The Bull at the Start by M.C. Burnell

Author:M.C. Burnell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M.C. Burnell
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

mostly concerning the digging of holes to poop in

Feinzad, the Tashail border

Jamming his spade in the earth, Horus ran a hand across his sweaty brow. The ground wasn’t froze completely solid, but it was plenty hard enough to be getting on with, and it was a warm day for midwinter, the sun fierce. Several of the men around him had their shirts off in spite of the frosty edge to the air. Horus was still wearing his, although he was damp with sweat and the coarse wool itched. Before anyone could notice he was taking a break and complain, he snatched his spade back up and bent to his work.

It was another hour before the job was done, then he climbed out of the hole he’d dug alongside the other eleven men in his squad. Tossing their spades aside, they maneuvered a wooden contraption over the big deep hole, a plank base like a floor, a little tiny house on top. Within this miniscule structure was a stool with a hole in its seat. It was amazing just how much time he spent dealing with poop these days, digging latrine pits or filling them in; you never appreciated sewers until you had to do without them.

It came as no surprise to anyone when he and another private got stuck with the task of carrying everyone’s spade way back west to the digs of the quartermaster. Tick and Tock, their sergeant called the two of them, after the infamous troublemakers from countless children’s tales. Neither of them ever caused trouble, but there was no denying they was a pair. Horus glanced at the man a few times while they gathered up their awkward burden, trying to juggle a heavy mass that kept shifting unexpectedly.

The other man was maybe a year older, skinny even for their people and tall. He had light eyes, brown instead of black like most everyone else in Feinzad. That wasn’t what made him remarkable: he never spoke unless someone spoke to him first, and when forced to respond to conversation, he used few words.

That was why the two of them always got stuck with the crappy jobs: when everyone else went Not It, there they was with their mouths still closed. Horus found this pretty mysterious. He knew why he never talked, but what was up with this Private Consosciem?

While they walked, going slow ‘cause the spades kept tipping or sliding, a curtain of clouds drew across the sky. Horus was glad for it: he was pretty hot. His uniform was coarse and itchy and didn’t get washed as often as he might have liked. It was also ugly and didn’t fit right and was a nasty poopy brown. But given the way his time in the army to date revolved around poop, probably that made sense.

It took a while to make it to the northwestern edge of camp where a road led toward Asret. While they handed their spades back to one of the quartermaster’s aides, Horus looked at that road, thinking about the city that lay at its other end.

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