Work Text:
[April 21st 1917; Lake Dojran, the Macedonian front]
When he had closed his eyes, it was late afternoon, and there had still been a pale light shining behind the grey clouds. When he had opened them again, it was pitch black. It seemed the blizzard had never stopped once. Neither had the shelling.
He wondered why he'd fallen asleep, seated on the trench floor, his legs crossed and his shoulders hunched over, hugging himself for warmth... Then, momentarily, he wondered how he'd managed to sleep at all through the noise. The barrage was near deafening.
Shaking the settled snow off his coat, Bulgaria rose with a stagger, his legs numb from the cold. With no source of light, he was forced to pat around the wall to get his bearings. There were no soldiers in the trench around him; those who were not on lookout were behind in the galleries, he expected... He hoped. Squinting, he looked up at the black sky above. It was difficult to make out what was bullets and what was snow. It was perhaps midnight, were he to take a guess - it was too dark to go looking for a watch or a clock of some kind - and the British had been firing relentlessly since the previous morning. It had come as a shock, at first. But that was natural - how often did open fire not come as a shock? Yet since he had last checked, only three of his men were wounded. It was both relieving and gratifying, to think that, whilst knowing that the shells were flying far overhead.
Perhaps England's aim was just abysmal. Or perhaps he was wasting perfectly good ammunition on purpose. Maybe he'd bored him to sleep - maybe his tactic was to bore him to death. Unlikely. He was there to defend what was his - his land, his people, his honour and dignity. The Entente's task was to break through the Balkans. His task was to liberate Macedonia. There was no room for error. Losing here would open the way for the enemy to enter Sofia. They would do it over his dead body.
When the hail of bullets ceased, it came suddenly, and as the silence filled the air for a moment, it was almost as if the battle was over. Cocking an eyebrow in both surprise and suspicion, he felt around for the trench ladder, and - beginning to get the feeling back in his legs - climbed, peering over the top, cautiously - though the likelihood of him being shot at was incredibly slim. He licked at his chapped lips for a moment, mulling over whether this was some kind of trick to lure his men out... Was England aware he wasn't hitting his targets? Perhaps he'd given up entirely. His mind toyed with the notion of victory for a moment... But he remembered he'd been told not to get cocky. Vazov's tactics were working almost perfectly, but if he got ahead of himself, he could mess up. That was normally his downfall.
Still, he narrowed his eyes, spending a while watching the other side of No Man's Land. So much so that, when they came, he was startled - if only because he was surprised he hadn't seen them first.
The first voice to break across the hissing northern wind cried backwards, towards the galleries. 'They are coming!'
And come they did - armed, in a line, fading in from the dark abyss of the other side; seeming to carry themselves without concern, without doubt, advancing over No Man's Land like Angels of Death. Interesting... So England thought he'd won, after all. How he wished he still had the capacity to smirk. He jumped off the ladder and went for the nearest machine gun, as the men departing the galleries upon being called forth would soon do, too. He was confident, he wasn't afraid of England or the Entente or the fact that they outnumbered him greatly. But his soldiers were naught but humans; naught but men incapable of suppressing this level of fear. He'd witnessed many officers abandon their uniforms for parade clothes and white shirts. All this time, they expected they would die. Yet their morale was superior. They were defending their homes, their families, their freedom.
He locked on to the other nation, aimed, and put his finger to the trigger. Silently, he thanked his men for their bravery.