She might not be able to and yet Logan could. For all that he might have sought war and conflict, he had no illusions about what it all was about. The Great War had meant nothing in the end. It had been a relic of a time even before Logan's birth and had meant the deaths of thousands, all for the sake of men that Logan never met. The men he did meet hadn't come back. Logan had gone to fight because it was all he knew how to do, but the rest went unwilling or because they believed the lies they were told. They were good men, some more honest than others, but all of them men who wanted little more than to see the other side of the conflict.
They had died. At the start of both World Wars, Logan had started among the company of two different generations of men, but he had not known a single one of them to have seen the end. It was something that never seemed to bother Victor, but it was hard to forget the names and stories of those boys who died for a cause. They each of them had only one life to live and each one had been spent at the receiving end of someone else's bullet. Yet Logan, who had lived longer than any man had the right to, had continued living. He had taken enough bullets and shrapnel to kill a platoon, but he had kept on surviving.
"I was there for D-Day. I took six bullets that day. I should've been down for the count with the first. All the other men beside me didn't get back up, but I did. I saw the bomb take out Nagasaki." He breathed in and wished for something to smoke. He exhaled. "Take a good look around. This city? It's where all the sacrifice leads to."
Empty. Barren. Dead. And yet Logan kept going to war. He did it for brother's sake, who had an unsettling bloodlust. But there was always one justification Logan made for the both of them. Every time the two of them died, it was taking a bullet for someone else. All the times they had cheated death, they had made that transaction on the behalf of someone else. Logan was here so someone else didn't have to be. It wasn't enough to forget the endless sea of remembered faces, but sometimes it helped. Almost as much as a stiff drink.
"A baseless assumption, if I ever heard one. We've no reason to think this city was anything like Nagasaki. Or Dresden. Or Bastogne--"
And yet, her voice took on a weakened quality. Not compromised in her conviction. Not at all. She felt it bone-stiff as ever. But she spoke with a gentler sound because he'd gone and proved her point for her: a man, unconscripted, making a concious sacrifice when shoulder-to-shoulder with others. She needn't hear the rest of his musings to understand precisely what it meant: six bullets that day.
All he did (in the end) was cement himself as remarkable again by half. He was a living totem of an ideal she championed and he scorned. A man of many sacrifices: some of which she might have already been on the receiving end. But Peggy didn't know how to communicate her hazy gratitude with words he wouldn't spit back at her, so instead she stretched her fingers out until she could lay them across his palm while they walked together. It wasn't a necessary touch; the passcode was well-charged. It was one she gave freely. Wilfully.
"D-Day. Which beach?"
She'd read the reports, after all. Gold and Juno and Sword for the Empire. Utah and Omaha for the Americans. She remembered them down to their generals -- as names on paper, and not bullets in guns.
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munebox2015-05-16 10:12 pm
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They had died. At the start of both World Wars, Logan had started among the company of two different generations of men, but he had not known a single one of them to have seen the end. It was something that never seemed to bother Victor, but it was hard to forget the names and stories of those boys who died for a cause. They each of them had only one life to live and each one had been spent at the receiving end of someone else's bullet. Yet Logan, who had lived longer than any man had the right to, had continued living. He had taken enough bullets and shrapnel to kill a platoon, but he had kept on surviving.
"I was there for D-Day. I took six bullets that day. I should've been down for the count with the first. All the other men beside me didn't get back up, but I did. I saw the bomb take out Nagasaki." He breathed in and wished for something to smoke. He exhaled. "Take a good look around. This city? It's where all the sacrifice leads to."
Empty. Barren. Dead. And yet Logan kept going to war. He did it for brother's sake, who had an unsettling bloodlust. But there was always one justification Logan made for the both of them. Every time the two of them died, it was taking a bullet for someone else. All the times they had cheated death, they had made that transaction on the behalf of someone else. Logan was here so someone else didn't have to be. It wasn't enough to forget the endless sea of remembered faces, but sometimes it helped. Almost as much as a stiff drink.
no subject
And yet, her voice took on a weakened quality. Not compromised in her conviction. Not at all. She felt it bone-stiff as ever. But she spoke with a gentler sound because he'd gone and proved her point for her: a man, unconscripted, making a concious sacrifice when shoulder-to-shoulder with others. She needn't hear the rest of his musings to understand precisely what it meant: six bullets that day.
All he did (in the end) was cement himself as remarkable again by half. He was a living totem of an ideal she championed and he scorned. A man of many sacrifices: some of which she might have already been on the receiving end. But Peggy didn't know how to communicate her hazy gratitude with words he wouldn't spit back at her, so instead she stretched her fingers out until she could lay them across his palm while they walked together. It wasn't a necessary touch; the passcode was well-charged. It was one she gave freely. Wilfully.
"D-Day. Which beach?"
She'd read the reports, after all. Gold and Juno and Sword for the Empire. Utah and Omaha for the Americans. She remembered them down to their generals -- as names on paper, and not bullets in guns.