Two years have passed since I’ve been deployed to Spain to suppress a local revolt. The puny revolt grew in size and hindered our supplies in Europe, so I've been relocated from the Levant to take care of it. Compared to the nauseating heat of the Middle East, the breeze of the mountains felt like heaven. My peers and commanders respected me as an experienced drone operator, yet I felt unworthy of it. I couldn’t save my wife ten years ago from her sudden death.
As he promised, our lieutenant gave us cheques to rest and enjoy in a five star hotel he reserved for us. We've been in the mountains chasing rebels for months, and I lost many of my friends to the enemies in foxholes. We torched countless caves and bombed empty forests, but in the end, prevailed. The Allied general in Spain personally visited and gave us medals. It didn't mean anything to me. After fighting for nearly six years, I became a hollow husk that only followed orders and did what I was told to do.
Today also coincided with my wife's death, so the snowy weather left a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I went to talk with my friends at the cafeteria and talked about what we'd do at the hotel. One of us said he'd swim in the pool all day. The other said he'd eat gourmet food at the restaurant and drink wine. I didn't have a chance to swim for years, so this experience would calm my nerves for a while.
The topic somehow circled back to women, and they asked me if I fooled around with local women. I said I haven't touched any women since my wife died. This was wrong, I had some affairs then and there, but they didn't lead to anything. Our talk continued until the lieutenant called us for one last goodbye. He had to stay here and wait for the new squad that would replace us. The storm outside roared and ravaged anything that dared to stand against it.
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An armored truck escorted us in case something bad happened on our way. I’ve had bad feelings about the ride, but others didn’t share my concern. I sat somewhere at the back and pulled out my phone. I had a picture of my wife on it, and I leered at it. I thought about the times we spent together. On her last birthday, we made a giant snowman and drank beer knee-deep in the snow. I zoned out until I heard of an explosion behind us.
The truck behind us turned to rubble, and the subsequent explosions around us forced our driver to speed up. Turns out we failed to mop up the rebels, and they got an opportunity to ambush us. None of us had a weapon, and the driver did his best to avoid gunfire on the bus. To my luck, gunfire came from the right side and I sat on the left side. I ducked down and witnessed my friends turning to minced meat by a mounted machine gun.
The driver got killed and our truck tumbled down the cliff. I somehow survived and managed to get out of the destroyed bus. I sat down on a pile of snow to process what just happened. In less than ten minutes, my life flipped upside down with no chance to redeem myself. As the adrenaline wore off, a grueling pain grounded me. My left leg became an unrecognizable mess, and my left arm had been completely crushed. At best, I'd freeze to death, or at worst, I'd bleed out.
I knew from day one that I wouldn’t have an easy death. Yet, that never stopped me. When the war started, our city got nuked, incinerating my family and friends, and I vowed to avenge my wife and my fallen brothers. I killed them, and they killed us. An endless struggle of Titans. I looked at my wife's photo one last time and closed my eyes. At that moment, I embraced death.