After the first death, there is no other

“A goddamn time loop. We don’t have marine training for a goddamn time loop." The officer comes over to check on them. Asks them if they need anything. “We need more men," the corporal complains, “And we need them trained for time loops.”

At least the corporal is sane enough to know they would never take the two of them off the line to train for time loops.

“I’ll ask them to work on it." The officer says.

The corporal makes his displeasure clear as mud with his usual unintelligibility.

The private gets it suddenly. The corporal. He said welcome to the real world. But he wouldn’t need to specify “real” if this was the real world.

There is no getting off this world until we die, the private thinks, but if this real world isn’t the real world, we just might have a chance. And won’t need to die. Won’t even have to consider it. Won’t have to consider death, and dying again.

The corporal will ask, “have you ever seen a bootprint that looks like that?”

The private will answer, “no, corporal, I can’t say I have.”

“Feels like we lived lifetimes together," The corporal will muse.

“It was only a few years," The private will correct.

The private looks aimlessly at the sore on his hand.

The corporal leans his head over his hand like he’s taking a closer look, and who is the private to say no, and licks it.

The private hisses, "ow, corporal. Aw, hell that hurts."

"Yeah?"

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Thought it might be nice." The corporal leans back on his heels again. The private glares at him and glares at the sore on his hand. The pain that had started pulsing after that bit of attention fades to an ache. "Feel better any?"

The private shrugs. "Guess so. Better than a minute ago. When you licked it."

The private asks about the time loop and the officer hesitates and says today. The corporal says he's lying. The private glares at the corporal like he’s less than dirt. The officer says the private is a good man, and that he doesn’t know what this business is about a time loop, but that the private is a good man.

The corporal and the private both know he is not a man.

The private listens to the violence as the replacements introduce themselves; possibly for the hundredth time, probably doesn't matter. The corporal, for his part, has a confused grin spreading on his face making it awkward for everyone.

The private takes time to note the eye color of the replacements and in doing so recalls what a recruiting sergeant had asked him. "Do you have any scars?" He asks the replacements.

They stumble over their answers, excitement and pride suffusing their soon-dead faces as they mistake his efforts to survive as a decent guy wanting to compare misadventures.

The corporal finally has his grin in place—abuse on his mind, and the private feels the attention land on him first. "You sweet on these boys, the private?"

The replacements aren't happy to hear the corporal say that. The private doesn't even bother to roll his eyes. The corporal is a good man, but he was never right in the head.

"Want me to tell them to fight bare-ass naked for you? Or is stripping just the one time enough?"

The replacements are more scared of the private now than war or the corporal. The private appreciates the novelty but his attention remains on scanning their faces hard for distinguishing marks. They shift uncomfortably but it won’t be long.

"You making sure when they get blown to bits you can put your boys back together?" There it is.

The private looks over at the corporal and matches the corporal’s grin—abuse on his mind.

The corporal chuckles gratingly and turns back to the boys, "Now that you’ve introduced yourselves to the private, go say ‘hi’ to the shell that’s gonna hit you."

The private’s hands shake around the corporal’s neck.

Their skin barely touches; there is no threat, this is a promise he can’t keep. The private has a sense of duty and a shred of humanity. The corporal wants him to keep the promise. “Please, private, I know you can get me out of here. It’s all over for me, please, private. I want you to get me out of here.”

He presses his throat into the private’s hand but the force is nothing, his hands are spread too far apart. Mud applies itself in layers to his neck. It has an oily sheen and it sticks—like paint.

The corporal tells the officer, “Jesus motherfucking Christ. We're in a goddamn time loop. Tell the brass to solve that.”

The private doesn’t try to stop the tide of cursing. Considers praying.

“What do you think, private?" The officer asks as the world lets words be heard over violence.

"I think I’d like very much to not be stuck in a time loop."

“What about you?" The corporal asks. Days later, hours later, who cares.

“Inch long scar on my right knee. You?”

“Man, I have no idea.”

The private accepts that answer, but resolves to find out for himself. Earlier today, later today.

The private thought placing the one cloud on the other cloud and mixing them up would look so pretty. “I don’t really remember the names. But I know that’s some type of storm cloud.”

The corporal listens to him talk about clouds for awhile. The private knows a lot because he was homeschooled for awhile; the information just sticks easier when you’re learning it out in the field. Finally, "you said that already, private."

The private frowns. Thinks about it. And then laughs helplessly into the corporal’s side.

Every morning, the private duly adds to the tally. The mark is left in the same place he had placed it yesterday, but he doesn’t worry about it. He marks it again and again. He worries he’s crazy sometimes and the corporal tells him he is.

“Definition of insanity, private, expecting this day to be any different. Damn hours aren’t ever different.”

“We’re not men anymore. Men fuck. Men get old.”

"Then we weren’t men before.”

“Speak for your damn self, private.”

“Fuck you.”

"Imagine if we were clean."

"Lord." The private can’t imagine.

The corporal can’t imagine.

The private throws down his shovel and uses his hand to smear mud on the side of the corporal's neck, gentle as applying warpaint.

The private listens to the violence as the replacements introduce themselves. Replacements replacing themselves. Names of men indistinguishable from names of men. It’s a waste of men and, even if they weren’t a waste, meeting the private is a waste of time. The private doesn’t say it. Smiles friendly, briefly. Nice (this time) and quiet.

The corporal says, "I don't need to know your name. Tell them," He jerks his dirty head towards the enemy, "And spell it right. They're carving it on a bullet for you." The same one, with the same care. Then again, they are all the same.

The private could be cruel. There is time.

"Think I’m gonna let time kill you slowly when it has been so kind to us? As soon as we are alive and moving through the world how men should, private, you are dead to me.”

The private runs through the Lord’s Prayer again. The sound of violence is only shelling. In the valley, in their hole, the corporal forms shapes of ugly words. The corporal cusses easier than breathing—much easier. His face goes red to white to blue in relentless hatred.

It’s their job to know where everything is. The private wakes the corporal for his watch. They shuffle quietly. The private laid on his back now as the corporal scans the surroundings. The private watches the sky. One moment they are being rained on and the next, like loading their mortar, they are being rained on.

“Did time just go backward?” Why the private asks this now, he has no earthly idea.

The corporal’s stare doesn’t deviate from his task; he takes his fingers and presses them first to his own lips and then, blindly, to the private’s mouth. "Time stops when I’m with you, sha.”

The private gives it a few "Tomorrows”, hears it over and over, but the private has had enough today. “Hey!” He shouts at the officer. The corporal wrestles him down into their foxhole.

The officer squats at their hole and asks the corporal what the private’s problem. “Oh, the private? He’s just mad about the time loop.”

“Sir.”

The corporal drawls, “sir.”

“You guys know about the time loop?" The officer asks.

“Sure do, sir. Think sometimes we’re the only ones who do."

The corporal is fooling around now. The private can tell by how his knee moves around on his back—like the corporal is dancing up there. He leans closer to the officer, his knee digging deep enough into the private’s back he feels like if there is finally a tomorrow then the private will get it with a broken rib.

“You see,” the corporal winks and the officer leans closer, too. “If you are telling us that the time loop is ending tomorrow, that isn’t going to do us any good. The private and me can’t make it to tomorrow. Time. Loop.” The corporal enunciates those two words with a pop to set off the slurring of the last one: “Sir.”

“So, is it better to die at the end of the day or the beginning?”

“Shut up.”

“What would you rather? Come on, private. See, I think we are supposed to snap and kill each other. Let me know how you wanna do it, that’s an order.”

“Sir, shut the hell up!”

The fucking replacements are introducing themselves again.

The private snaps, "Tell me tomorrow.”

The corporal reacts like it’s the meanest thing the private has ever said and he loves it. It kind of is. “Hear that? Make it through one fucking day and the private here will host a sleepover.”

“Any advice?”

“Yeah, tons. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He grins like it’s an in-joke they’ll say themselves one day.

The replacements die when they get shelled.

The corporal and the private take bets on how many steps the replacements take. The corporal and the private take bets on how many times the replacements look up into the rain. The corporal and the private take bets on which of the replacements gets chewed out first. The corporal and the private take bets on if the corporal or the private will suggest a bet on the lives of the replacements. Neither the corporal nor the private would take that bet.

The officer is on his way to check on them and there is no way they are going to stop making out in their foxhole. The private is resigned to it, and the corporal doesn’t mind either.

Instead of trouble, the officer tells them to be careful. It doesn’t sound right, somehow, and the private finds himself asking for clarification before the officer can head off, “Hang on, careful with what?”

The officer grimaces, “I only mean, don’t get distracted.”

“Sir, I’m kissing the corporal." The private states.

The officer turns purple, but they still don’t get to leave the foxhole, the war, or the time loop. The corporal gripes, the private should have told the officer he was in love.

The private throws down his shovel and uses his hand to smear mud on the side of the corporal's neck, gentle as applying warpaint.

"You don't want to do that." The corporal tells him.

"Why not?" The private keeps his hand in place as the corporal turns away. His fingertips advance into his hair, and it feels like the first time for the private. The muddied, salty locks are always the same but it doesn’t matter because it is always the first time for the private. He can’t ever get used to it because the sensation itself is always new.

The corporal repeats himself—maybe even for the first time, "You shouldn't do it." He waits for the private to back away.

"Why?" The private pushes.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

The officer walks up to check on them, clears his throat and dutifully relays the information that the time loop is ending.

The corporal jumps straight into a rant while the private nearly loses his helmet laughing. The officer, thrown off by their reception of this news, starts walking off and the private gets out of their foxhole to stop him.

"Wait, when, sir?" The private asks. The officer looks down at the private’s hand pulling at his sleeve and the private immediately lets go (though the officer is a good officer and doesn’t begrudge exuberance). The private puts as much respect into his voice he can manage. “When is the time loop ending, sir?”

"Tomorrow." The officer replies.

The private’s heart sinks with his glee as he can’t tell if the officer is lying or relaying information he doesn’t understand. The corporal has gone quiet as well, but soon he’s the one laughing.

The replacements wander off, ignored.

“Do you think we have to save them?" The private asks.

“Hell no. Pass me that damn shovel.”