Yes it is...For now.

Felix is in an oddly chipper for anyone stuck in the mud. Even Lukas, who’s been rereading the last letter he’s about to send back to his wife, seems to be annoyed. He stamps his foot at random and mumbles something about the rain while screwing his eyes upward.

Graeber clears his throat and walks a few feet in the open before the roof curls over the trench line—a muddy express of shit and gross water pools over his leather boots with every step. He joins Lukas and scowls at Felix as he cleans his mess kit.

“Enough of his rain,” Graeber growls. “Enough of this rain!”

Lukas folds his letter neatly and then fishes out an envelope. His signature blesses the front and then is tucked away into his uniform. He nods in agreement afterwards, and then rests his chin on his hand while his gaze is set on the path Graeber took. “We’ll be out of here soon enough. This offense should set out forward, knock the Russians out of the initiation and…we’ll continue from there.”

The talk about the nearing offensive didn’t settle right in his head, and his stomach knotted with the thought of digesting the unknown…

Graeber looked at Lukas and wondered if he thought the German army had enough spit in it to do enough worth the kind of sacrifice on the line for everyone here. He also asked about his wife, and she’d wonder if she knew what was on the horizon.

Lukas broke the mundane splatter of rain by smacking his lips, not wanting to talk about his wife apparently. “This rain. It’s annoying.”

“Ja,” Graeber says. “It’s making our trench a soup.”

Even on the duckboards, the clay is a sign of dread. How many more inches will it take before the clay is on their boots daily that they linger in this particular spot? When will the Russians attack, and when will they be allowed to rotate to the places off the frontlines? “If the Russians don’t kill us, then their weather will,” Lukas rubs his head, making drops of rain sprinkling down.

Felix rushes by, grinning like a satisfied chap with a winning lottery ticket. However, neither Lukas nor Graeber notice and go back to moaning about the constant rain. It isn’t until they’re in a moment of silence that Graeber remembers again how good of a mood Felix is in.

“What is up him?”

“Hm?”

“Felix,” Graeber clarifies. “He’s going to guard duty over those Russian captives too much these days. How long has it been now?”

“Three?” Lukas guesses. “Maybe four. Certainly not a week.”

Graeber’s eyes flick to the next position over. Felix and some nameless recruit occupy the pillbox, flanking their left. Natasha is recalled in the back of Graeber’s mind, and he briefly plays with the notion of pleasure between her and Felix. In his boots, his toes wiggle, and his knee starts bouncing. “What’s that kid up to?”

“Doesn’t it matter?” Lukas moans. “I won’t curse another man for being in a better mood than me. I will envy him, though. How does one smile in his fucking mess?” Lukas farts loudly and waves his discharge out through their right. “Smell that Hitler? Get us out of here so none of these poor bastards have to.”

Graeber laughs but then hunches. The Reich should be planning peace instead, gambling with their gained territory, and perhaps calling in a meeting for a ceasefire. No… It’s far too far. There’ll be no peace in Europe for as long as one of them breathes. Not to mention the brothers killed and the daughters **** in this orgy of ****.

Later that night, the rain stops, and the sky clears. Silence sets in as fog spreads in the landscape before them. A ghostly form of Russia materializes before the men, and soon, not even a murmur can be heard in the thick mist.

Graeber has his gaze fixed forward, not thinking of anything until Lukas returns. “Hallo,” Graeber glances, it isn’t Lukas's voice, it’s Felix's. “Wei geht’s dir?”

“Gut.” Graeber flashes a glance at Felix’s face. He’s gone back to a moody child for some reason. “Du?”

“Unruhig,” Felix leans against the trench. “Geil.”

Graeber lets out an awkward laugh. “You’re horny?”

“Ich bin,” Felix shoves his rifle out and licks his lips. “I’ve been spending too much time with those– that Natasha girl.”

The mention of the name makes Graeber groan. But he merely recalls the sniper, not the new girl. When he realizes he’s thinking of Natasha, he directs himself forward. “What about her? Don’t tell me you’re growing fond of the girl.”

“I think it’s the lack of girls I’ve been with since being here. I’ve been here…just here with no leave since…since Stalingrad.”

Felix was wounded in the outskirts and brought back to someplace far from the front. Graeber nods. “I haven’t gotten a furlough either,” He supposed that it was easier for him since he couldn’t see Katarzyna anyway. They wrote each other, but they’d never be together physically. How bad did things become for Graeber to consider Operation Blau as “good days?”

“I’ve been fucking her,” Felix suddenly says, “But I’m not feeling it anymore.”

Graeber is silent. So Felix continues. “I’ve **** myself on her twice every time I’m on watch, but this last time, it took me forever to climax. Bitch isn’t doing it anymore. I want German girls, damnit.”

“Go away, Felix,” Graeber says. “You’re distracting me.”

“How?” Felix says. “She isn’t all that bad, honestly. You should have a turn at her–”

“Fuck off!” Graeber shouts so loudly there’s movement all over in the trench. There are several voices, one even belonging to Lukas.

“You. Are. Stressed. I get it,” Felix retreats in a whisper. “I won’t volunteer for guard duty tomorrow when they come around asking. She’s so submissive right now, though.”

Graeber wipes his face. “What happened?” Lukas says.

“I’m reminded every day how graceless war has become, and how far our standards of soldiers have fallen,” Graeber complains, keeping his eyes forward still.

“Shut up!” A voice barks. “The next person to break silences gets sent on a special mission!”

Graeber lowers himself. “I’m moving down the line. Don’t follow me.”

…

…

Heinrich stomps down the duckboards, returning from guard duty of the prisoners of war. He joins Lukas, Graeber, Felix, and Anton– a veteran of sorts. He never saw Poland, France, Greece– but was here when Hitler decided to wage the war against the Russians.

“Was?” Graeber smokes and plays cards with the others as Lukas watches the treeline lazily.

“Who wants to go watch those Russian dogs?”

It’s silent. No one wants to. It primarily means driving around or serving the officers while they drink, eat, and wait. Despite that, Felix looks at Graeber, waiting for his response before giving his.

Heinrich spits and pulls up a crate, ready to replace whoever leaves. He’s expecting to replace Felix…