he'll improve it tenfold. Smart guy, him, but kinda awkward. Don't bother introducing yourself. He prefers to get to know somebody before introducing himself. Evening, Gordez!"
The man was wider than anyone else in this camp I'd seen thus far, but I doubted much of it was fat as much as muscle, but he seemed to me a gentle giant of sorts, wth a fatter, kinder face. Gordez turned to wave, seemingly excited at hearing the voice of a friend, but upon seeing a newcomer, being me, he returned to a ore shy self, giving a small wave before gathering his gear and leaving about his business.
Then, coming afterwards, out of that tank where I could now see the impacts of battle after battle from warped metal to scorched armor platings and missing paint, came who I assumed to be the commander, wearing a Staff Sergeant's rank pauldron.
He lifted himself out of the tank, not caring to wipe his brow, and pulled his gear out of the tank's cargo compartment from the back, closing the hatches and locking them until he turned towards the camp to relieve himself of duty, spotting Zek and nodding in acknowledgement with a small smile until he saw me, and it quickly died.
On the bright side, the enthusiasm of Zek was only limited to him and I didn't find myself needing to worry about growing close to anyone else in this camp, at least up to this point.
This Sergeant was a well built man, fitting his armor well, with a weathered face, despite being obviously young. All the same, he bore the markings of a growing star he and beard that spoke out as his dominating feature. He had thick, dark brown brows that seemed set on a downward angle, depicting what wasn't particularly happiness at that moment. "Who's this?" He asked.
"Your replacement gunner." Zek started, making introduction first, which frankly, I had no problem with. "He's a good firebender, from Citadel and-"
"No."
"No? No what?"
"He's not my gunner."
"Sir. I'm sorry but I could have sworn I read the papers right. It said he was to be your new gunner. Your tank. I remembered what it said. Unit 147. Only one in our squad without a real name."
"I don't care what the papers say. He's not my gunner." He turned to me now. "How old are you, kid? 10?"
I knew I didn't look 10. I wanted to think I looked older, but all the same, I was thrown off guard by him. I expected an attitude, but this."
"12, sir." I responded. As little as I wanted to make friends, I didn't want to make any enemies either, which seemed to be the path I was on at this moment.
"Hmphh. 12."
He walked past me and my outstretched hand to shake his. I turned to Zek who shrugged and turned back to the Sergeant then, asking "Is that a problem, sir?"
"Yes. It's Saturday. You're supposed to be at a park or some shit with your friends. Hell you doing here?"
"Didn't exactly grow up with parks and playground, sir. This seemed the better option."
"He's from Citadel, sir." Said Zek. "You know. The slums."
"I don't care where he's from. I'm not putting a kid, a fucking 12 year old on top of a war machine. That sounds to me like a good way of not only getting his head blown off, but those of my squad too. Forget it."
"Sir." I interrupted, not willing to risk a chance of going back in the waiting pool for a new squad, missing my chance to get back out there. "I can firebend. I can handle myself. I won't be a burden."
"I said forget it. I don't care if you're Sozin reincarnate. I'm not putting my life and those of my men in the hands of a damn kid."
"I can fight!" I wasn't losing my chance.
"Luke." Zek advised, whispering. "Don't."
But I wouldn't listen. "I'm going back out there, okay Sergeant. I don't care how, but I'm going back out on that field one way or another." The sergeant stopped in his tracks to listen. Good. "With or without you. I'm tired of letting the Earth Kingdom get away with killing those around me. I'm ready to hit back. I can fight. I can kill. I'm as much a soldier anyone else here. I know you've lost men and I know you need replacements. Here I am. I may be missing use of my good arm, but I'm a good shot and you'd be an idiot not to put me on one of those tanks. It doesn't matter what age I am. If there's one thing this war does, it's advancing that whole damn process. So I'm going, alright?"
"Not on my tank. Not as a gunner, you're not."
"Then what-"
"Zek. You vouch for this kid?"
"I've only known him for a few minutes, but shit. He survived the last assault, so. I guess."
"Your co-pilot, Hizo. He's your gunner now, alright?"
"So Chez?"
"Mine now. You vouch for this kid, you let a 12 year old into our camp. You watch out for him, he's your responsibility now. He's your co-pilot."
"Hey, wait a minute." We both seemed to say at the exact same time. He was wasting me as a co-pilot. I was a gunner. I was a fighter.
"I won't hear it. This kid is yours now. Have fun, kid."
"My name's."
"I don't give a shit what your name is. You're going to be dead within a few days anyway as it is so I don't see why it really matters that I know yours or you know mine, understood?"
I understood all to well. His thoughts were the same as my own. And while there was always the juvenile reaction of being called out, inside, I agreed with and respected what he had to say. So yes. I understood. "Yes, sir."
"Good. You're dismissed, kid. I hope you know what you're getting into. Good luck."
And with that, he left. And not to retaliate against him, but merely to reassure myself, I said all that could come to mind: "I won't need it."