His eyes had only been closed for ten seconds.

"Anton."

"Not now."

Through strained vision and a splitting headache, he looked up from his cot as a hand shook him by the shoulder. The hand belonged to a blond-haired young man with circular wire-frame spectacles.

"Just go away, Hans. Find someone else," he growled, shielding his eyes from the bright lantern his comrade was holding. "I'm not the only medic in this god-forsaken camp."

"Maybe not, but you're the only one still somewhat conscious," the bespectacled youth replied with an exasperated sigh, giving another firm shake of Anton's shoulder. "Let's go. There's another truck of wounded coming in."

"There's always another one."

Pushing himself up on one elbow and swatting away Hans' hand, Anton then rubbed his temples. The downpour outside his tent wasn't doing much to hide the sounds of distant gunfire and artillery. As he sat up, he placed his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through the grimy mass of coarse black hair under the front of his equally dirty field cap. Even though he'd soaked them in alcohol before laying down, the unmistakable odor of blood still clung to his hands. Anton didn't have much time to think about how much he'd love a nice hot bath and some fresh clothes as Hans shoved a dented tin cup into his face.

"This one had a staff car trailing behind," the blonde returned. "Sergeant Kernz is making coffee for whoever's riding in it. I don't think he'd mind if you helped yourself before getting back to work."

"More new officers, do you suppose?" Anton mused, paying no mind to Hans' sarcasm before lethargically snatching the cup and stifling a yawn. "Kernz must be pretty desperate to impress if he's willing to go through what little coffee is left."

"Likely, yeah. So, you might want to unroll your sleeves when you go to get your perk-up."

The tall olive-skinned youth shrugged off the suggestion with a half-hearted laugh, hoisting himself to his feet and rolling his head around to quell a kink in his neck. Anton then straightened his cap and grabbed a dripping oilcloth poncho that had only been hung near the tent's front flap for maybe two minutes, flinging it over his head. The wet, heavy covering felt like it was made of lead as it sank against his shoulders. Looking back at a patiently-waiting Hans, he then motioned with his head that he was ready to go.

The two young soldiers had barely made it out of the tent before the shouts from across the way came.

"STRETCHER BEARERS! Stretcher bearers to the front!"

Hans only shook his head and looked at Anton.

"I'll see you in the slaughterhouse," he said with a tired smile, the dark circles under his eyes thrown into sharp relief by the light of his lantern.

"Right."

With that, Hans turned on his heels hand briskly stepped away down the row of tents toward the front of the camp. Anton continued down a different "street" toward the center, following the trail of the other lanterns hanging from the makeshift braziers that would normally be lit if it weren't for the rain.

"I wonder who's come to harass us now…" he thought, rounding a corner past the assembly area and approaching the command tent.

True to the accounts his comrade had given him, a gleaming staff car was slowly making its way down the muddy passage toward him. Staying just out of the glow of the lanterns, Anton was able to avoid being seen as a short, slightly chubby soldier hurried out of the larger tent to meet the new arrival. There was a small bit of shaving soap being dissolved by the rain behind his left ear as he fussed to straighten his service cap and greatcoat. This was Camp Fortitude's acting commandant and the only non-commissioned officer remaining after the last rotation from the front lines, Sergeant First Class Rupert Kernz.

"Only caring about appearances when there's company," Anton muttered as he slipped past, the scent of liquid alertness beckoning him in.

The forward flap of the tent had just slumped back into place as a small scene began to unfold outside. The engine of the staff car suddenly revved, died, and revved again. A moment later, a series of harried shouts reached his ears as Sergeant Kernz frantically tried to call for assistance. It seemed like the mud of the camp roads was buying Anton more time to steal his cup's worth of motivation.

Unlike his simple enlisted shelter, this tent was far more spacious with a roof high enough for him to stand up straight. Along the center ceiling pole hung three lanterns, providing an almost hospitable illumination. Anton's fatigue returned to him almost immediately as the warmth from the bunker stove in the far corner met his face and began to seep past the damp weight of his drenched poncho. Now was not the time to be envying the accommodations afforded the senior staff. The sounds of other soldiers' voices joining those of Kernz signaled that the staff car would soon be free of the mud. Anton briskly approached the stove, lifted the steaming kettle and, looking over his shoulder toward the entrance, quickly filled his cup.

As he stepped back toward the front, his eyes lingered over a collection of maps laid out across the table in the center of the tent. There was something rather unsettling about the amount of enemy formation markers along the Leidenschaftlich armies' front lines. It would be something to talk with Hans about after he escaped. Anton carefully slipped his coffee under his tunic and crept to just beside the forward flap. Lifting the heavy oilcloth gently to one side, he peered out into the darkness to see a group of about five soldiers (including Kernz) doggedly shoving the beleaguered vehicle toward him. Getting away unseen looked impossible at this point, but just as Anton was about to curse himself for not thinking his burglary through, Kernz slipped and slammed rather spectacularly into the mud. It was all Anton could do to keep himself from laughing as the attention of the other soldiers quickly turned to the plight of their fallen NCO.

Comical as it was, it was his cue to leave. He steadied the cup beneath his poncho against his chest and cautiously exited the tent, being careful to not lift the flap too much as the light from inside would have certainly given him away in the darkness. Anton then hurried along down a different path; his splashing footsteps given extra concealment by a loud clap of thunder.