‘Did you really think that you were prepared for a war?’
It was the first sentence he had said to me, in this
one year serving under his command.
He said the words harshly and angrily, his eyes
ablaze with hatred, the sides of his mouth pulled back into a ferocious
snarl.
I had never before been the subject of the Captain’s attention – never
had to stand there, virtually naked, with every drop of his animosity, his disappointment, and loathing aimed in my direction.
I’d been waiting for over three hundred days for this
very man to acknowledge me – but it was hard enough just to keep standing as he
did. That cold, black stare held me frozen to the ground, the black blood
splattered across his cheek making everything seem even more real – even more
daunting.
The world seemed strange that day – it was as if time had drawn to a
stop, as if I had well and truly been murdered. And yet, the corpse of the enemy lay at his feet, the murderous intent vaporised in the morning air. There was
absolutely no doubt to the certainty that my life had been spared - had been saved.
The Captain had saved my life – the very thought of it
numbed everything in my mind. This man – the very man whom I had trained for
years to impress – had seen me fall to my knees, and had been forced to
intervene. The crushing reality seemed to weigh down physically on my chest, and
the fear that had been racing across my mind for the past few moments turned to
shame, and a burning loathing I felt for myself.
I was disgusting. I was a fool.
He waited patiently for me to speak – it was almost
unnerving to witness the Captain’s leniency. It led me to one truth – that he
had given up on me, just as I had given up on myself.
“I…” the word slipped out, more out of tension than
anything else. I hated the weight of his stare – the heaviness of his presence.
“You don’t belong here,” he said coldly, before I
could even muster up the strength to say another word. “I pity you, but I am
not surprised.”
I flinched involuntarily, the words piercing my skin
as an arrow would. I knew I deserved it – I was just a failure. Tensing, I
gripped my sabre with all the remaining strength left in my right arm, yielding
under the weight of his gaze.
“I understand,” the words tasted like bile in my
throat. “Please accept my resignation.”
“Keep the sword,” there was no emotion in his voice,
nothing but honesty in his words. “This might end your life as a warrior in our
ranks, but you will still require some protection from the darkness that
plagues us.”
“Thank you,” I felt the burden of the gift – no soldier
had ever left the battle arms with his weapon still intact. It should have been
destroyed, claimed, or taken – and yet I was glad that I could still keep it.
“Then, I will take my leave.”
There was no spoken confirmation, but he stepped aside
as I steadied myself, sheathing my sword in its holster.
“Leave your robes,” he said, just as I started my walk
forward. Immediately, my hands moved in a quick, arc-like movement, and I took
in a slow breath as the black vice-captain clothing fell to the floor, feeling
the sting of the frigid air against my bare chest. He nodded in approval, not a
hint of regret in those deadly onyx eyes of his.
The darkness seemed welcoming to me then – and I felt
no pain as I pierced the battle perimeter we had built around us and fled into
the shadows, feeling nothing but shame.
There was no sound of following
footsteps behind me, nor was there any more spoken words – I had been
dishonorably discharged, and thus it was no longer appropriate for any man in
my platoon to address me any longer – much less the Captain himself.
I wasn’t prepared for a war, and I would have to leave before I became it.
 |
| The Korean War - Britannica.com |
- Just a really short story about a fallen soldier that realizes he was never meant to fight. -
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