"The past?, what do you mean?"
A hefty backpack hits the dusty path clearing with a loud thump. Bivouac for the a few hours, then we set up the observation point. Across the valley, figures of shadowy giants - Team 07 and their Mechanized Combatants, a bunch of crazy mech-jockeys from the Free Ordrèn Forces.
"Like, the past past."
"There's a, uh, lot of past, Mer. Gotta be more specific. Like the start of the war? Or you mean, like, the First Colony?"
The smaller soldier's eyes glimmer a little in the light of the electric lantern. He looks up at the sky, black-striped orange tail flicking side to side in deep thought. Thanks to the fighting at the power plant thirty Ks to the north, the scattered towns and villages of this summer-dusty West Harjedian scrub were dark, what few civilians who remained eating their dinners by a very similar sort of lamplight. And the stars above were brighter than you could ever see from the Alliance's big cities.
"No, before even that."
The bigger soldier - his silver-grey fur lit to an almost khaki shade by the warm light of the thermobulb - looks up from the chemical heat pack he was preparing for their rations. "You mean..."
"Yeah. The Esperanza. The Distant Shore."
"Didn't take you for the kinda guy who thought a lot about ancient mysteries."
"Eh, well. Thinking about the future all the time is a great way to give yourself anxiety. Especially, well, y'know..."
The smaller soldier - Merjion - shuffles his rifle off his shoulder. The future isn't something to be taken for granted in war. He couldn't remember where he read that, but every day he spends with Iules, he thinks of the phrase more and more.
The big wolf lets out a hefty sigh. "Yeah. I know."
A moment of silence. Leaves rustle in the wind. A loud clank echoes from one of Team 07's MCs - sounds like someone released the wrong clamp.
"I guess - I mean, I heard one of the reasons our ancestors left the old homeworld was because it was torn up and messed up... messed up by..."
"By a war."
"Mmm."
Iules places his paw atop Merjion's. Behind them, the gentle smell of slowly heating rations drifts across the dusty bluff.
"And you think it's gonna repeat. That's what this is really about, right?"
Mer grips his companion's hand tight. "... So much for not worrying about the future, huh."
The two of them sit quietly. Probably less than four hours before contact. The two of them aren't technically on the front line but they were certainly close enough that the battle was very real and very present. Intel expects a whole damned Confie tank column down this valley, and wants those crazy bastards in 07 to intercept them. And Mer and Iules, as the combat observation team, came with.
Deep down, Merjion doesn't ever want to let go.
I want to hold onto you. You're the only good thing this fucking war has ever given me, Iuiu. I'm afraid. Afraid of it taking you as well.
His grip tightens, and Iules can tell he's scared. He shuffles closer and turns the hand of reassurance into a side hug.
"Hey. It's alright. It's alright..."
A flash of light illuminates the valley, coming down from somewhere distant and on high. Almost certainly an airship going down. The clamor across the way at 07's camp goes quiet. Mer hugs Iules even tighter. No adrenaline to cushion the realization of it. No one knows if it's friendly or enemy, but the valley is quiet in reverence nonetheless.
They remain that way for a short moment that feels like an eternity, until the gentle beep of Iules' watch goes off - dinner's ready. As the big wolf heads off to finish prepping the rations, the small tiger stares at the sky - at one constellation, on particular. The one on his shoulder patch, and stamped on every piece of equipment they own, adopted as the symbol of the Alliance of Free Nations. A diamond of four stars, one of which shines brighter, a white-yellow beacon in the sky.
Zol. The star of origin, to which the Guideposts light the way. The Distant Shore from whence we came, a beautiful place once, ravaged by war.
A tear streaks down his face.