Militesi Soldier (Type-0)
Everything sounds muffled. The thud of my boots is the loudest. In the time between steps I hear the crackling of fire. There’s fire all over. We barricaded ourselves in houses, shot from the windows. The Rubrumites had no choice but to hit them with their magics. The flames burst through rooms, escaping out windows and doors.
Whenever I see the flames sputter I wonder if the family that lived there is still alive. If they’ve left this world then no one will remember them. They won’t remember their neighbors that came and went from the front door. They won’t know about the times they sat down in that home to have dinner with them. This house loses all meaning, turning to cinders as the memories of its owners fade with the black smoke into the sky.
My fingers start to feel cold as I walk up to the young woman lying in the street. They feel so cold it hurts as I grip onto my rifle, shifting it in my arms. Her jacket is pure white. It reminds me of home. A city with tundra and snowy forest all around it. It’s the kind of place where fathers had to choose which sons to feed with their rations. Where mothers went hunting on empty stomachs so their daughters could sleep a night without their stomach aching.
My commander stepped up beside me. It makes me wonder how long I was staring at her.
“Shame. Protocol is protocol and orders are orders. Even if we sent her back as prisoner, they can’t feed her, at least it’s gentler this way.”
His aloofness should be chilling, but we all knew this would be reality when we signed up. Still, it makes me wonder how many times he’s seen it. How many times has he pointed the muzzle at an unarmed civilian? At innocent kids, just like her? I clench my stomach and fight back the watery feeling pooling beneath my eyes. For Milites. For everyone I don’t want to forget. For every memory of someone I’ve already lost…
The commander put his hand on my shoulder. His firm grip makes my focus dissipate. I look at him confused.
“I said orders are orders. I want our perimeter confirmed clear soldier. Get going.”
The captain takes off his helmet while I hesitate. His eyes make me feel… sad. They’re not dead or indifferent, they just look tired. I turn my rifle up and salute without a word. I spin on my heel and look toward the end of the street. I can’t help feeling like a coward as I start walking, pretending I don’t know the blood he just washed from my hands.
Everything sounds muffled. The thud of my boots is loud against the cobblestone.
But the noise fades, and all I hear are my boots on the street, and the crackling of fire.