Free Forgotten Soldiers by Joshua P. Simon

were on our way home.
    A clear and starry night hung over us as we finished prepping our camp for the night. We formed a circle with the wagons and tethered the mounts just outside of it to graze on tall grass. Sentries patrolled the perimeter with loaded crossbows.
    The war was over and we were happy, but old habits died hard. The likelihood of any bandits brave enough to try their hand at a few dozen veterans was slim, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t prepare for such a scenario. You didn’t stay alive as long as we all had by taking things for granted.
    I took my place in the chow line, behind Hamath. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was until I caught a whiff of the night’s stew. My stomach growled.
    Hamath turned. “Lasha a good cook?”
    “Why you want to know?”
    He shrugged. “Just curious. I can count on one hand the number of meals we’ve had over the last decade that’ve been prepared by someone outside of the army. Thought it might be something you’d look forward to.”
    “I guess you’re right. The last time was what? Two and half years ago?”
    “Yeah. It was when we spent a couple weeks in that city near the battle of Urtok’s Ridge. What was it called? After all this time, the places are starting to run together.”
    “Awarta.”
    “Yeah, Awarta. I liked it there.”
    “Really? Don’t you remember all the trouble we had with them trying to poison us?”
    “I remember. But outside of the poison, the food was good.”
    I shook my head, chuckling. “I guess.”
    “Too bad we razed the place when we left,” said Hamath. “Balak’s never been the sort of person you want to upset.”
    “That might be one of the only times I ever questioned if what we were doing was the right thing.”
    “What do you mean? The Geneshans invaded us, remember?”
    “Yeah, but to kill the women and children too?” I whispered. “I still hear their screams sometimes when I close my eyes at night, and I wasn’t even the one to set the houses to flame.”
    We shuffled up the line in silence. I noticed the conversations around us had faded and heads were down. Apparently, I had been too loud. The smell of the stew no longer had the appeal of a few moments ago, but I knew better than to step out of line. In the army, you ate anytime you could. Otherwise, you might regret the missed opportunity later.
    Conversations eventually started back up again, and I managed to push away my own morose thoughts.
    “Lasha’s a great cook by the way,” I managed to say while watching the steaming black cauldron.
    Hamath snorted. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. That woman can do no wrong in your eyes.”
    I smiled. “You’re right about that.” I paused. “What about Bilhah?”
    Hamath tensed. “Hmm?”
    Bilhah was Hamath’s lady friend he left behind before the war started. “Is she a good cook?”
    “Yeah. Pretty good,” he replied quickly.
    I grunted, deciding not to push. Over the years Hamath had talked less and less about Bilhah. A part of me wanted to ask why. Another part respected his privacy.
    The soldier stuck cooking the meal for the night carefully scooped a heaping ladle full of stew into our wooden bowls. His shirt left more than enough evidence of how many times he had hurried his efforts before—brown and yellow stains decorating the front.
    I examined the bowl’s contents. A bit of onion, some potato, a piece of carrot, and even a few pieces of meat. Not bad. In fact, better than most of the meals I’d had of late. I grabbed a hard biscuit from the sack next to the stew pot and followed Hamath to a small fire. Ira and Dekar were already there, the former using his fingers to get the last bit of food out of his bowl, the latter taking his time with each spoonful.
    Ira looked up at us as we took our place around the fire. “What’s the word, Ty?”
    I caught a glimpse of his half-missing ear. Though it looked better than it once did, the image was not a pretty one.