Goodnight Saigon
[We met as soul mates
On Parris Island
We left as inmates
From an asylum
And we were sharp
As sharp as knives
And we were so gung ho
To lay down our lives]
Heero cackled maniacally as he sliced down another mobile doll. Unlike his partner, Duo, Heero was silent despite the occasional laugh and mutterings about where to go to next, how to kill... This was his life. As a soldier, the Perfect Soldier, he was a machine. Created for killing and for following orders. The Perfect Soldier an odd phrase. Heero had never really thought about it... was he? Did it really matter?
Heero shook his head, trying to ignore such musings. He was in the middle of a battle, and thinking about his past and his present would not help him kill the Dolls any faster.
It had become routine. Shoot, shoot, shoot, fly away from the explosion, kill, kill, kill, fly away without ever looking back. Fly, fly, fly...
Heero cut down the last Doll, and Duo, whose specialty was slipping in unnoticed and destroying a base from within, flew in to complete yet another mission. Heero sat back, and slipped Wing into another gear as he went to a safehouse to sleep and care for Wing.
::But why?:: whispered a quiet voice in the back of his mind. ::Why do you do this?::
::I was ordered to,:: Heero thought back absent-mindedly. He had conversations in his own mind before, and it had never really bothered him. "It's all well and good to talk to yourself," Duo had always said, "but when you start losing the argument with yourself is when you should start to worry." Heero, at the time, had been typing up a report to file away of the mission he had just completed. Ignoring Duo, of course. Well, seeming to, at least.
::That's no reason. That's no excuse for the thousands of people you've killed. The husbands whose wives who pray that they will return, knowing they never will. For fathers of beautiful children who they will never see again. And you say that this does not matter? How can it not matter?! You are not killing machines, Perfect Soldier, you are killing people.:: The voice in his mind sounded oddly like Duo's, though Heero had never really thought about it. He shrugged to himself as bits of space debris shot past as he traveled in Wings smooth flight.
Duo...
~flashback~
"Do you think you're immortal?!" Duo snarled. Heero looked up, the startled feeling completely unbetrayed by his cold eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asked in a quiet monotone.
"Look. Just because you don't feel anything doesn't mean nobody worries about you. Just because you're the Perfect Soldier doesn't mean that you won't be able to slip up someday. And just because you don't care doesn't mean that someone won't! His brilliant violet eyes shone with anger and a deeper feeling of worry. His stance was rigid, tension permeating the air around him. Every muscle was locked.
"What is your point?" Heero asked, starting to get slightly annoyed.
"My point is, Perfect Soldier, is that you can't live like this! No, scratch that. You need to live, period!" Duo shouted.
Heero winced, thankful for the thick walls of one of Quatre's houses. "I am living."
"No, you don't! You never smile. You never laugh. You never worry. You pray for death to take your body away because you died long ago! And..." His words were cut off as Heero's hand lashed out to slap him directly across his face.
"Listen to me, Duo. I don't need your words of prayer and God and Christianity and being saved. Whatever soul I might have had once is gone, Duo. Do you hear me? Gone. It's likely I never had one." He leaned forward, his hands on Duos shoulders. His grip was a shade too tight, his usually grim eyes shimmering with anger. "Do you understand? I have killed. I killed long before this war truly started. Look at my hands. You can't see it, can you? The blood? So many soldiers have killed themselves, either directly or otherwise, because they believe their hands are stained with blood. But mine? Mine are saturated. My hands are too small to account for every blood spilled by my hands, blades, or guns.
"You say I don't live. I don't live like you live, because I cannot. There simply isn't that type of feeling in me. Now give up on saving my nonexistent soul, Duo."
"But..."
Go away, Duo. I have a report to finish."
~end flashback~
They hadn't spoken since then. Not a single word. For Duo, that should have been next to impossible. But somehow he managed. Whenever Heero caught his eye, the anger and hurt was still obvious. Heero sighed as he landed the powerful Gundam. Duo had demanded to know why Heero didn't live. And he never accepted that Heero could not. It was as simple, and as complex, as that.
[We came in spastic
Like tameless horses
We left in plastic
As numbered corpses
And we learned fast
To travel light
Our arms were heavy
But our bellies were tight]
Duo slipped down the corridor, his booted feet making hardly a sound on the cement floor. It had gone well, all things considering. Stealth had always been to his advantage. He was dressed in his usual black priests suit, and his long chestnut-brown hair was tied back into a braid. A gun was tucked into either side of his belt, as well as a rifle held securely and easily in his hands.
Another assassination. Duo sighed unhappily.
Assassinations had always been his least favorite mission. When you were in your Gundam, you were safe. You didn't have to watch the men you killed die, the agony etched on their faces. You were in a videogame, shooting at images. Illusions, that's all they were. But when you assassinated someone, you had to be perfect. You had to make sure they wouldn't make it, and you had to watch their life flee their body to rest in a place more worthy of them. Duo remembered a story that he had heard someone, he had forgotten from whom.
A soldier walked up to the Gates of Heaven, his stride proud and alert. When asked by Saint Peter why he was there, he answered simply, "Reporting for duty, sir. I have served my time in hell."
But it didn't matter. Duo would never get to Heaven. It was nice to dream about, though. A place without pain or suffering, a place of light and sweet smiles and love and songs. A dream, that was all it was. That's all it would ever be.
::Because were human,:: Duo thought sadly to himself as he padded to the hangar where he had stashed Deathscythe. ::Places like Heaven can't even exist in Heaven, much less in this Hell we call Earth.::
A quiet monotone broke into his thoughts as he got into his Gundam. "Look at my hands. You can't see it, can you? The blood? So many soldiers have killed themselves, either directly or otherwise, because they believe their hands are stained with blood. But mine? Mine are saturated. My hands are too small to account for every blood spilled by my hands, blades, or guns." He could see Heero's eyes again as he thought of that night when they last spoke. Cold and emotionless were the usual descriptions of how he would portray Heero. But that night, he couldn't call his feelings anything less than simply ancient. Like an old man who has simply seen too much of life, and does not even live but survives.
"Damn Heero anyway," Duo mumbled as he backed Deathscythe out of the hangar. "What does he know about whether or not my hands are stained?" ::He doesn't know me,:: Duo thought rebelliously. ::He thinks he's the only one who's ever killed before. He doesn't know anything about me.::
~flashback~
"No, no, no God, no!" Duo sobbed into Sister Helen's cold shoulder as he clutched her lifeless body to his own. He had gotten there just before she had died. A cold, ruthless wind cut into the boys thin clothing, and whistled about the charred ruins of the church.
"Duo... my little Duo. Don't forget God. He will guide you if you look for Him. Oh, Duo. You always were my favorite." Her slightly breathy voice was quiet, too quiet. Duo had to fight for every word. Sister Helen's body was bloody and mangled crimson red from her life's blood as it coursed from her mortal body. "Duo, take my cross."
"Sister, no! That was your Grandmother's!" Duo protested, denying the very thought that Sister Helen would leave him.
"Take it, my love. I love you. I will see you at the Gates of Heaven. I will wait for you." Her calm, loving eyes caressed his.
"No, no, no Sister, don't leave me. Don't leave me! Damn you! You promised you would always be there for me! You remember! When you took me in, you promised you would never leave me. Sister!" Sobbing, he held her close. She had left right after she had finished speaking. Screaming in denial, not caring who heard him, Duo rocked back and forth, Sister Helens body still clutched tightly.
"Why?" he cried to the night sky. "Why couldn't you have taken me too, huh, God?!" He stood up, and glared at the Heavens, self-hatred and anger locking every muscle in his young body. "It's my fault they died! They never would have if I hadn't been here!" He slumped once again to his knees. "Take me, God," he pleaded, his eyes shut tightly and streaming tears. "Take me, too. Please. I don't care if I don't get into Heaven. Take me to Hell, if you want to. I don't deserve to live. God, please, I don't deserve to live..." He had collapsed there, his slender frame wracked by sobs as God had ignored the most fervent plea Duo had ever begged for.
~end flashback~
Duo shook his head, trying to clear it of the memory. "Well, God did answer me then, didn't He, buddy?" Duo asked rhetorically, running his fingers lovingly along one of Deathscythe's walls. "I prayed for Hell. And He gave it to me."
[We had no home front
We had no soft soap
They sent us Playboy
They gave us Bob Hope
We dug in deep
And shot on sight
And prayed to Jesus Christ
With all of our might]
Trowa watched the skies from the roof of his current safehouse, his face impassive as he contemplated the view. "It's so beautiful," he whispered to no one in particular. "You never would think that such beauty could hide such pain, could you? But those same skies are where killing takes place."
He lay back onto the cement of the roofs flat top, almost unconsciously ignoring any pain that registered as the cold of the cement seeped into his bones. It wasn't as if it was the first time he had ever felt it. ::Or the last,:: he mused. Then, in a state of being half-awake, half-asleep, he thought about his life.
Nanashi, he had been called. No name. No one truly understood how deeply those words hurt him. To spend almost all of one's life without a past, without a present, without a future He had never complained, and he certainly wasn't planning on starting it. Compared to the life had had left behind, this one was good. He had companions. He had a name... even though it wasn't really his.
~flashback~
"Aww, dammit. Now what're we gonna do?" whined one of the men, an official. He stared at the tall blond man, Trowa Barton, who lay dead at his feet. "We gotta have someone to pilot the Gundam."
Overhearing the entire situation, Nanashi hung back against the side of the Gundam. It was a beautiful piece of work, and he liked having something he could actually do. So, they needed a replacement for Trowa Barton? He sighed, and looked around. Not a soul was in sight, save for the dead body and the pair of arguing officials.
"I could do it." His own voice surprised him. As usual, it was quiet, reserved, but it spoke words that Nanashi had never expected to hear. The official turned around and peered at the tall, green-eyed boy who waited so calmly by his side.
"D'you think you could handle a Gundam?" the man asked.
Nanashi shrugged.
"I've flown a couple of things like it. Nothing exactly like it, of course, since it is unparalleled. But I think I could manage it." Again, his voice surprised him in how nonchalant it was. Nanashi released a breath he hadn't know he had been holding. He hadn't known how much this meant to him until now.
"Eh, I suppose. But what are we going to do about Barton here?" The man jerked his head towards the body. Nanashi looked at it, then back at the man. "And what was your name again?" the man asked.
"I don't have a name," Nanashi said calmly. "Thus it makes the switch all the easier."
"What do you mean, No-Name?" Nanashi shook his head.
"My name is not Nanashi. It is Trowa Barton."
~end flashback~
"Using someone else's name is even worse than not having one, in retrospect," Trowa said quietly to himself. "I never really existed. I am not Trowa Barton, skilled Gundam pilot and hero.
"I am still Nanashi."
[We had no cameras
To shoot the landscape
We passed the hash pipe
And played our Doors tapes
And it was dark
So dark at night
And we held on to each other
Like brother to brother
We promised our mothers we'd write
And we would all go down together
We said we'd all go down together
Yes we would all go down together]
[Remember Charlie
Remember Baker
They left their childhood
On every acre
And who was wrong?
And who was right?
It didn't matter in the thick of the fight]
"Please surrender," begged the small blond boy who handled the enormous machine with such delicate ease. "I don't want to kill you." A number of mobiles flew up to him, about to open fire. Quatre was quicker, his deft, experienced hands poised over the controls. "Please," he wheedled one last time. The enemy guns came up. With a look of deep upset, Quatre opened fire and quickly demolished the enemy mobiles. Screams of innocent victims and hardened soldiers alike filled the air, mingling in the choking dust. Quatre rubbed at his goggles, unable to reach the tears that threatened to spill from his beautiful, expressive turquoise eyes.
::I never should have gotten involved in the war,:: he thought unhappily as Sandrock tromped through the huge city. ::Father was right. War never solves anything. War doesn't determine who is right, it determines who is left.:: The pun that he had heard somewhere echoed in his ears.
~flashback~
Anger rippled from his father's body like an aura of pure rage. "How could you?!" he shouted at his son. "We are Winners! We do not fight! Fighting never solves anything! It never has, and never will!"
"But sometimes fighting is necessary," Quatre argued back. "Humans need fighting to make solve things. It's stupid, I know, but we are human!"
"We are not just human, Quatre. We are Winners! You are Quatre Rababera Winner, and it is your honor and duty to preserve the peace that I have fought so long and so hard for!"
"Sitting in a conference room doesn't show who's right, Father," Quatre had shot back, uncharacteristically angry.
"War doesn't determine who is right, it determines who is left," his father snarled in return. The only thing that kept his father from striking Quatre was his iron discipline and utter hatred for violence, Quatre knew.
"I try so hard to make you proud of me! Twenty-nine sisters, father! Twenty-nine of them! I try so damned hard to be a good son..."
"I have no son," his father answered coldly. "For no son of mine will ever shed blood for any cause."
~end flashback~
"Well, Father, maybe you were right," Quatre whispered. He ran Sandrock into an open field, then took off. The roaring of the engines brought back a fresh memory:
~flashback~
Quatre watched, dumbfounded, as the explosion rocked his Gundam. Where he was staring his father had only been a moment before and now he was gone. He and his spaceship were totally, utterly gone.
"No!" he cried, slamming his fists onto the thick glass of Sandrock's cockpit. His fathers last words echoed in his ears: "My son... my son... my son..."
"No!" he cried again, his throat sore and hoarse. But that was nothing compared to the agony ripping in his heart.
Slumping to the seat of the cockpit, he stared out into space. ::I never got to say goodbye,:: he thought numbly. ::I never got to say I'm sorry, and that I wish I could prove myself to him somehow. I never got to tell him how proud of him I am...::
He could have stayed there all night, staring in utter disbelief into space, had his sister not been hurt and needed tending to. Resignedly, but with fresh worry for his sibling, he rushed to her side to try to bandage her wounds. So, not only had his father died for him, but his sister soon would too...
~end flashback~
Quatre flew back to a safehouse, his thoughts and heart heavy. "I wish I could have said goodbye," he said quietly to himself. "And I wish I could have asked his forgiveness."
[We held the day
In the palm
Of our hand
They ruled the night
And the night
Seemed to last as long as six weeks
On Parris Island]
"No! I will be the judge of you!" screamed Chang Wufei, his dark, almond-shaped eyes shining with utter rage. Treize Kushrenada symbolized everything he hated, everything he wished to purge the Earth and the Colonies of. An arrogant, power-hungry bastard who didn't care for the lives he had destroyed to gain his wishes, just so long as he remained the leader.
::Justice,:: Wufei thought, enraged. ::Justice will finally be mine, and I will finally be able to say that word truthfully. I will be able to redeem the honor that I lost when he slaughtered all that I knew.::
~flashback~
It was beautiful. Colorful Chinese lamps and kites hung in every corner, and all were dressed in their finest. The marriage of Meiran and Chang Wufei would bring an alliance that would certainly cement the longed-for peace. Neither Meiran nor Wufei were happy about the marriage, especially at their young age, but they both cared about peace enough to lay aside personal issues.
Meiran especially didn't like him for being a scholar. Wufei had found her one morning, flushed and sweaty from working out, and she had lashed out at him for being unmanly.
Wufei raised an eyebrow. "You are saying that because I am a scholar I am not a man?" His nature had been so cool, so collected then. Not the hot-headed rage that poured through his veins instead of blood, like now.
"No," Meiran retorted. "I am saying that because you are not a man. You cannot fight, and thus you have no honor. You have no honor and thus you are not a man. You have no knowledge that you did not gain by reading. I had once promised myself I would never marry a man weaker than I."
"Are you suggesting a sparring match, then?" Meiran grinned ferally in answer.
"If you wish." With little or no preamble, she launched herself at her future husband in a flurry of rapid kicks and punches. Wufei dodged them all with the ease of long practice, ducked a kick, spun low to the ground, and, hooking an ankle around her leg, sent her to the floor.
Meiran slapped the ground to relieve the hit, and rolled to her feet only to blink owlishly at a katana that was balanced ever-so-delicately on the notch at her jugular vein.
Wufei stepped back, and then sheathed the wicked-looking blade. "Dishonor!" Meiran cried. "I did not have a blade!"
"I did not want to hurt you."
"And why not?" she challenged.
"You are a woman. Women do not belong on the battlefield or on any fighting ground." With that last comment, he headed towards the door. He paused, then turned towards her. "In case, Meiran, you are wondering where I learned such moves, I shall tell you." He headed back towards the door. "From knowledge gained by reading," he called back over his shoulder as he left Meiran to fume.
And now it was the day. Though he and Meiran were hardly friends, much less in love, they respected one another and still shared a common need: to cement the peace between their families.
But, alas, it was to no avail. Men had poured into the halls, slaughtering nobles and peasants alike in their eagerness to kill the young noble and his new bride.
Meiran, who called herself Nataku, Justice, had died in that attack.
~end flashback~
It was bad enough losing Meiran, and with her, the potential peace. But Chang Wufei's line had collapsed. The Clan of the Dragons was no more, and it was all because of men like Trieze.
But Trieze was not without acts like that himself. Wufei still was hurting over the loss of L5: the colony who had willingly taken him in to train to be a Gundam pilot.
Meiran, he had learned, was to be Pilot number five, but because of her loss, and because of Wufei's battered pride, he had offered to take his dead wife's place as a Gundam pilot. And the ancient, wise, proud colony of L5 had self-destructed rather than die in the dishonorable death that OZ would deal them.
Wufei had not died with them, though he believed he should have, and he now placed himself to avenge their deaths by becoming the executioner.
[We held the coastline
They held the highlands
And they were sharp
As sharp as knives
They heard the hum of our motors
They counted the rotors
And waited for us to arrive
And we would all go down together
We said we'd all go down together
Yes we would all go down together]
Duo searched the rubble frantically, praying for a sign of Heeros passage. Ahead of him were the smoking remains of Wings last fight, and within them was the man he loved.
"Heero!" he cried, and bolted for the charred body at the heart of Wing's destruction. Breathing hard from exhertion and desperation, Duo pulled Heero from the remains, and cradled him in his arms. Heero coughed a couple of times, his breathing weak and labored. His eyes opened, than slowly focused on his lover. His cobalt blue eyes were steady, though they shimmered from regret, from love, and with sorrow.
"Duo," he said almost silently, and smiled slightly. "Ai shiteru, koibito." He tried to hug Duo, but collapsed again, his muscles too far gone to move. Despite his pain, Heeros cobalt blue eyes were steady, and held within them a warmth that Duo never would have thought Heero had.
~flashback~
Harsh, erratic broke through the cold stillness of the room. Outside of the window, a brittle wind swept past, rushing through the trees and making the leaves dance and whisper to themselves. It was fast, a cruel Northern wind that brought chill even into the almost warm room. Heero sat up in bed, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dim interior of the room. The soft rustle of sheets moving, a choked breath, a futile attempt to stop the erratic almost-sobs. When the sheets on Heeros bed rustled, the sounds abruptly stopped.
"Duo?" Heero whispered.
A pause, then: "Sorry, Heero." Duos voice was quiet, high, and thin, like a child's. The voice seemed to come from over near the door as opposed to the bed where Duo should have been sleeping. "I didn't mean to wake you." Heeros brows almost knitted in consternation.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, his voice deep and almost warm. He could sense rather than see Duo's shrug.
"It's nothing."
"Then why are you out of bed?"
"I, er, had to go to the bathroom..."
"What happened to that motto you are always so proud of?"
"Huh?"
"I may run, I may hide, but I never lie, I am Shinigami," Heero answered, repeating Duo's much-used phrase.
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh." Heero stood up and moved over to where Duo was, then gently lay a callused hand on Duo's bare shoulder. "Now, what's really wrong? And don't tell me nothing. You lie even worse than you sing." Duo winced, then cracked a grin in the darkness.
"So you do listen outside of the bathroom when I shower! I never would have figured you for a hentai, Heero." Duo winked into the gloom.
Heero paused, caught in a trap. "I do no such thing. Your squalling can be heard throughout the entire safehouse." Duo wilted.
"Sorry... I never knew it was that bad."
Heero tried to think of something to say, something reassuring, but couldn't think of anything. "Hn," he finally decided on. Gently he steered his companion to Duo's bed, then sat down. "Sit." Duo paused for a moment, then did so.
"Now what's wrong." It was more a statement than a question, asked in blunt demand. Duo's anger lashed out, and he stiffened.
"Why should I tell you?" he demanded angrily. Heero reached over, and turned the small lamp on to the lowest setting. They both blinked for a moment to rid themselves of the bright, flashing sensation that came with the coming light.
Reaching to Duos shoulders, he stared deeply into the other boy's eyes. "Because you have no one else to go to. Because I want to help. Because you said that friends should help each other, and unless you take back what you said then, I am your friend." Still Duo hesitated.
"So that too was a lie." Heero sat back.
"No! No, it's just... I don't want to bother you with my petty problems," Duo said tentatively. Heero reached up to brush the proud cheekbones of Duo's face where the tears should have been with gentle fingertips. He drew back, continuing to look deeply into Duo's eyes.
"These," Heero said, indicating his dry fingertips, "aren't petty. Now, please, if you are my friend, tell me what's wrong."
"There's nothing there, Heero." Duos voice was uncharacteristically bleak, and the longhaired boy looked down. "Just the wind. It's... it's waiting for me. It took Sister Helen, and Father Maxwell, and the kids. Can't you hear it?" Startled, Heero looked up to watch Duos pain-filled eyes. Duos voice was higher, the accent of L2 more prevalent than Heero had ever heard it. "Now it's hungry again; it wants me. It's always there, always waiting, always howling for me.
"And there are words. It taunts me. Taunts me as my worthlessness of a man, of a human, of someone who dares to call himself a protector..."
"Duo, stop. Please. Your memories are too painful..." But Duo continued as if he had not heard his friend. His eyes stared off into the shadows, unseeing.
"It'll get me someday. It's always there, always always there, and it will find me..." His voice was back to the way Heero knew it, deeper, yet still trembling.
"Where were you going a moment before?" Heero questioned softly.
Duo turned to him, and his eyes slowly focused on his friend. "To the wind," he said quietly. "It's waited so long... And I can't stand waiting. Waiting for it to find me, to get me, to hunt me down. And it will. Someday." He shrugged. "And who cares whether that day is now or a year from now?" He turned his face down. "Not that it matters."
"It matters, Duo." Startled, Duo looked up into Heero's eyes once more, his eyes filled with hesitance, fear, and a spark of hope. Reading the question in the others eyes, Heero continued: "You accuse me of not living-"
"I..."
"Let me finish. You accuse me of not living, but there is something that even I know. Tears will heal you when nothing else can, and there is nothing more brave than crying." Duo bit his lip as his eyes shined again, this time from held-back tears.
"I can't," he said brokenly. "Boys don't cry." His breath came in sharply as Heero, hardly daring to breathe, lay a gentle, feathery kiss under each eye. Duo's eyes closed in a silent acceptance, and invitation.
His heart beating rapidly, Heero continued to lie gentle kisses on the others boy's nose, eyelids, cheeks, and finally, mouth. Duos breath became even more irregular than before as Heero held him, and pulled him close. When Heero made no move to deepen the kiss, Duo hesitantly opened his mouth to run his tongue along Heero's lower lip. The other boy inhaled sharply, and held Duo to his chest in silent askance. Duo complied by slipping his tongue into the Heero's mouth, exploring it with genuine curiosity and eagerness.
Finally, breathing hard and pupils dilated, Duo pulled back. "You taste so good," he said breathlessly. Heero looked at him curiously, but was given no chance for reply as Duo leaned in again, this time the kiss demanding, passionate, needy. Heero gave himself up to the odd, pleasurable sensations running through his body, and lost himself to a heaven he never thought could have existed.
~end flashback~
"You were right, koi. I was afraid to live." Heero coughed, and half-smiled. "Ironic, isn't it-" a fit of coughing "that I would die just after I began to live?"
"No. No, Heero, don't talk like that. God, Heero, no. Don't you leave me too. Don't you dare leave me," Duo begged, and, though tears slid down his cheeks for the first time since Sister Helen had died on that cold, hellish night, he made no move to stop them or wipe them away.
"Thank you, Duo. It's good not to be alone. I love you..." Duo felt Heero's life slip from his body, and in that instant, he felt as if he too had been killed.
Hands fumbling, fingers shaking, breath erratic, Duo, pulled Heero's gun from his numb fingers and clutched it. "I love you, Heero," he whispered. "I won't ever leave you alone again. I won't let you be alone."
A single gunshot rang out, and echoed on the empty plain filled with fire, with hatred, and with death.
[And we would all go down together
We said we'd all go down together
Yes we would all go down together]
Epilogue:
Dear Nataku,
It's been five years, four months, and twenty-seven days since you died. The memory of your face, so full of passion to defend your people and so full of anger. I am sorry I could not have been a better husband to you. I am sorry I was not man enough to save you.
I wonder where you are now, my fellow soldier. Perhaps you finally understand there is far less glory to battle than there is blood. The blood of your comrade flowing from an open wound while he cannot even scream for the pain; your blood staining a crimson mockery of a rose on snow; the blood of our arrogant pride spilling as it sinks, dragged down by guns and screams and casualties.
What a cruel word. Casualties. As if soldiers with mothers, with fathers, with wives and children and lives and names as if they were numbers. Nameless, faceless, expendable objects that will always have a replacement for further killing, all in the name of our glorious families and the honor of dying in battle. Honor. What damned good is such a tarnished word to so many widows and orphans and mothers? Such a cruel exchange.
I hope that, wherever you are, you are in a far kinder world that the one I am in.
-Chang Wufei
Death is not honor.
The dawn of peace never comes.
Justice mocks spilled blood.
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