Silver Lake

There was an air of hopeful optimism among the citizens in downtown Silver Lake, even as the chill of winter had come to settle across the land. The railroad had recently completed a spur line from the main track just north of town all the way to Baltimare, which had started to transform Silver Like from a small little known backwater to a slightly more well known backwater. Several new businesses had opened, including a ‘Talking Picture Theater’ which could not only show Human Films duplicated from DVDs, but also could show footage recorded by ponies themselves. Many of the older residents saw it as a passing fad, but Turner knew better.

The Sergeant sat alone in a diner across the street from the theater, his Marshal parked out along the now fully paved main street. It was around nine in the morning, and he had just stopped in to get a cup of coffee and a quick bite to eat. Snow was falling from above, blowing rapidly in the wind as the heavy clouds above seemed to be dumping every flake they could muster. It was shaping up to be a blizzard, but nothing the town hadn’t handled before.

Turner sighed and leaned back in the booth where he was sitting, watching out the window while sipping his coffee. The rest of the diner was mostly quiet, though some tourists were talking up a storm with the waitress behind the counter. It was, in all honesty, a greasy spoon kind of place. The wallpaper was old and faded, lots of pictures on the walls, and the seemingly permanent smell of frying oil. The town was changing just as much as the rest of the world, Turner wasn’t sure if the diner he sat in would still be there in a year or so… Or if it’d be replaced by something more ‘modern’.

Sam’s contribution to Equestrian Research had opened hundreds of new markets for human based hybrid products. It was hard for Turner to fathom that the contents of a single moving van could’ve spurred such a massive technological leap forward, and even harder for him to accept the consequences of that. As he looked out the window and saw at least a dozen other privately owned cars and trucks parked on the street where once there were only carriages and carts, it occurred to him that he had watched a similar ‘March of Progress’ before on Earth.

“I don’t much care for it…” Turner said under his breath, talking to himself before taking another sip of his coffee. With all the ‘progress’ coming to town Turner and his fellow officers had been somewhat swamped. Winter’s reputation as a quiet time of year had been dashed, it was just as busy as Summer. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any more knife wielding burglars or drug operations in the recent months. Turner quietly looked up towards the ceiling and noted that the blinds usually used to cover the windows had been replaced by the now mandatory ‘Blackout Shades’ issued by the Equestrian Defense Department.

Turner, being on his break, had plenty of things to think about. Those shades were just one of the many new things implemented by the Equestrian government, not to mention the installation of a Civil Defense Siren on the roof of the Sheriff’s Office. Officially to warn of rogue storms and tornadoes, but Turner suspected it’s purpose was less than meteorological. Especially since the paint was still drying on the town’s new ‘Community Tornado Shelter’, which was buried twenty five feet underground and made of reinforced concrete and capable of storing enough food to feed the town for weeks if necessary.

‘Prospects for Peace’, the words still rattled around Turner’s three months later. It wasn’t just him though, the phrase has become its own running gag. More and more countries were falling under the talons of the Griffon Empire. Even the dragons were falling quickly, much to the surprise of the rest of the world. Turner looked over to the tourists speaking with the waitress behind the counter, both of whom were minotaurs. Very likely they had fled their homeland, though most Minotaurs had signed up in the Equestrian Army almost as soon as they arrived off the boat.

Turner sighed as he finished off his coffee and stood up from his booth, he took his wallet from his pocket and placed the money for his meal down on the table before grabbing his bomber jacket and knit cap. He zipped up the leather jacket and straightened the cap, then walked towards the door. Turner pulled a pair of leather gloves from his pocket, once they were on his hands he stepped out into the cold winter air. Across the street he saw the theater was showing a collection of romantic comedies and a newsreel. The man sighed and reached to his belt, then grabbed his walky talky and turned up the volume a bit more.

“Dispatch, Unit Two.” Turner said, making his way towards his Marshal. “Coming off of meal break, consider me back on the clock. My location currently is Thirty Four Main.”

”Affirmative, Unit Two. Logged.” The Dispatcher replied. ”Unit Two, Dispatch. Good thing you just radioed in. We’ve got a call near your current pos from Forty Eight Main, male and female fighting. Back up already enroute.”

“Roger that, Dispatch. On my way.” Turner put his radio back on his belt and turned around, ignoring his Marshal in favor of his own to feet. He instead began jogging down the sidewalk, it wasn’t that far of a walk. After about thirty seconds he heard the first sign of trouble in the form of angry yelling from inside one of the storefronts, a clothing store. Turner walked up to the front door and pushed it open, stepping inside he took a moment to find the source of the yelling.

The store was somewhat cramped with numerous racks of warm clothing and some clothing for bipeds, as Minotaurs seemed to favor the store from time to time. It also helped provide some variety when Sam or Turner needed new clothing. The lighting was moody, neither overly bright or overly dark, and the aesthetic of the store was like that of a fur trading post. The clerk was hiding behind his counter, when he saw Turner enter he simply pointed towards the back of the store.

Turner walked through the racks of clothing, his hand resting on his side arm. If they decided to turn their attention to him he’d be ready. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if that was the case. He wanted to believe that the two parties fighting would relax, but he’d learned that giving people the benefit of the doubt when they’re fighting could be a fatal mistake. As Turner was getting closer one of the two fighting individuals went crashing through a rack of shirts and hitting the floor. From the looks of it it was a Female Griffon with white feathers and golden brown fur, Turner stepped between her and the one that had hurled her.

Now he could see that the one responsible was a minotaur, a sizable minotaur that looked very angry that Turner was now standing between him and the Griffon who was collecting herself on the floor. The minotaur had almost black fur and wore simply looking clothes, his horns were somewhat dulled but his eyes were big and expressive. He towered a good head over Turner, and was a good deal bulkier in terms of upper body muscles.

“Step aside, calf!” The Minotaur bellowed. “I’m not finished with the pigeon!” He tried to walk around Turner, but the Sergeant put himself in the way once again while the Griffon began to recover and get up on her feet.

“Yes, you are.” Turner replied firmly, the badge on his jacket gleaming brightly in one of the overhead lights. The patches and sergeant stripes made it very clear he was Law Enforcement. If that wasn’t enough, he went so far as to announce it. “I’m Sergeant Turner with the Sheriff’s Department.” The minotaur snorted angrilly and pointed at the Griffon.

“You’re protecting that flying rat!? After what she and her kind have done to my people!” The minotaur boomed loudly, Turner’s expression remained calm. Minotaurs had a tendency to pick up on weakness, Turner didn’t plan on showing any.

“I’m an Equestrian Citizen, you idiot! I was born here!” The griffon shouted from behind Turner, the man sighed as the Minotaur took that as an invitation to put his hand on the Sergeant. He had the intention of pushing him aside, but found himself tripping on one of the human’s feet and falling face first on the floor. Turner used the minotaur’s weight and position against him, pinning the large bull’s arm behind his back.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Turner said in annoyed tone, outside he could hear the sound of an approaching siren. The Sergeant cuffed the minotaur and hoisted him up on his feet, then looked at the Griffon. “Don’t go anywhere.” He began walking the Minotaur out of the store, the bull didn’t seem to approve because he began trying to pull his handcuffs apart while swearing in his native language. At least, Turner assumed it was swearing, it certainly didn’t sound like a recipe for pound cake. “Hey, calm the fuck down! You’re only making this worse for yourself.” The minotaur glared at him over his shoulder, but after a couple seconds let out a low sigh and nodded. A Marshal had pulled up to the curb and Turner could see Sergeant Buckeye hop out of the driver’s side. “The other one’s inside, this genius assaulted an officer.”

“Got it.” Buckeye replied as she walked into the store, Turner meanwhile bent the minotaur over the hood of the Marshal and spread his feet out somewhat. He noticed the minotaur was wearing some generally normal clothing, some cargo pants and a t-shirt.

“You have any sharp objects in your pockets? Weapons? Anything that could stick me?” Turner asked as he patted down the minotaur’s upper body. The minotaur huffed but shook his head quietly. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You’ve got the right to an attorney, if you can’t afford one you’ll be appointed one by the court at no cost to you. Do you understand these rights as I’ve recited them to you?”

“Yes…” The minotaur said with a huff. “And no, I don’t have anything in my pockets.” Turner nodded and began patting the minotaur down, though he was still careful, just in case he had been lied to. “I’ve never been felled by something so tiny as you… What are you?”

“Just your friendly neighborhood Sheriff’s Officer.” Turner replied with a disinterested tone in his voice. “Though, if you’re wondering my species? I’m a human.” The Minotaur hummed quietly as Turner stood him up and turned him around to face him. “You wanna tell me what started that? Actually, let’s start simple. What’s your name?” The man took his notepad and pen from his jacket pocket and flipped to an empty page.

“I am Fyodor… As for what started things, I have to admit it I instigated things…” The Minotaur explained, Turner thought that maybe he was getting somewhere until the bull huffed and stamped one of his hooves. “She’s the one that should be apologizing though! Her kind has the gall to take the lands of the Minotaur on a whim!”

“Does this look like your homeland to you?” Turner asked, gesturing to the town around them. The minotaur shook his head. “That’s because it’s mine, or the closest thing to it! The war is overseas, not here. Not now. So calm the fuck down.” Begrudgingly the minotaur quieted down, Turner looked to the door as Buckeye exited the ship with the Griffon. It seemed Buckeye had cuffed the griffon as well. “What’s the story?”

“She says she started things.” Buckeye replied, Turner sighed as he wrote down several notes in his notepad before he finally rubbed his forehead. Buckeye could tell something was up pretty quickly, something that would gum up the works of their arrest considerably. “What?”

“He said the same thing.” Turner replied flatly, Buckeye sighed. “Alright, let’s at least untangle this mess someplace we aren’t freezing our asses off. You wanna take the griffon and the clerk to the office? I’ll take the big guy.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Buckeye said with a nod, Turner grabbed Fyodor by an arm and began walking back down the sidewalk towards his parked truck. Meanwhile it seemed Buckeye went back into the store to retrieve the clerk. The Minotaur seemed to be exercising his right to remain silent, which Turner was somewhat glad for. Another backup unit arrived to begin cordoning off the area, as it was still a crime scene. The trip to the truck passed without incident, and the subsequent drive to the Sheriff’s Office was also relatively uneventful. Turner merely loaded the Fyodor into the back of the truck, got in the driver’s seat, and drove down the street. When they arrived Turner got out of the truck and took the Minotaur out from the back seat.

“She’s lying, you know.” Fyodor declared loudly as Turner walked him up the steps of the Sheriff’s Office. “I started the fight, not her.” Turner opened the door and walked him inside, he could see Buckeye already had the store clerk sitting at her desk filling out a statement. The griffon seemed to be filling out one of her own, Fyodor caught a look at what she was writing and took exception to it. “Why are you lying, bird! I hit you!”

“Knock it off.” Turner said firmly as he walked the minotaur over to his own desk and sat the bull down in the chair next to it. The Sergeant approached his own desk chair and removed his jacket, gloves, and cap. He tucked the cap and gloves into the pockets before hanging up the jacket and finally taking a seat. He looked to the other Sergeant’s desk and spoke loudly. “Buckeye, clerk give you anything solid?”

“Not yet.” Buckeye replied, leaving Turner to sigh and look back at Fyodor. The minotaur was examining Turner’s desk, taking note of the numerous notes and occasional doodles present there. He seemed particularly interested in the framed photograph of Turner and Sam on their back porch.

“So, you confessed to starting the fight?” Turner asked, Fyodor nodded. “You don’t want a lawyer?” The minotaur shook his head, Turner took a document from a drawer in his desk and set it on the desk. He undid Fyodor’s cuffs briefly, long enough so that his hands were in front of him instead of behind him. “Sign that, this is confirming you’re declining council.” Fyodor didn’t hesitate to sign the paper, which Turner set aside. “Alright, tell me your side of the story.”

“I was in the rear portion of the small pony’s shop, searching for a new pair of mukluks.” Fyodor explained, though somewhat uncomfortable in the cuffs that he still had tightly on his wrists. He didn’t complain however, such a thing would show weakness. “The bird entered the shop, I spotted her quickly… I am from Minos, I barely escaped when the birds were encircling the city, my mind flew quickly to that. That’s when I called her a flea bitten mongrel.”

“You called her a flea bitten mongrel?” Turner asked, Fyodor nodded and watched as the man wrote down what he was hearing on the legal pad on his desk using one of his many pens. The minotaur kept looking to the photograph, but Turner did his best not to notice. “Alright, so you insulted her. What happened next?”

“She responded with a pitiful retort, comparing me to a stubborn donkey.” Fyodor stated, as if proud of what he was saying. Turner merely nodded and kept writing, though a notable pain was starting to make itself known in his head. “That is when I lifted the pigeon off the ground and began to pummel her. We fought, trading blows and insults, until you entered the store and broke us up.”

“Uh huh…” Turner quietly put his pen down on the desk and rubbed his forehead. “Is there anything else you want to add?” Fyodor shook his head, Turner sighed and picked his pen up again. “I’m gonna ask you some more questions.” The man looked at the legal pad and read over it again, meanwhile he could see that Buckeye had finished questioning the clerk and was on to the griffon. “Why do you think the Griffon lied about starting the fight?”

“She wants to keep me from my honor.” Fyodor replied with a huff, leaning back in his seat. “I started the fight, I knew what I was doing was wrong. I do not deny this.” Turner rolled his eyes at the mention of honor, plenty of stupid and nasty things had been done in the name of ‘honor’ both on Earth and now there in Equestria it seemed. “The birds took everything from my people, I felt entitled to retribution.”

“What you call retribution we call assault.” Turner said as he finished taking his notes for the time being. “I’ll be back.” Fyodor nodded and the man stood up, the Sergeant walked over to Buckeye’s desk with his notes in hand. He stood behind her and handed the mare his notes, meanwhile it seemed the Griffon was speaking. The store clerk meanwhile was getting coffee from the nearby percolator.

“So I said… Uh… You smell like an outhouse. Yeah. That’s when I hit him.” The griffon explained, Buckeye finished taking her own notes before examining Turner’s. She wordlessly handed the Sergeant her notes from the interview with the clerk and the Griffon. Turner would need to conduct his own interviews, but from what he was reading it seemed pretty obvious the Griffon was trying to cover for the Minotaur. For what purpose was still a mystery, but the Sheriff’s Office was in the mystery solving business.

“Sergeant Turner, this is Gilda.” Buckeye explained, Turner nodded. “Gilda, the Sergeant is going to take your statement again, just so we have copies. He’s also going to ask you some more questions.” Gilda looked at Turner with an annoyed expression but stood up as Turner walked her back to his desk. He grabbed his legal pad quickly, in the process he returned Buckeye’s own notes.

“Mister Fyodor, could you take a seat with my colleague?” Turner asked, the Minotaur stood up and walked over to Buckeye’s desk. He glared at Gilda but said nothing, once Gilda was seated beside his desk Turner sat in his seat again. “Okay… Comfy?”

“As much as I can be.” Gilda replied with an annoyed tone, Turner nodded and clicked his pen a few times. He cleared his throat and scooted into his desk, the griffon scowled and looked at his desk. “So, your that human I read about.”

“Yup, and if you want I’ll tell you about it later, but for now let’s just go over what you told Sergeant Buckeye.” Turner replied, Gilda reluctantly leaned back in her seat and rolled her eyes. “So you entered the store and saw Mister Fyodor standing in the middle of the store?”

“Yeah.” Gilda replied, she tried to cross her talons but couldn’t as she was still wearing handcuffs. Turner nodded as he continued writing his notes down, occasionally looking up at the Griffon. She would look between the man and the legal pad on his desk, then at the floor.

“And he was looking at the shirts, right?” Turner asked, Gilda nodded again. Turner sighed and clicked his pen closed. “Why are you lying to me, Miss Gilda? You realize that it makes you look more guilty!” The griffon leaned back further in her seat, as if trying to distance herself from him.

“I am guilty! I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about! You can’t prove otherwise!” Gilda snapped, Turner looked at her stoically as he looked over the notepad for a second.

“Mister Fyodor said he was there in the back of the store looking at mukluks, not shirts.” Turner said flatly, Gilda began to open her beak but was cut off as Turner continued. “That’s backed up by the store clerk’s account. What’s your angle, Miss Gilda? What do you gain from taking the fall for the fight?”

“You can’t possibly understand!” Gilda snapped back, Turner set his pen down and reached into his pocket. He withdrew the key for the handcuffs and began to reach towards the Griffon’s talons. “What’re you doing?”

“Letting you go. If you aren’t going to tell me I can’t very well keep an innocent griffon in custody.” Turner said with a shrug, Gilda pulled back before he could slip the key into the slot to unlock the cuffs.

“I’m covering for him because I owe it to him, damn it!” Gilda finally snapped, Turner lowered the key and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Gustavo and his whole Empire building thing is a stain on Griffon’s everywhere! I didn’t want him to get in trouble because of that. If it means getting my ass handed to me or tossed in jail, that’s all I can do. Not like I can do anything else.”

“You realize you could just not press charges, right?” Turner asked with a raised eyebrow, Gilda paused as if to retort. She then looked at the floor as if trying to think of a good reason why she hadn’t thought of that in the first place. “I mean, the store could still technically press charges if they wanted, but destruction of property isn’t as bad as assault.” Gilda sighed and looked at the desk again. “So, you wanna tell me what really happened?”

Turner was filled in on the details, it happened pretty much exactly as Fyodor had said it had. When he interviewed the clerk it only confirmed the story further, with that they released Gilda without filing charges. Fyodor, in the meantime, would be facing destruction of property charges. It seemed likely, however, that he’d be mandated to anger management classes rather than jail time. Once all the paperwork was done Turner was happy to see the two of them part ways, Gilda left while Fyodor sat back in the jail.

A griffon and a minotaur came to blows, and both wanted to accept responsibility for it… If only things could’ve been that simple in the terms of nations. As Turner continued his shift for the day he found himself thinking more and more about what was happening around him. Up until that day the war had been a far away conflict, something to be read about but rarely ever seen. To the Sergeant it seemed clear that the distant conflict of the war was edging closer and closer to Equestria’s shores.

There had been wars in the past, from what Turner had read, but a war of such scale hadn’t been seen for over a thousand years. As the hours passed and Turner finally finished his shift, which thankfully passed quietly for the remainder of the day, he couldn’t take his mind off of what had happened… What was happening all over the Equestria and the world as a whole. As day gradually shifted to night and Turner found himself on the way home, he was once again confronted by a war that was distant no longer.

“While negotiations are still ongoing, so too is the draft around the country.” The radio announced as Turner was driving home, the heat in his Marshal thankfully holding out against the rapidly dropping outside temperature. It was six fifteen, and Turner expected would be driving up to his home soon. “While it was previously only limited to urban areas, it is expected that conscription of rural towns will begin within the month.” In one sentence, one solitary string of words, Turner felt overcome with an odd mix of dread and cynical mirth. “Tensions at the Trottingham Bridge continue to escalate as it seems Griffon Armed Forces are amassing in the nearby areas for what the Griffon’s are calling ‘Training Exercises’. Still, the Princesses remain hopeful for the Prospects of Peace.”

“Bullshit.” Turner said bitterly as he pulled up the driveway and eventually parked in front of the barn. He turned off the engine and exited his truck, the snow was starting to pick up in speed and density. The Sergeant sighed and walked through the deepening snow towards the back porch, it didn’t take him long to make it up the steps. He stopped briefly and looked up in the sky, the chill settling in on his cheeks. “Sometimes I wonder who’s side he’s on…” Turner mumbled before he quietly walked into the house.

The Sergeant could hear the radio playing in the kitchen as it usually did, the smell of cranberries in the air caught him slightly off guard. He hung his jacket up by the door and undid his gun belt, which he promptly carried over to the dining room table and set down. Turner walked back to the kitchen and was somewhat happy to see Sam was busy standing in front of the stove, judging by the mix of empty mason jars and jars filled with a reddish substance it seemed once again she was making preserves. Cranberries, if Turner had to hazard a guess.

“Hey, I’m home.” The man said quietly, Sam looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“Good! I need your help.” She said, Turner nodded and walked into the kitchen. “Could you move the full jars for me? I need more space.” Sam explained, the man nodded and gathered up the various jars. “Just put them on the table, thanks!”

“You’re really getting good at making these things, it doesn’t smell like anything burned this time.” Turner stated in a joking tone as he walked out of the kitchen and placed the jars on the table. “How was your day?”

“Alright, I suppose. How about you?” Sam asked, Turner walked back into the Kitchen and adjusted the volume on the radio before leaning against the counter beside Sam. The man rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of whether he should mention what he had heard on the drive home.

“I had to break up a fight between a Minotaur and a Griffon today.” Turner said, Sam looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “It wasn’t anything serious, just some tension as a result of the war.” The woman sighed and looked back at the stove, her entire reason for buying and eventually learning how to make preserves in the first place had been to prepare for if there were any food shortages, all on account of the war. “That’s not all…”

“I know…” Sam said quietly as she turned off the stove and stepped away from the pot she was using. “It came over the radio before you got home, they’re going to start drafting people in rural locations.” The woman looked at the floor. “I had hoped I’d just misheard, or I could just imagine I hadn’t heard it, but…” Sam sighed and looked at Turner. “I’m afraid, Paige.”

“It’ll be okay, Sam.” Turner said as he hugged the woman gently. “Don’t be afraid, if I have to leave it’s likely they’ll put me someplace safe. After all, it’s not like they’ll have a place for a lone human on the front lines.” He could feel Sam relax in his arms as he said that, but Turner knew that what he had told her wasn’t likely to happen. If they were accepting Minotaurs and other bipeds as draftees, it was likely they had a place for them other than logistics. “With any luck, they’ll forget Silver Lake even exists, might not even issue a draft order.”

“You know they won’t…” Sam lamented as she let go of Turner and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, though, for trying to cheer me up.” The woman walked over to the radio and switched it off, settling a silence throughout the house. “I just need some time to think, okay? Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.” Turner said with a nod, Sam smiled faintly and walked closer. She reached to his breast pocket and patted it, sure enough she felt the familiar outline of his harmonica. Sam took the instrument from his pocket and put it in Turner’s hand.

“Play something for me, please… I don’t want to listen to the radio anymore.” Sam said, Turner nodded and gave her a quick kiss before he walked out of the kitchen to the dining room. He grabbed a chair and dragged it towards the doorway into the kitchen where he sat down. The man took a few breaths before lifting the harmonica to his lips and tapping his foot a few times to get into rhythm. In the kitchen Sam heard the soft notes begin to filter in through the doorway, a somewhat cheerful yet melancholy tune. It was one that Turner rarely played, ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’, a British song from World War One.

As Sam stood in the kitchen, listening to the notes of the harmonica, she couldn’t help but feel she’d taken the music for granted. Every note was the result of Turner breathing in or out, without his breath the harmonica would be little more than a hunk of metal. The thought of him leaving, and subsequently never returning to play those same songs again, was something that Sam found difficult to reconcile. Even if the war never came, even if Turner was never drafted, the woman would never take the song or the breath that made it for granted.

Sam resolved then and there, listening to the song change to the more cheerful ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’, that she would use every cent she had, every bit of influence at her fingertips, to ensure that if war did come it would be as swift as possible. Not just for the sake of Turner, but for every other mother, wife, or girlfriend that would be watching their loved ones marching away. As she thought about the term ‘wife’ her heart skipped a beat, it had been on her mind a lot lately. She had planned to be Turner’s wife in May, but that was months away.

Even if Turner wasn’t immediately drafted the woman didn’t want to take a chance that he wouldn’t be there for the ceremony. Sam quickly went about finishing the current batch of preserves. It seemed that the distant war, now so much closer, was going to try and take her chance at happiness away from her. She wasn’t going to let it happen, not after finding someone she loved. If she couldn’t keep him from being drafted before the wedding, she’d do the next best thing. After around twenty minutes more she had finished and walked out of the kitchen. It had been a while since she had followed one of her impulses, but this time felt more right than before.

“Paige…” Sam said, looking at Turner who lowered his harmonica and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want you to leave before we get married.” Turner stood up and placed the harmonica on the table. “I don’t care about the flowers or the big ceremony, I just don’t want you to go without doing it. I want to do it as soon as possible, the big ceremony can wait.”

“Are you serious?” Turner asked, Sam nodded firmly. “Alright, if that’s what you want. The County Courthouse in town closed an hour ago, but tomorrow should work.” Sam smiled and let out a slight sigh of relief. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Why don’t you relax on the couch, I’ll make dinner tonight.”

“Okay…” Sam said, Turner pocketed his harmonica before he leaned in and kissed Sam gently. “I’m going to put a movie on, okay? Try and put this whole thing out of my mind.”

“Sure, that sounds good.” Turner said as he walked into the kitchen, Sam meanwhile went to the living room and began rummaging through her collection of DVDs. Turner meanwhile walked to the stove and grabbed a cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall, he set it down and turned up the heat before looking into the refrigerator. He grabbed some butter and a wrapped parcel of steak, it was from a local butcher that had opened among the other shops. As he went about starting to cook it in the skillet his mind wandered away from the task at hand and once again instead to what was on everyone’s mind it seemed. The war.

It was very likely he’d end up in a combat unit, combat meant guns, and guns killed people. Turner wasn’t too keen on the idea of killing, not after what had happened months before, it honestly bothered him to think he’d be put in that position again. Briefly he considered saying he was a conscientious objector, but that didn’t seem accurate to him. He knew that killing was wrong, but he wouldn’t refuse to kill if it was him or the other guy. If he was really against it he wouldn’t have come back to a job where it could happen again.

As he used a spatula to flip the steaks in the skillet he bit his lower lip and looked off to the side, flashes ran through his head of the shooting. It was justified, and he knew in hindsight it had been the right decision to pull the trigger. If put in the same position he’d do it again. Turner sighed, it had been a while since he had last seen his therapist, but he recalled her words to him quite clearly.

“You can’t control the other person, only yourself and your response…” She had explained in their last session. “It’s unfortunate, but sometimes force is the appropriate response.” He wasn’t a big fan of therapy, but she had helped him move on so he could go back to work. The prospect of killing in a war was something Turner would likely never fully be able to stop thinking about, but for the time being he figured he could do it if the chips were down. That was enough, at least for him, to keep him from objecting.

He wasn’t about to have a full on philosophical debate in his head while preparing dinner, it was far too late in the day for that, but Turner had a feeling that he’d end up having trouble sleeping later. The Sergeant hoped to focus more on what Sam had discussed for the next day, it hadn’t even set in yet that she wanted to push up the date of their marriage, at least the official bit. He suspected that if he was drafted then the big ceremony would likely be held in celebration of his return.

As Turner took the skillet off the heat and put it on the backburner the man found himself thinking more and more about his future. What would married life entail, what would it be like to spend the rest of his life with Sam? He couldn’t say with any certainty, but he felt pretty good about it. With his thoughts somewhat more sorted now he began to bake a couple potatoes. The next twenty minutes or so passed without much incident or thought. Dinner was ready, Sam and Turner sat and ate, and the rest of the night went on.

They talked, they laughed, but when they watched the movie Sam had picked it seemed neither of them had their minds on the screen. The two of them were thinking about the various things in their lives that were changing, the storm of war looming on the horizon, and what could possibly lay beyond it once it was over. Neither of them wanted to say it outloud, but they both could feel it in their bones. For Sam, realization had come when she had been forced to put up blackout shades. Turner had always known that the Griffon’s would be an issue if left unchecked, but he was too focused on the prospect of being drafted that he couldn’t seem to find time to say ‘I told you so’.

With no formal declaration of war from either side there was still a sliver of a chance that peace could be reached. As long as that sliver existed Sam and Turner could force themselves to think that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.