A metallic bird with steel wings flew silently against a darkened Ansondrian sky.
"Reiterating what was said in our meeting last night," the speaker crackled, "your mission is to land in enemy territory and survey the location nearby. Lupus de Caelo, do you copy?"
"Roger that, Manga Canis. I'm looking for a landing spot now."
When the higher-ups see you as an expendable life, when your only purpose is to receive and carry out orders from a man you barely know, you begin to forget the reason you're fighting in the first place. By the end of your first few months, all your passion has drained, and you're left with the husk of who you used to be. Your individuality stripped away by nearly five years of training, you learn to do what you're told. It's the only thing you know how to do.
You're just another gear in the machine.
And it's been drilled in your brain. You'll never forget it. Even if you make it out alive, you'll never be the man you were before.
Even if you make it out alive.
The war in Ansondria had lasted for a year and a half at this point. After the interdimensional barriers broke down during XC-1's attacks, even the first dimension, home to the planet Earth, saw it as an opportunity to snag exclusive resources from the now-vulnerable dimension.
Ansondrians had never been prone to war in the past. The country had gone a remarkable 6,000 years in total unity, and when interdimensional travel was discovered, they had kept relative peace with their neighboring dimensions. It wasn't until now, when Ansondria was at its weakest point, did their allies turn their backs on it. Earth had joined the interdimensional war later, after XC-1 had permanently damaged Ansondria's barriers. After a barrage of attacks from allies and enemies alike, Ansondria was forced to build up a military defense of their own and engage in combat for the first time in thousands of years.
No one expected the Ansondrians to fight so fearlessly. Tolerance is Ansondria's virtue, and the other dimensions had awoken an ancient god, who, while slow to anger, was merciless once aggravated.
Upon landing, the exterior of the aircraft displayed a computer-generated camouflage, the patterns randomized based on data collected from its immediate surroundings. The technology was patented by the US military in 2186 and is still used today. Its pilot had disabled the technology's effects a while back, as the natural red color of the aircraft had a bold contrast against the green shrubbery of Ansondria, making it easier to find after landing.
It seemed as though thousands of years had passed since anyone else had been to this exact same spot. The dirt, grey in its age, was hard and flat. This clearing makes a perfect spot for camp tonight, the aircraft's pilot, Lucius, thought, as he set up a small fire and unrolled a sleeping bag.
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The sun was falling swiftly over the brush, and there weren't many minutes of daylight left. Darkness, like a black ink, bled against the papery Ansondrian sky, and watercolor clouds drifted lazily into the night. The aircraft, a dull brick red in color, gleamed in the fading sunshine. It's like a bird of another name, he thought. Birds, flown by people, to do man's bidding. Forced to obey commands.
Aren't we, too, not unlike the machines we build for war? Aren't we, the soldiers of our countries, made into machines, trained from our natures to be obedient and dutiful, bending to the will of our masters, our commanders, broken out of our senses to remove ourselves of any individuality we had left…
We're just government dogs, aren't we? He looked at the aircraft. The sun's reflection had disappeared. His gaze drifted towards the smoldering embers of the fire. And then to the bushes beyond it.
Two small eyes glowed beyond the fire.
Lucius held its gaze, slowly reaching for the gun strapped to his left calf, but before he could grab it, the eyes shifted away. "Hold it!" He shouted at the creature – or was it a person? He couldn't tell.
Dashing after the person – he thought it was a person, now that he could get a good look at it — with his gun in hand, Lucius realized he could never imagine killing another being. He'd been trained to do it, even done it countless of times in simulations and training scenarios, but it was an entirely different thing, having to kill an actual, living being. He could never bring himself to put down his childhood pets when they grew old. How could he ever take the life of another human being?
Cornering him against a tree, Lucius pointed his gun directly in the other man's face, despite his trembling hands affecting his aim. The other man cowered in fear, his eyes shining despite the lack of visible light, perhaps refracting what little bit remained from the nearby fire. A pair of ears – cat's ears – were pinned against the back of his head. Lucius remembered hearing that Ansondria was home to various types of ninganima – people that were part animal – but he never thought he'd be able to see one up close. In his surprise and awe, he faltered, and the man in front of him swiftly pulled out a gun of his own.
"Back off, or I'll shoot," the man's voice quavered.
Lucius didn't. A single shot fired from the barrel of his gun, and it went into the chest of the other man.
The man immediately dropped his gun and pressed his hands against his chest, coughing. Wait. Lucius suddenly realized what he had done. No.
Lucius watched in horror as the man crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from the open wound left by the bullet. He knelt down beside him and grasped his arm, gently. He pressed his own hand against the stranger's wound, against the hole left by his own weapon. No.
No.
No.
No.
And as he watched the light die in the other man's eyes, he wondered what it was all for. He wondered why the lives of so many innocent young men had to be taken in old men's wars. And he wondered why he had to shoot. Couldn't he have turned away like he was told? He couldn't betray his country. He never could.
His feet felt heavier as he slowly walked towards his campsite. His hand dripping with blood, he slipped the gun back into its holster.
The stars are crying tonight, as usual.