I stare at him for a few seconds. For the first time in a long time, I’m speechless. My composure evaporates. I can’t keep a poker face and hide my thoughts. There’s no way that he could be here! I say to myself but reality begs to differ.

Standing in front of me is definitively the one I betrayed at the Battle of Noel. I could never forget his face. But for once, he is aged and not as young as me. Holding his cane with the dignity of a battle-hardened warrior, there he stands--

Noel.

It was strikingly ironic that his name was the name of the battle. Another cruel twist of fate from the Maker. That battle was fierce. It was where I received my title, my brand. The government, of course, knew exactly what I did, and that was they gave me that insult, that curse. The name I’d carry with me for the rest of my life.

“Ah, Soldier B2020. Elite Infantry Sniper of the 21st Battalion. Do you remember me?”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same. It may be a little aged but that fine lilt and exquisite politeness remains.

When I don’t respond, he continues. “Well, if you don’t, no matter, I shall right all wrongs and explain the details. You were just an ordinary fieldman, a regular sniper. Of course, the rest of the army looked down on you scum but that is as it should be. Killing people so despicably, in the comfort of your foxhole or bush. At a distance, you fired and killed. Tradition dictates that it should be wrong and it is but that is no place for a war.” He taps the cane twice. “Still, the army despised you.”

At this point, I can barely hear his words. The Colonel shouldn’t be here. Why is he? How is he not-

“Dead?” A gentleman’s chuckle rings in the air. “I was a lucky bastard. The enemy saw that I was the Ace of the army so they treated me well.”

Genius, mastermind, nonpareil, savant, there were so many names for this man, this man who was born on Christmas. He was like a gift from the Maker Himself. He was the same age as me but he distinguished himself enough to become a colonel. His prospects of becoming an army general were high. Yet-

“You turned me in.”

The gears in my head halt.

“The enemy knew they could deal a mighty blow if they caught me. Luckily, they found one of my former aides. In that desperate battle, before retreating, in the chaos, they took me right from my barracks.”

Hero of Frost.

Right.

That wasn’t what the Motherland gave me. It was the title the Krauts bestowed on me.

“It was snowing the day they found me.” He chuckles. “I recall a droll conversation I had with you once, when I was visiting the training barracks. You said something along the lines of ‘Snow is beautiful because it covers all things.’ Isn’t that right, traitor.” There should be contempt but there is none. Rather than spitting out the word at me, he simply sighs. It’d be better if he despised me. “I cannot despise a man faced under such harsh conditions, however. You are indeed a betrayer but how could you not be? I’m sure I’d be the same.”

“No.” My throat is dry but I have to push the words out. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” He smiles but shakes his head. “But I’d break down just like you did.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I’ve visited those camps before. I wanted to know the devastation that came with them. Those gas chambers, those whips, those baying dogs, when I saw the agony inflicted, I couldn’t bring myself to hate you.”

He stands there tall and proud. He is a man of conviction, a man who would not back and would not lie. There are tears in his eyes. Compassion, even though he was a genius, he did not reject his fellow man. One of the rare individuals who took time to understand normalcy and to even accept it. The sun shines from the window. There are no clocks but I’m guessing it’s only noon. A visitor of his prestige at noon. It’s surreal.

Suddenly, my stomach rumbles.

“Ah, you must be hungry.”

“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly. My brain shuts down. Guilt and hatred swirl in a violent maelstrom. I can’t even bring myself to ask him how he could forgive me. No words leave my lips.

Steps, strong and steady, I hear them.

He reaches the bed and extends his hand to me.

I grab them and he pulls me up.

Ah, how strange. It should be me, the younger one, who assists him, so why the reverse?

But all thoughts shut down. I simply follow him. For now, it’s better to obey a higher being until I can properly function. The Maker Himself descends on the stage. How does one comport himself before Him? It is the same.

The Colonel is a man one cannot ever ascend to, yet he is a man that never kept himself up in the sky. He walks among us ordinary men. But the question is begged--

Why?

My eyes blink slowly.

I’m one step behind him, as though out of sync. Of course, I would be. He is the higher ranking officer. It is only natural for him to be in front but his steps slow. The thud of his cane softens. I maintrain strides with him.

And as though it is the most natural thing in the world, the Colonel strikes up a conversation, “So, how is it here?”

One single question. It’s enough to overload my brain. I short-circuit and say something I shouldn’t, “Why are you with terrorists, Colonel?”

Luckily, he’s not offended. “I can see why you’d think that.” He chuckles naturally. There is nothing artificial in his amusement, no awkwardness to dispel discomfort, only joy. “And also, just as you hate your title, I hate mine too. Just call me Damien, okay?”

“How did you get here, Colonel?” I ignore his friendliness. All I can focus is on “Why? Why should a man like yourself be here?”

Oops, I said that out loud.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Well, that might take a while. Oh, the mess hall is over there.” Abruptly, I see my surroundings. I had been so focused on the Colonel that I didn’t pay attention to anything else. Somehow, we end up at a small cafeteria. It’s almost quaint. The walls are carved out of oak. The lighting hangs on the wall in caged lanterns. A natural peace. It’s a contradiction that such a room serves as the mess hall, a noise and cacophony, yet here we are.

The Colonel turns to me and smiles. “It was all Mia’s design. She used to be an architecture major.” An architect. I hear something intriguing but the Colonel chuckles again. “Whoops, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Instantly, I’m on my guard. Such incompetence would never be tolerated. The Colonel is just another way to rope me into this organization but I keep the observation to myself. If I notice, they’d just try a different route. This is better for me. Rather than an unknown entity, I know the Colonel. The more information, the better my odds are of escaping this place.

“Colonel, pardon my rudeness. I was simply in shock at seeing you here.”

“Of course you would! I’m sure I’d be thrown off guard too. Nobody wants to see the person they’d betray. It’s better to hurt someone when you’re not looking.”

“That phrase reminds me of someone,” I say as we walk in. We walk over to a table without chairs.

“Oh? Who?” he asks as he grabs a chair from another table.

“I can’t remember his name.” I sit down and he does the same. I close my eyes to try and remember. It’s easier that way. Obscuring the present to remember the past, a coping mechanism after the war, though there was little of the past to celebrate anyways. No faces come through. Everyone I’ve known has died, after all, and their faces disappeared with time. “I can’t even remember his face.”

“It’s fine if you don’t remember.” He waves it off. “I’ll go grab some food from the back and we can chat a bit more.” He walks through a door to get some food.

I try to remember his name and curse myself. Those comrades, those precious friends who stuck with me until the very end, their faces are forgotten. How could I ever forget them? Once again, I grope through my own past to find something that was never there in the first place. I already knew I wouldn’t remember them.

But I tried every time.

It was my payment for my failure, for not being with them to the very end. I broke down just a week in the political camp. Last I heard, they were deported or shot to death. It makes no matter. Either way is the same result. Betrayal by your home is the same as death. We loved our country so much that it could destroy us.

Nothing came of that hope.

Our love, our dignity, our vitality, we gave all to that country and it killed us. If not literally, then figuratively.

Hmm. I could ask him that question but my mind whirls like a gear. That is just for pretense. I can never give them the impression that I’m planning escape. They’d kill me for just thinking it. Still, I’m a hostage but I have limited freedom.

Noel comes back, holding two trays in each hand like an adept waiter.

He places them without a single thud. A hot steam wafts from a bowl of stew. I widen my eyes. Sauvuert? This is the food we ate when we got home from the army. Mother’s Stew. It was warm and filling compared to the winter. It tasted just like home. A couple floating potatoes, a few vegetables, and a chunk of beef. Of course, most times, we had no beef. Meat was expensive. Not like now.

Tears flow. “It’s been a long time.”

“A good meal for a good man, my treat.” He smiles as he grabs his spoon. “Let’s eat!”

I pick my spoon up. Blow the steam off a little and bring it to my lips.

Cozy.

So damn cozy.

Nostalgia makes more tears fall. Something as simple as vegetable stock could make a grown man cry. I forget about regret. I’m sure if my comrades were alive, they’d tell me to enjoy myself. Make myself at home here.

Old wood, faint lighting, Mother’s Stew.

Just like the good old days.

We didn’t have much yet we had plenty. My family had each other. That was enough to keep us going through those winter days.

“How is it?” He grins.

I don’t answer and take another bite, let the taste of home wash over me. It only takes a minute or two to finish. The spoon falls with a clatter. “Ahhh.” The soup satisfied me. “That tasted just like home.”

“I made it myself.”

“You did?” I raise my brows. “A man such as yourself, a military man, a man who lived and breathed combat cooked this stew?”

“Jeez, you have quite the impression of me.” He raises his hands to deny my accusations. “I was a Colonel certainly. I was part of the army, yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy cooking, right?” He takes his spoon and sips his soup.

“Yes, but it doesn’t suit you! A man of your status and prestige cooking for himself? Don’t you have your own personal chef the army gave you?”

This time, he was the one who raised his eyebrows. “No, I never had a chef.” He jabs his spoon at me. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone! All the soldiers were talking about this and that about you. Of course, most were rumors but surely something must’ve been true! A personal chef was the most plausible one.”

He drops his spoon in astonishment. “Just how much did the rank-and-file revere me?” he mutters.

“Enough to make you seem like a saint.”

“No wonder nobody takes me seriously,” he laughs. “It seems everyone has gotten the wrong impression of me.” For once, his kindly eyes sharpen. They become like a bird of prey. “I’m not as kind as everyone thinks I am.”

I blink twice. “Of course not?”

“Eh?” he says in surprise.

“‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’ Appearances are deceiving, Colonel. You, of all people, should know that.” I grab the steak knife and to cut the slab of meat on the tray. “Did you cook the meat too?”

“But just a moment ago, you were enthralled with me.”

“Past tense,” I say. “Say, Colonel, how does it not surprise you that I don’t care anymore?” I look up from the steak I’m cutting. “Unless you never visited those camps yourself.”

“So. You did notice.” The once affable nature disappears. A cruel, calculating tone takes its place. “Your reputation precedes you, Hero of Frost.” Using the words as a weapon this time, he says my name with malice and spits out the words.

“I’ve had enough of two-faced games. It seems like everyone in this organization is an actor. For once, it’d be nice to have someone who simply shows their true self without pretense. Know anyone like that?” I cut the meat apart.

“Of course not,” he laughs. “When you’re on the road to power, you can’t help but leave a few bodies on the way. But then you smell like a reeking corpse so you hide them. You bury your transgressions, make everyone love you, and move forward as though nothing happened.” He curls one fists. The other hand brings the soup to his mouth and he drinks soundlessly and without a single drop spilt. “That is the heavy price.”

“So name yours. You want me in this organization?”

“How astute of you. Always finding the little cracks and exploiting them. Just as you did for the Krauts, so will you do for yourself. Manipulate to a better position.”

I take a bite of my steak. It’s slightly peppery, but it meets the seared meat in a delightful savor. It might be poisoned for all I care. Who the hell knows? But it’s delicious and that’s all that matters.

Not offended by my lack of response, he skips provoking me. “The price is power.”

The small space, the dark lighting, the floating aromas, it seems like a dark business transaction is taking place. It probably is one.

I put down the knife and fork.

“Don’t want it.”

His spoon clatters onto the ground. “What did you just say?” he whispers.

“I said, ‘Don’t want it.’”

We meet each other’s eyes. He’s trying to call me bluff but he can’t see any semblance of hesitation in my gaze. I almost smile. It’s obvious why he’s surprised. The Colonel, a military man who has climbed his way to the top, was always a power-hungry man. He took full advantage of his genius. Despite being a peasant, he clawed his way to the top. Most likely, he thought I’d be the same.

Not surprising.

Considering I once led the Brumal Uprisings.

“The me back then is different from the me now,” I say. “That was your sole miscalculation.” I stand from the table. “Now, where’s the fridge?” Nonchalantly, I look for some water. “My throat is dry from all this talking.” Callously, I ignore his surprise.

“How could you not want it?”

My back is towards him. I can’t see his face nor do I bother to see it. “You are on the right side of history; I am on the wrong. If the roles were reversed, you’d understand.” Without glancing back, I step towards the exit.

A gun cocks. “Hold it, where the hell do you think you’re going?”