Eli sat in silence, his rifle across his lap, his fingers tracing absent patterns along the worn stock. Around him, the other guardsmen murmured, smoked, sharpened bayonets against their boots. Some dozed with heads lolling against the wooden walls, exhaustion pulling them under while they still had the chance.
None of them knew exactly what awaited them in Latvia, but they knew what they'd been sent to do. Suppress the rebellion. Burn the resistance out of their bones.
"Fucking Latvia," Rolf muttered beside him, breaking the silence. He was turning a dagger over in his hands, his thumb testing the blade's edge. "You ever think about it, Eli? The irony of it all?"
Eli didn't look up. "What irony?"
Rolf scoffed, shifting in his seat. "They razed Britannia.They have brought us to this point today, they killed our people. And now? We're going to their land to kill them."
