For my country

By: Eric Burnfeild

Ludwig raised his gaze and saw the gun pointed at him. His heart stopped. It was over. He was dead. He was certain of it. Agony spread like poison in his veins and burned like it had never done before. He raised his hands slowly. If he surrendered he would at least have a few more seconds to think.

He thanked god, he thanked the earth that he was born in and he thanked the country that had raised him. But most of all, he thanked the love of his life for helping him to fight this far and prayed that they would meet in the afterlife.

A moment passed. The soldier didn't shoot. He just stood there. Ludwig looked at him trying to see what he was thinking. There was rage in his eyes and Ludwig could almost feel the heat from it. Still, the Frenchman did not shoot. Instead he spoke with a growl.

-x-

Francis had never been a person to loose his cool. He could always calm his nerves within a breath. He held the gun tight and no matter how deep he let the cold air fill his lungs he couldn't stop seeing red. The soldier lifted his head and Francis could see his face. He could see the small cuts from fights pass and the dry skin from the cold. Francis gritted his teeth in disgust, as if by showing his face the German had asked for some kind of pity.

"I should kill you right here. Right now. For what you have done to my country, for what you have done to my men, to my friends, to my family, to my daughter. I should kill you." Francis heart was in his throat. His fists were burning like fire and his head rung like an steel bell. Every cell in his body was screaming to him. Yet there was a cold fear in the back of his spine.

Was he no better then the common devil on the battlefield if he shot him?

His hands were up, he was surrendering. He had given up. The fight was over. If he did pull the trigger the blood would be not the war's, but on Francis' hands. If he shot now, this mans face would never leave Francis' mind. His uniform, the tag on his coat, the black leather boots, all the traits that villainies him would wither in Francis memory. But his face. The man who stood there. The man who had fought and was willing to die for his country. Only to die by the hands of a nurse.

"No..." Francis lowered his gun and spoke quietly to himself. "I will not let myself be turned into a monster. I'm not like you. I'm not."

The man's eyes flickered for a moment. He furrowed his brows and looked down at the gun and then at Francis. Francis looked at the door behind the man and hissed.

"Go. Leave. Get out." Francis was breathing heavily and clenching his fists as he waited for the German to understand. "Leave!" He suddenly dropped in status as he slowly started walking backwards. He reached the door and lowered his right hand to touch the handle. He hesitated, keeping his eyes on Francis for as long as possible. He pushed the door and it creaked by his weight, but it didn't move. His eyes shifted back for just a moment and he pushed again. The door stood still. He looked at Francis with a bit of doubt before he muttered something in German and turned to push the door with his shoulder. Still, it stayed shut.

Francis felt the rage in his body fall to the pit of his stomach. He clenched his teeth and raised the gun again."Leave!"

The German was huge compared to him. If Francis couldn't open the door then the soldier must be able to. He was tall and his broad shoulders told of years of training. Francis felt the sweat in the back of his neck drip down between his shoulder blades. This was bad. Really bad. He had for a moment the madness and blood thirst the war could bring. He had the power to kill in his hand and refused it. If the soldier turned on him Francis would only have one shot before he reached him on the other side of the room. He would die.

Francis felt his arm trembling from having to hold a steady aim. He was so exhausted. This day never seemed to end. He had been walking for miles to get to this point. His vision became hazy if he didn't shift his eyes. He was out of breath without even moving. Francis took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.

As he opened his eyes Francis thought he could see his kitchen window and in it a silhouette. She was curled up in the corner leaning against the glass. Looking out at the fields where the flies and grasshoppers looked like yellow specs as they danced in the tall dry grass. Her blue dress turned green in the warm sunlight and her hair even more copper. She was peeling at the old wooden frames which Francis had painted white so many summers ago. He always told her not to, but she always forgot when she looked at the sun slowly disappearing between the distant trees. Her feet were dirty and dusty from running barefoot on the curly road into the village. In her lap was the neighbors spotted cat that seemed to have made a home in her presence. He remember standing in the door calling her name and she turned. With an excited smile on her lips she called out-

Francis snapped back to reality as the soldier grunted loudly after smashing his shoulder into the door. "Scheiße!" He hit the door with his fist before he collapsed. He was panting hysterically and kept hitting it. With each hit he got weaker. He was whispering to himself between the vast inhales.

"Leave." Francis swallowed and hoped to god he sounded threatening enough.

"Ich kann nicht...Ich kann nicht...Ich kann...Eh...Non... Je n'est-...Nein...Je ne? Scheiße." He sighed deeply and placed his hands behind his head.

Francis felt something cold slither down his spine and land in his stomach. The soldier sat still waiting for him to kill him. They couldn't get out. They were stuck in there. Francis held the gun. There could only be one survivor. Francis watched the soldiers shoulders slowly rising and sinking with his breath. His dirty uniform and his red neck. Francis closed his eyes and felt the trigger. The gun was heavy. Cold despite him holding it for so long. Was it long? It felt like an eternity had passed. Francis saw his kitchen window yet again and the small figure tucking her knee in not to tip the bouquet of wildflowers she picked the day before. He opened his eyes and the soldier had turned his head slightly as if to say that he was ready.

Francis opened his mouth to say something. But the only thing that escaped his lips was air. The soldiers gaze met his. In that moment Francis eyes stung as tears started to form. He couldn't. He had the same eyes as Jacques. Cold and bold.

In that moment Francis yelled to the soldier. The German turned to the door. Francis went closer and put the pipe on his head. He acted quickly and found ammunition on him. Nothing else. Francis took the gun out of his belt and the knife out of his pocket. He checked the bag under the bed. Nothing sharp there. He then looked at the small window. The hinges had long been rusted shut. He swore loudly as he broke it open and as soon as they gave way Francis tossed out the weapons. He saw them disappear into the snow outside and he shut the window again. He took a deep breath and turned to the soldier. He was still and quiet.

Francis sat down on the bed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm not going to kill you. God I'm so stupid." He was sure that the soldier would strangle him in his sleep but he couldn't make himself into a murderer. He spoke calmly. "Turn around. I don't have a gun anymore." The German didn't seem to understand as he faced the door and refused to move. Francis thought quietly. He didn't know much German so what could he say?

Francis felt in his pocket and took out a small white handkerchief and his pen. He tied the two together. "Hey, German man. Ehh... Deutschland!" He reacted to hear his country's name. Francis smiled faintly. Finally the soldier turned and saw the small white flag Francis had created.

He was dumbstruck. His eyes shifted between Francis and the handkerchief. He shook his head and continued to hold his hands high. He uttered words in German and frowned. Francis couldn't understand him and sighed.

"Ich spreche nie Deutsch. "

The German looked puzzled for a moment and answered after a moment of thought.

"Je n'est parles Français. "

Francis nodded and sat quietly looking at the floor. His gaze turned gray after just a moment of still. The German spoke and Francis shook himself out of it. He turned back to him and he was slowly lowering his hands. He seemed to be asking for something. He put his index finger in his hand and then to the window. Francis looked to the window and then understood.

"Yes. I threw them out. Go look for yourself." The soldier shook his head as he didn't seem to understand. Francis put his fingers to his eyes and then to the window. "Look. Look." The soldier rose slowly and kept his hands open as he looked out the window. He sunk like a bag and sighed of relief. His arms rested at his sides and he looked almost longingly to the outside.

Francis felt his head become lighter. Like when he had been drinking. He watched the soldier carefully. Francis questioned if he had made the right choice. He was no fighter, but the German was still dangerous even without a weapon. Francis felt his chest. He was out of breath. Like he had been running forever. Francis tried to catch up but it made it worse.

Then it went black.