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The Belgian Malinois burst into the hut, almost tripping Jake as it sprinted past him. Its muddy paws slid across the floor, and the dog, drenched from the rain outside, skidded toward the warmth of the fireplace. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows against the walls as the dog plopped down beside it, its tail wagging furiously. It curled up by the hearth, clearly seeking comfort from the storm outside.
Mason quickly shut the door behind them, the soft click of the latch echoing in the silence of the hut. Jake stood frozen for a moment, staring at the dog, which had somehow made itself at home within seconds. Its coat, a mix of dark brown and black, glistened in the firelight, its eyes bright and alert. The dog looked up at them, almost as if it were expecting something.
"Well, that’s… unexpected," Jake muttered, taking a step toward the dog.
Mason rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing. "What the hell does it want?"
Jake shook his head. "Probably just looking for some warmth. Poor thing looks half-frozen."
The dog let out a low grunt as it settled down further, clearly comforted by the heat. For a moment, there was silence—just the sound of rain on the rooftop and the fire's gentle crackling.
Jake stepped to the small shelf, rummaged through one of the ration crates, and pulled out a piece of dried meat. He knelt down and slowly held it out. The dog didn’t hesitate—it stepped forward, sniffed cautiously, then gently took the food and chewed it down.
"Guess it hasn’t eaten in a while," Jake said quietly.
Mason grabbed an old towel from the corner and handed it over. Jake gave the dog a quick rub-down, wiping off the worst of the mud and rain. The dog leaned into the towel slightly, not aggressively but with a strange familiarity.
They let it sit by the fire for a few more minutes before Jake stood up. "Alright, buddy. Time to head back out."
He opened the door and gestured. The dog looked up at him for a long moment, then padded toward the entrance. It hesitated for just a second before trotting outside into the rain again.
Jake shut the door behind it, sighing. "That was... weird."
"Yeah," Mason said, moving to his cot. "But kinda cool, too."
Hours passed. The rain slowly eased into a drizzle, and then finally, silence. Dawn began to push back the darkness outside, bringing a pale gray light through the window slats.
A loud knock hit the hut door.
"UP AND OUT, SOLDIERS!" a gruff voice barked from outside. It was Sergeant Hale—their unit leader.
Jake grabbed his helmet and rifle. Mason was already lacing up his boots.
The door swung open and Hale stood silhouetted against the light, rain still dripping from the brim of his cap.
"You ladies ready to fight or do you need breakfast in bed? Let’s move! Formation in five!"
Jake and Mason filed out of the hut and into the stirring camp. Soldiers were already lining up, checking gear, exchanging nervous looks. The sky remained heavy, clouds rolling low, but the worst of the storm had passed.
Sergeant Hale stepped in front of the line, eyes sharp.
He raised his voice, full of fire.
"THIS IS IT, MEN! WE’VE TRAINED, WE’VE WAITED, AND NOW—"
He paused, scanning the faces.
"—NOW WE GO TO WAR!"
The camp erupted in motion. Boots hit the mud, voices rose, weapons were readied. And somewhere, watching quietly from the edge of the field, the Belgian Malinois sat under a tree, eyes locked on the soldiers as they moved toward the trucks.
Waiting.
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