Jack didn't stop at his father's room. Once he started, he couldn't seem to stop until the entire apartment felt different. He moved through the small space like a whirlwind, gathering everything that smelled of the past. He stored all his father's clothes—rough flannels and stained shirts—the empty bottles that had cluttered the floor, old pictures of the two of them, and every medal his father had once prized.
Everything related to the man went into heavy black trash bags, all except for the ring tucked safely in Jack's pocket. He hauled the bags outside, one after the other, and heaved them into the bin behind the apartment building. When he returned, he spent hours scrubbing. He wiped away layers of dust and grime that had settled over years of neglect.
Finally, Jack sat down in the living room, his muscles aching and his breath heavy from the exertion. He looked around at the clean, quiet space. It felt empty, but for the first time, it felt like it belonged to him.
Tavros showed up a short while later. He walked through the door and stopped dead, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air. "Something's off," he said, his voice suspicious. He looked around at the polished surfaces. "It's too clean. And organized. What happened here?"
Jack leaned back against the couch, wiped sweat from his brow, and gave a tired shrug. "Yeah, well, I finally decided to start cleaning."
"What gives?" Tavros asked, crossing his arms. "Did signing up our lives suddenly change you or something?"
Jack snickered. "Maybe. But, if you don't have something to do and you're just bored out of your life, you start to do something that even yourself is amazed by."
Tavros walked over to the doorway of John's room and peered inside. "I don't really know about that, but why is your father's room completely empty?"
Jack just smiled, a small, tired expression. "Well, I figured he doesn't need all of it anymore."
Tavros chuckled and shook his head. "Of course, of course. I never thought I'd see the day—you cleaning all of this. It's a damn miracle even for me."
"Shut up, Tav," Jack said, then shifted the subject. "So, how did your parents fare about the news?"
"Oh, not that much really," Tavros said, sitting down. "Mom was just worried, is all. Dad is just still Dad. He thinks I'm already an adult or something and started treating me like one. For one, he actually said that if I made it out of the service alive, he'd give me his truck."
Jack's eyes widened. "You don't say?"
"Yeah, I was kinda surprised," Tavros admitted. "He said he wants something to brag to his friends about. Even Tevan, my little brother, had something to say. He told me he wanted a 'Clack'."
"A Clack?" Jack asked. "That's an Imperial Officer's G-9 Pistol, right? Kids got expensive taste."
"Maybe I'll grab him more than just a pistol," Tavros said with a smirk. "A medal, maybe. A general's medal might be a good souvenir for me."
Jack snickered. "Pfft... you would never see a general in the frontlines. A colonel, maybe."
"A Colonel's medal then," Tavros conceded.
Just then, Kenlil popped in at the door. He was lugging two heavy paper bags and stopped in his tracks, his eyes bulging as he took in the clean room. "Woah, woah, woah. Who's dying? Why is it clean here?"
Tavros looked at Jack and started chuckling. "Haha... that's exactly what I thought at first too."
"Shut up, Ken," Jack said, pointing at the bags. "Maybe if you had brought some food here, I'll be more than happy enough."
Kenlil set one of the bags down on the table with a proud thud. "That I did, my friends."
Tavros and Jack looked at each other, surprised. "Woah, what's this?" Tavros asked.
"Well, nothing really," Kenlil began, his voice taking on a bragging tone. "After I broke the news to my parents, they were happy that I finally soldiered up. They said they were proud of me and gave me some food to go. Then, the folks in my village found out about it and they also gave me so many parting gifts that my sub-space bug actually went full."
Kenlil reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills, fanning them out. "Now, I thought, it's too much food, so I sold most of the fruits and vegetables they gave me in the local village market and made some money."
Jack chuckled at his friend's resourcefulness. "You cunning bastard. What are you gonna do with all that money anyway? You're gonna die with it?"
"I don't know," Kenlil said, looking at the cash. "I was gonna ask you guys. We still have five more bottles of that whiskey we earned last night, and I doubt we can bring those to the camp."
Jack stood up, his eyes bright. "Well, first off, we can start by paying our tabs at the pub and blowing out the rest there. Tonight. That way, we still have two days of rest before we finally get to our training."
Tavros smirked. "I like your idea."
Later that night, the 'Marmello Pub' was a sea of activity. All of the boys who had signed up proudly wore their yellow recruit armbands. Paul Smith, the owner, was in a generous mood, giving all of them free drinks. The local veterans were there too, mostly enjoying the free flow of alcohol alongside the young men who were about to be sent to Crolls for war. At least for that night, everyone was pretending that they were all going to be okay.
The pub held a little party for the boys as a sign of good luck and a thank you for making their countrymen proud. In the corner, a band performed rowdy music; the musicians themselves were veterans who had served in the 9th Crollean War.
The room was filled with young women—beastfolk, elves, and humans. Some of them had signed up as well, though they would mostly be operating behind the lines as support staff, technical workers, and medics.
Kenlil, Jack, and Tavros stood in a circle with Philip, Luke, Oscar, James, and the other recruits. They tossed their glasses of beer into the air and shouted in a booming unison: "FOR THE REPUBLIC!"
Then the music shifted, and the dancing began. Jack and Tavros leaned against the counter, laughing as they watched Kenlil. He was trying way too hard to dance with a young elven lady, his movements jerky and enthusiastic.
"He's trying too hard to impress her," Tavros noted, shaking his head.
Jack chuckled. "Yeah, well, I guess he won. That girl is laughing and he thinks it's working."
Kenlil caught their eye, smiled wide, and gave them a quick wink. Jack just shook his head and smiled.
"Well," Tavros said, glancing at Jack, "I guess we're gonna know who's gonna use your newly cleaned room to get laid tonight."
Jack snickered. "Well, aren't you gonna get laid too?" He gestured with his head toward a group of young female beastfolk who were staring intently at Tavros from across the room.
Tavros gulped as he recognized them. "Oh god. Not them."
"Good luck, lover boy," Jack said, tossing back the last of his glass. "You're gonna need it."
Almost immediately, Tavros was pulled away toward the dance floor by the group. Jack found himself alone at the bar. He spotted Philip talking with Christine in a corner; though they weren't being intimate, there was a clear bond between them. Jack smiled for them and took a slow sip of his beer.
An old beastfolk man sat down on the stool beside him. "Don't you have anyone, son? Looks like your friends are gonna get lucky tonight."
Jack chuckled, leaning back against the bar. "Too lucky, sir. But as long as they're happy, I am too. I've had enough of a workout today just cleaning my house."
The old beastfolk offered a weathered hand. "My name is Tellar."
Jack shook it firmly. "Jack Sterling. Pleasure to meet you, sir."
Tellar gestured to the armband on Jack's arm. "Excited to get to the front? Or just looking for a way out of Marmello?"
"A bit of both, I suppose," Jack replied, looking into his glass. "Though I'm starting to wonder if the 'way out' is a one-way street."
"It usually is," Tellar said, his voice dropping a register. "When I was your age, I served in the Tank Corps during the 8th Crollean War. That was back when airships and zeppelins were still a thing. It was hell. Most of our weapons were leftover junk from our allies."
"Airships?" Jack asked, genuinely curious. "I've only seen those in old history reels. Did they actually use them for bombing, or were they just for show?"
"Oh, they were for bombing, alright," Tellar sighed. "Slow, lumbering beasts. But if one got over your trench... you prayed. Then the 9th War came, and everything changed. It was our most devastating defeat. The Grendheich Empire pushed us so fast we couldn't breathe."
Jack frowned, thinking of the maps he'd seen. "My dad used to talk about the 9th. He said the withdrawal was a disaster. Was it really that bad on the ground?"
"Bad? Son, it was a rout," Tellar said, his eyes glazing over with memory. "We knew it was futile to keep fighting on the mainland. We had to tuck tail and prepare to defend the Isylian Archipelago. If the Albiore Kingdom hadn't had that navy... well, we wouldn't be sitting here drinking free beer. The Imperial Navy was crushed like a bug, and that ended the 9th."
"So you've seen them win and you've seen them lose," Jack said softly. "Do you think we actually stand a chance this time? Or are we just more meat for the grinder?"
Tellar looked at him, really looked at him. "The Alliance is preparing a counter-attack like nothing seen before. We've modernized. We're not the same army that ran away ten years ago. I bet those 'Stiffs' are shaking in their boots."
"Stiff, sir?" Jack asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Oh, that's what we call the Grendheich soldiers," Tellar said with a grin. "They march like their joints are stiff. And the only good Stiffs are stiffs, if you catch my meaning."
Jack chuckled, nodding. "I'll try to keep that in mind. Is there any advice you'd give a green recruit who's never seen a rifle fired in anger?"
Tellar stood up, patting Jack firmly on the shoulder. "If you're going to be a combat leader someday, don't gun for promotion. Medals don't keep you warm at night. Just make sure you balance your leadership between the orders of the command and the survival of your men. A dead hero is just a name on a wall; a living soldier is a brother."
Tellar began to walk toward the door, wobbling slightly on his feet from the drink. Jack watched him go, then took a final sip of his beer.
"Well," Jack whispered to the empty air, "I'm not cut out to be a leader anyway."