About a week ago. The battle for Ironreach.
"All soldiers, prepare to fire. I repeat, all soldiers, prepare to fire."
The metallic screeching of the loudspeaker was our cue. I inhaled through the nose, smelling gunpowder and smoke.
"Welp, that's our cue."
Beside me, 427 spoke. I didn't respond. He had a habit of stating the obvious, like most people.
I was coming to learn telling people that was generally frowned upon.
He sauntered up to the edge of the snail like he had no worries, and I followed shortly behind.
I wouldn't call it admirable, but his constant confidence was… notable.
Or was it? Looking around, I saw my fellow soldiers. None of them expressed any fear.
Yet, why did it feel so different? Like they didn't even feel it in the first place?
I had not asked. The idea made me feel… uncomfortable.
The feeling felt blasphemous. The other soldiers were meant to be my brothers-in-arms.
Yet, why did I not feel that way?
I am loath to say it, but talking to them is an exercise in patience. The same few lines, the same few responses.
The line of thought I was going down was not one I wanted to consider. I turned my attention to my rifle, to distract myself.
The GR-5. Designed specifically for sniping. Extended barrel and rifling. Cushioned stock. A non-iron scope. Truly, a work of art.
Have I ever seen art before? Before… all of this?
If the earlier idea made me uncomfortable, this one made me downright nauseous. It had been bothering me for a long time. Why couldn't I remember things from before I became a soldier? Where was my family? Why am I here?
We were ordered to forget. It's perfectly reasonable to not remember.
A distant explosion rocked our snail. I stumbled, caught off guard.
An elementary mistake. Time to focus.
This was not something I should be thinking about. Not right now.
The pop of gunfire sounded out from the end of our snail. Our cue.
Steading my rifle, I aligned the scope on a distant target.
The gun sounded with a crack!
I didn't bother checking whether they survived. I already knew the answer.
A few more rounds of fire passed.
It bored me. It was like shooting at targets on a range.
Then—a wet pop nearby.
I glanced left. The soldier next to 427 fell backward, head gone.
427 wiped blood from his face, expression unmoved.
Other than when he was acting like a simpleton for laughs, I had never seen him unsettled or worried. I had thought he was like me, but now I'm not so sure.
Does he ask himself questions in his head too?
A roar rose as soldiers grappled down the snail.
I didn't get it. Why waste energy?
For morale?
Seemed pointless.
Joining them, I slid down the outside of the snail. Me and 427 were separated by the crowd, with 427 joining the group charging ahead. I diverted to the right, searching for a good vantage point.
There. A clock tower, easily accessible from the outside of the city. Jogging up to it, I tried to open the door.
It was clearly bolted shut from the inside. I couldn't tell if there were people in there, but the wood was extremely thick, and probably not easy to break.
Taking a few steps back, I observed the jagged stone walls. I took a few minutes to plot out a course, and then started my climb.
It was cathartic. 427 had once mentioned that it was good exercise as well, but I supposed this wall was too short to count.
Reaching the top, I chose to bypass the actual clock room and go for the roof. If there were people inside, I did not want to fight them in the middle of a fire-fight.
Laying on the roof, I sighted my gun. The crowd of my fellow soldiers was decimating the resistance.
I suppose I should feel proud.
Time passed numbly, as I put down enemy after enemy.
Then, I blinked. 427 was behind the frontlines… stabbing dead bodies?
As incomprehensible as usual.
It wasn't as though he disliked fighting. His maniacal, toothy smile and laughter when he got injured was quite telling.
So, what is he doing?
I shook my head. Trying to figure out how he thought would be the work of multiple lifetimes. I restarted my cycle of shooting, reloading, and shooting again. The heat of the gun barrel singed my fingertips, in a satisfying way.
All of a sudden, the constant advance of our troops halted, like they had hit a wall. A loud, metallic CLANG! Rang out. Looking through my scope, I saw the reason why.
The new opponents were not simple rebels, but clearly trained soldiers. Evident in how they used their swords, and those bizarre martial arts. It felt reminiscent of that move 427 was training.
I felt a spark of interest flaring up.
Shooting is only fun when they actually shoot back.
A contest of marksmanship. A deadly duel! The thought thrilled me, against my better judgement. I felt a corner of my mouth lift.
Control yourself.
That spark died back down when none of them returned fire. It was the same as earlier. None of them noticed that they were getting picked off. Those that did, couldn't do anything as they were trapped in combat.
Is it too much to ask for?
DANGER!
My subconscious screamed at me. Why? Where?
There.
The glare of light off a scope, on a distant rooftop. Without hesitation, I rolled to the side, heart pounding in my chest. The thud of bullets into stone, right where I was a moment ago, were the only indicator that I had been shot at. It was too loud and chaotic to hear individual gunshots.
I had rolled in the prone position, so my gun was already ready to fire when I came up. I perfunctorily looked down at the sights, not really bothering to aim, and laid down some cover fire. The glare disappeared, presumably because they had taken cover.
Now!
Darting backwards, I scrambled down the clock tower in record speed. The person wasn't shooting at me from an elevated position, so I would be able to hit them just fine from a regular rooftop.
Selecting a building that had stable footholds on the outside, I pulled myself up onto the roof.
I inched forward, smoothly.
Shouldn't go too slow, or they might realize that I've moved in the meantime.
Finally, I reached the top of the sloped roof. Aiming down my sights, I caught the figure in the distance.
The corner of my mouth rose up.
Perfect.
BANG!
---
341 scooted back from the elevated part of the roof. His heart and nerves were settling after that experience.
Against his better judgement, he cracked a small smile.
Is this what 427 feels when he fights? That was… thrilling.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. As 341 looked around, he noticed 427 heading to a small house on a side-street.
Is he injured? He didn't seem to be.
341 turned, intending to return to his vantage point on the clock tower. He wavered.
One look wouldn't be harmful.
Dropping down to the street below, he walked towards the open entrance of the house.
Just in time to see a knife flash towards 427's head.
His heart leapt into his throat. He jumped forwards, seeing the blood spray from 427's face.
All of a sudden, he stopped running. An involuntary sigh of relief escaped him, as he saw 427 catch the hands of the would-be killer.
Who would have thought a random house would have an insurgent in it?
He walked closer, intending to check if 427 needed medical help. Then he frowned. The fool had disarmed them, and left the people who tried to kill him… alive?
341 overheard a snippet of the conversation as he got closer. The clack of boots on the stone, and general chaos, slightly muffled the start of it.
"Relax, I won't hurt you. I don't fight kids."
Don't fight kids? Why is that relevant? They tried to kill you did they not?
The ideal course of action would be for 341 to go in there, and execute the insurgents. But curiosity, that nagging feeling, was like the devil - tempting him into sin.
Hiding behind a nearby building, he peeked into the small alleyway house to overhear what they were saying.
"Why?"
He heard the child ask.
What?
His mind wavered.
What could he possibly be asking, with such an illogical, open ended question? Is this how civilians talk? Or, is this how children talk?
Then again, he could easily imagine 427 asking the same thing, so what did that say about him?
The child's outburst dragged him from his confusion:
"Why are you attacking us? We just wanted to eat! To not be hungry! It's unfair!"
341's thoughts went silent after that one.
A child's outburst. He scoffed internally. But deep down, he was waiting to hear 427's response.
"Why does it matter?" 341 couldn't see 427's face, but he doubted it had a smile at this moment.
"What?" The response came from the child.
"Why does it matter?" 427 repeated.
"The reason why doesn't matter as much as what actually happened."
"All that matters is that you're weak, and I'm strong. In this world, strength is the only reason."
There was no defense of Germa's glory. No "For the Vinsmoke." Just a flat, glaringly, painfully obvious truth.
341 had never thought of it that way. Truly, what did the reason matter? The results were the only thing that affected the world, weren't they?
He zoned back in to hear another bombshell as the conversation continued.
"Why are you doing this if you're sorry?" From another child's voice. Judging from the tone, it was a girl.
341 regretted zoning out in his thoughts. 427 had apologized? For what? Defending himself when they attacked him with a knife? Something else entirely?
Does this relate to them being children, as he mentioned earlier?
He wanted answers.
427's response was even more disjointing.
"Because I'm weak too. That means I don't have a choice."
341 watched him leave the house.
The weight of that sentence was both unsettling and… intriguing.
And maybe, just maybe, it answered another question he'd been asking himself for a while:
I think 427 asks himself questions in his head too.