The brisk, clear waves crashed onto the jutted rocks of the beach. The seagulls squawked in the air, flying just above the white fishing boats coming back from sea, eyeing the great catch. The sky shone a brilliant blue with the sun’s radiant rays shining above the town, not a single cloud in sight. The wind blew gently onto the land, the grass bending to its caress, then back again as the waves roll back.
From a little distance behind the beach stood a small, peach wooden house. Old, chipped, and dirty, bits of sand had found their way onto the window sills, covering the panels with a layer of fine yellow dust. A clear circle had been wiped from this window. Behind the window, an old, ragged face with a dark tan and gray crewcut stared out into the street, a grumbled frown drooping down his chin. He watched the heat-hazed street with a stubborn eye, the radio buzzing off in the background.
“...President Oliver has to vowed to take whatever measures to ensure the terms of the Treaty of 1897 are enforced to its fullest, even as Saint Else is reeling from an economic recession that has devastated its trade and mining sectors. Suffering from a shortage of basic necessities, Saint Else has pressed Mariana to retract the sanctions levied against them, however the President...”
A bicycle came riding from a distance at the far end of the street. Trudging up the small slope before veering swiftly down the hill, the young man rode his bicycle all the way through the neighborhood, until he grinded to a steady halt in front of the peach house, the rusty brakes squeaking as it did. The old man watched from his window the young man, dressed in a fine azure tunic, unload the large basket from the back of his bicycle, his rifle swinging haphazardly behind his back. A ravenous growl grew at the door, then a squeaking bark.
The old man looked over to see his short, stubby terrier yelling at the front door.
“Hush, Shelby!” the man snapped. The little dog quieted, her tail wagging excitedly as she sat upon the door’s rug.
The man looked back to see the young man approaching the house, his long fallow-coloured boots treading across the barren front lawn. Letting out an irritated sigh, the old man reached for his crutch and trotted towards the door.
The young man set aside the basket on the front porch and took a deep, solemn breath. He straightened his uniform, patting it down for any bits of dust he gathered along the way, and pushed down on the slightly-curved garrison cap he wore.
With the rifle resting easily behind his back, the young man muttered.
“Okay...”
Before he could reach out and knock, the door creaked open. The terrier suddenly came scampering out from under the old man’s legs and headed straight for the basket.
“No, Shelby, no!” The young man cried, reaching out to stop the energetic dog, only to have the rifle clumsily slide down his back. He reached back to keep the rifle from falling off, but by then the dog had already begun to bury her head into the basket.
“H-Hey Uncle Jeff...” the young man greeted, an uneasy smile on his face.
The old man beamed at the kneeling man before him, the dog now digging her face into whatever food was in the basket. A moment passed before he let open the door and stepped aside.
“You gonna sit there all day or you gonna come in?”
“R-Right!” The young man bumbled. He picked up the basket as he stood back up and hustled his rifle back comfortably atop his shoulder. Shelby whined as her snack was robbed before her, jumping obsessively onto the young man’s boots, her head geared toward the basket as they all went inside.
The interior laid just as dreary and worn-down as the outside, with little, if any, care done to tidy the place up. The green wallpaper stayed torn in some areas of the house, wilting down into the dusty, creaking wooden boards. A large family couch sat to the side of the living room, stuffed with an assortment of boxes and empty beer bottles, and the kitchen, just off to the left where the cloudy window panes were, had loads of unwashed dishes sitting in the tray. The glass cupboards were practically empty, save for one or two cups and plates, and the sink itself was grimy and spotted.
Uncle Jeff limped his way across the living room and toward a maroon reclining sofa chair facing the doorway. He leaned the crutch onto the sofa’s armrest, and with a hefty grunt, the old man tilted the sofa backwards, springing up the stiff legrests.
“You want me to grab you a seat? The couch is a bit occupied...” Jeff asked.
“No, no. That’s fine,” the young man assured. “Uh...” He lifted the straw basket. “...where should I...?”
“Just put it on the kitchen counter. I’ll handle it later,” Uncle Jeff answered.
The young man walked over and set the basket upon the open counter. With the refridgerator nearby, the young man glanced behind the shoulder at his uncle, leaning back with his legs perched upon their rests in the living room. Carefully, he pulled the refrigerator handle open and peered inside to find that it was empty. Empty except for a case of beer at the bottom shelf. He sighed and slowly closed it shut. The young man gazed around this desolate house. The floors were piling with dirt and dust, the walls were falling apart, and bottles of empty beer laid all around the place. The young man worried for his uncle, for he knew no other was willing to look after such a wreck of a man.
Shelby nudged the neck of his boot, her tail wagging, tongue drooping down, panting and eyeing him with great enthusiasm. Deciding she had waited long enough, the young man shuffled through the basket and picked out a small slice of ham.
“Shelby, sit,” he ordered.
The dog stopped and immediately tucked her hind legs. After a brief moment, he handed the slice of ham, which she gladly took hold off and gnawed on.
“Good girl,” the young man said.
He glanced back again at his uncle, who seemed to had already dozed off in his chair. As Shelby chomped down on the meaty slice, the young man could hear the buzz of a radio in the background. The sound of metallic voices echoing from the speakers were unmistakable. He crept into the hallways where the sound reverberated from, his heavy boots creaking the rickety floorboards beneath, until he found the large radio set perched atop a heavy auburn table. A mild, husky voice spoke through. An unmistakable voice.
“...We must be Firm! We must be Strict! Not a single inch shall be given to the Elsians until they understand that they cannot cheat or weasel their way out of the terms of the Treaty! We Marianans are honest people. We stick to our words, and by no means do we intend to go back on any of it! We agreed to the terms of the Treaty just as the Elsians did, and we will uphold our end of the Treaty, through any means necessary...!”
“That the President?” a deep, gruff voice from behind said.
The young man turned around to see Uncle Jeff standing with his crutch.
“Yeah,” the young man replied. “Looks like another speech.”
The two stood there at the radio, quietly listening to the President’s vigorous voice. For what seemed like ages, the only noise that filled the house was that of the President, blasting away at the Elsians and reiterating the need for Mariana to become strong and unyielding. It was not uncommon for President Oliver to work his campaign promises into his speeches, even if at times it sounded more like a broken record than a genuine oration. Yet despite how broken his speeches may sound, President Oliver’s ideas were not just mere speculation and idealism: It was becoming Reality.
“He’s right, you know?” Uncle Jeff suddenly said. “Those Elsians don’t care for anything else. You give ‘em an inch, they’ll take a mile! Heck, maybe an island or two if they felt like it...”
“They say the Elsians are gearing for war again,” mentioned the young man.
The old man scoffed. “I bet they are. No reason for the King to just shut up and act all goody-goody two-shoes after losing a war. He’d want to get back at us, one way or another.”
Uncle Jeff started waddling back to the kitchen.
“You’re not gonna grab another beer bottle, are you Uncle?”
“Don’t worry...” Jeff groaned. “...I’m not gonna get wasted on you.”
The young man glared at him intently, clearly not believing his words.
“Really! God’s sake, kid... I’m just gonna grab a sandwich from your basket.”
The young man sighed as his uncle trodden off into the kitchen.
“And for the last time! I’m not your Uncle!” Jeff hollered.
The young man continued to listen in on the radio, his mind tuned and focused to the words of the President, digesting and conceiving every bite of sound that left the radio. That was until he noticed the large warship rolling into the harbour just outside the house.
The young man’s eyes widened. Just through the back window, overlooking the beach, a massive warship steamed into the harbour, the black pillars of smoke billowing out from its towering smokestacks. Three large turrets, each with twin guns, sat upon its large deck. An array of much smaller anti-aircraft guns of varying caliber lined the sides of the ship, all the way from one end to the other.
The young man approached the back door and unbolted the lock, swinging the rather loose doorframe out. Immediately, the rich, humid air of the beach swept over him. He could feel his closed-neck collar tighten around him, his uniform becoming noticeably more irritating. Outside, the entire harbour bay lied in view. And with it, the warship. Two white chairs stood at the back porch, one of which the young man grabbed and seated himself in. He watched as the warship rolled into the open harbour, the sailors walking briskly across its decks as the warship turned to face the docks before it.
“Sandwich?”
The young man peered over his shoulder to see Jeff offering a cut of ham sandwich.
“Thanks,” the young man said, taking hold of the sandwich.
Jeff grunted back and slumped down himself down on the other chair before taking a large bite out of his own piece. The two casually watched the warship go by, the cool breeze flowing past them and through the house, until the warship finally anchored at one of the docks ahead.
“Everyday, I see more and more of those ships come into the docks,” Uncle Jeff told. “All brand-spanking new. We certainly didn’t built them ourselves...”
The young man quietly listened, chowing away at his ham sandwich.
“...those are foreign. Bought straight from Kondor. The shape, the size, the architecture... very different from our own. Ten years ago, I couldn’t even imagine our country owning even a single one of those beasts.”
Still, the young man sat silent, eating his sandwich.
“You’re not much of a ship guy, are ya?”
The young man swallowed before he spoke. “I’m in the Citizens Militia, not the Navy. How am I supposed to know anything about ships?”
Jeff gave a heavy sigh. “You’re a Marianan, kid. Everyone should know about sailing. You live on an island your whole life and you tell me you don’t know anything about that?”
“It’s not that I don’t know anything about sailing, I just don’t know about warships in general. It’s not my job to learn about them. That’s the Navy’s job.”
The old man scoffed. “Youth Club for the Army’s more like it...”
They both sat in silence, eating their sandwiches and watching the ships go by, and for a long time said nothing. For a brief moment, they sat. Staring out into the sea, gazing upon the scenery around them, until at last one spoke up.
“They’re saying a war’s coming soon,” the young man said. “Things might get ugly in the next few weeks if nothing is done.”
Uncle Jeff took another bite into his sandwich.
“On the chance...” the young man continued. “...on the chance that I get deployed, I won’t be around to take care of you like I’m doing now.”
Jeff sat. Gnawing on the sandwich bit.
“Do you think... you can take care of yourself while I’m gone? Get yourself cleaned up and maybe start fresh somewhere?”
Jeff swished the sandwich one last time before gulping it down.
“Allen, if this is your mother speaking, tell her I don’t need her pity,” he shot. “I’ve already had a long life of people telling me what to do. I don’t need it from her too.”
“I’m serious,” Allen retorted. “No one else is taking care of you like I am. Mom’s given up on you a long time ago, my sister doesn’t even want to step foot in this house, and my Dad...”
“I get it, kid,” Jeff answered. “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you though?”
Jeff sighed once more. He reached with his crutch and tapped the knee of his right leg. A hard thud.
“You remember how I got this leg?”
Allen stood silent.
“Just like you, I was a soldier. It was the first day of the Geioic War. Now, you’d think that on the first day, I’d get to see some action and... be a hero or something, right? No, instead I get hit by a shell from one of their ships. Very first day. The blast threw me into the air and tore off one of my legs. It’s a miracle I even lived through that. But right then and there, the war was over for me. And I didn’t even get to fire a single bullet. All throughout the war, the only thing I could do was sit and watch. And the only thing I had to show for it was a Golden Heart. A freakin’ heart...”
Jeff leaned in toward Allen, his chair just barely tilting over.
“Don’t be that guy, kid.”
He leaned back in and took a hefty bite of his sandwich, his eyes cocked toward the green soldier.
“Take care of yourself first,” Jeff continued. “I can live with myself just fine...”
Shelby had snuck herself in beside the old man, her mouth watering as she lied beside the chair, watching Jeff’s sandwich. Just before Jeff put the last piece of sandwich in his mouth, he caught her envious glimpse and stopped right there. Smiling, he tossed the bit down to Shelby, to which she happily gulped down. Jeff reached down and playfully rubbed the back of Shelby’s ears as he continued to watch the wide open sea.
“I sure hope so...” Allen said.
“...Uncle.”