I didn't know why, but an unpleasant shiver crawled up my spine when I crossed the city's limits. A bad omen.

Our unit's advance had been smooth so far. The invasion was met with heavy resistance at the start, but all of it was quickly done away with by the lead divisions. Calling it a war would be an overstatement. It was utter annihilation.
And then they departed to other fronts, leaving us to finish mopping up. And not to be disrespectful, I was dying of boredom. We were far into untouched territory by now, but there as much resistance as there was before: none. We had yet to fire our rifles: blowing up a poorly-build barricade to smithereens was the only action we saw for days.

I had a feeling that was about to change, though. As my platoon marched unopposed through the deserted city's streets, surrounded by the eerily beautiful historic buildings, I couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something was wrong. I knew a general evacuation had been ordered. I knew the morale of any potential partisans had been demolished. And I knew there was a significant percentage of the population that was sympathetic to us.
But there was something wrong. I couldn't for the life of me figure what it was, but something definitely was wrong. I looked at the platoon leader's eyes. I could see he felt the same.

My fears came to realization.

As the first of our Leopards turned into one of the main streets, it was welcomed by an RPG explosion. It was unharmed, but 3 of my fellow men died where they stood.

"Take cover!"

As my comrades desperately dived behind the romanesque stone columns of the local theatre hall, two more rounds hit the first Leopard almost simultaneously, this time taking quite a dent on it.
We desperately looked around to pinpoint their origin, but to no avail: the street was surrounded by tall, ancient buildings, amounting for more than a thousand of windows together.
A fourth RPG hit the Leopard right between the tracks, totaling it for good. The tank's hatch opened, releasing large amounts of smoke, and the tank commander pulled out shouting to us "we're done".
It was prophetic. The next second, a large bullet clipped his helmet, causing his body to fall flat on the asphalt.

"Sniper!" the platoon leader shouted instantaneously.

Half the troops stared in shock. But one of the soldiers ahead of me was quick to react, and scoped the origin on the shot. He… wasn't fast enough. But as his body fell, I saw something glitter in the distance. I instantly ducked back behind the column, just in time to watch a round fly through where my head was just a split second ago. Then, the already burning Leopard, with the rest of the crew still trapped inside, exploded with a mighty blast, sending shrapnel in every direction, some of it injuring a few of my comrades.
I already had my binos in hand, and taking advantage of the distraction, I quickly scoped the zone. And there it was, a Mosin-Nagant smiling for me.

"Sniper at 5 o'clock! Second to last building, third floor!" I replied to the platoon leader. Some of my fellow men aimed there on my call, and two got shot down immediately. Yet another RPG was fired, this time at the second Leopard, but the burning remains of the first gave it a macabre cover.

"Got another, same building, fifth floor!" someone shouted from the back.

"That's it, screw the orders!" He grabbed his radio. "Tanks, fire!"

We had orders not to damage the city, no matter the case, but that was too much. The two surviving tanks aligned their turrets, and rained fire on the target. The solid ancient building withstood the impact, but suffered considerable damage. Around twenty seconds later, three armed men ran out of the front doorway, just in time to evade the collapse on the building's façade.

"Fire, fire!"

Enraged by the loss of our comrades, me and my men fired our weapons like madmen, filling the street with a metal storm. Each tank manned their MG 3's and followed suit. We gave them no mercy, no quarter. Two of them were hit, one of them falling right there. When we examined the scene later, we saw more than 50 bullet holes on his body. What a shame...
The other two ran around the street corner, and we, blinded by our fury, carelessly left the theatre's columns and ran after them.

It was a mistake.

They didn't run away. As soon as we got to the middle of the street, they fired another RPG.
I'm… not sure of what happened next. I don't remember well. The next thing I can recall with clarity screaming in pain, covering my eyes, as I was blind, after a squirt of my comrades' own blood hit my face.

When I finally recovered by vision, I saw the swiss-cheesed body of a second man lying on the floor, still with his weapon in hand, at the end of the street.
One left.

I took a deep breath. The mixture of airborne dust and rubble, the smell of burning flesh, fuel, steel and gunpowder made me want to puke. I swallowed it, and aimed by rifle at the street corner, while my comrades depleted magazines like there was no tomorrow.

The man tried to fire another RPG, but his movements were slow: he was hit in the leg while escaping. It was my opportunity. I shot him in the arm, and he violently dropped the RPG, while appearing to fall behind. We rushed towards him, but to my astonishment, he put his other arm out and wildly fired a pistol.
Meanwhile, the platoon leader gave an order I could not hear, and another soldier fired his 40mm grenade launcher at a high angle.
Some seconds later, it exploded behind the corner building. The man flew several meters across the road, crashing in the middle of the street.

We quickly encircled him. He was missing a leg, and would bleed out in a metter of minutes, if not seconds.
Regardless, I, without thinking, aimed my weapon at his head.
I was a soldier, not an executioner. I did not wish to kill someone in such state. But my body wouldn't respond my commands, it seemed consumed by hatred. My muscles were tense, my index was about to press the trigger.

The platoon leader entered the circle, and ordered us to lower our weapons. Twice. If it hadn't been for that, I'm not sure of what would have happened.
He kneeled, and offered the man a cigarette, which he refused. He looked down, then asked:

"My son, why do this? Why waste a young life trying to kill us like we were demonic hordes? We are not here to harm you."

I took a closer look at the man. He was exceptionally young, he couldn't be more than 16 years old. It filled me with shame that we had to end his life so short...

He simply smiled. He looked at us all, with clear and innocent eyes, not a shred of malice in them, after which he then took a long stare at the building to his left: an ancient cathedral, with a high and majestic bell tower. He coughed blood, and tried to say something , which was barely audible.

"The bells... will ring..."

He then tried to take a pistol out of an ankle holster, and we had no choice to but to put him out of his misery.
The last bullet was mine. I couldn't hold it any longer: all the sorrow in my head overwhelmed me. I screamed, and sat there. I felt empty. What was I doing there? Killing another country's youth for what? Terrain, borders, resources? Greedy bastards. Someone ought to destroy them all, before they destroy humanity...

I was pulled back up on my feet, and we regrouped. But only my body was there, my mind was miles away. I came back to my senses when I felt a cold sensation on my left cheek. Snow. It had started to snow...


A/N: Had this short stored in my computer for quite a while. Time to let it out.

You might ask: how the hell is this Ace Combat? Well, if you're familiar enough with it, you should have no problem finding out :)

This was originally intended as a one-shot, but I might continue it. Most likely the stories of other soldiers, but I don't discard the possibility of eventually coming back to this one. After all, it's pretty clear where he's headed...

And, as always, enjoy.