"Chapter2: The Life We Lead Holds A Sadness

Four days passed without incident and without Bella seeking out the boy again. He told himself that he had only gone that first time out of morbid curiosity and that there was no reason to do so again. But the boy's parting words worked on him and would not let him rest. So he went.

"Here, sir," the young soldier said calmly. "The prisoner was stable enough to be moved to one of the genuine cells here, so we wait to see what you will decide is best for the situation."

"Thank you," Bella said in Spanish. "Are you having any other trouble than what you've told me?"

The soldier shook his head. "No." He looked as if he was going to continue but then seemed to reconsider. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"Well, sir, usually we have a lot of problems with the prisoners. You know, the yelling, the protesting, the crying. Some even endanger themselves. But this one—he doesn't speak, doesn't do anything. He's refusing the food we're setting out. We are concerned that he is trying to starve himself to death."

Bella recognized the true meaning behind the words: they were simply afraid of losing a valuable prisoner. Giving the man a curt nod, he dismissed the young man and continued on his way.

The boy was seated cross-legged on the solitary bunk of the cell, gazing stoically at the opposite wall, a look of deep brooding on his face. He didn't move and Bella took his time moving closer, considering.

Although Bella had left in fury those few days ago, now it was more of an irritation at the boy's insults. But it was an irritation that was, again, mixed with shame. The boy's words had stayed with him, especially the ones that had accused him of being a murderer.

Was that really all he was? Did he really kill those who were defenseless? A part of him denied such thoughts readily, but his conscience, long-submerged by duty, told him differently. But how could he be nothing but a killer? He was a loving husband, and a kind father to three children! How could he be a murderer if he loved? His conscience always replied that although he loved his family he still spilled innocent blood. And how could that not be considered murder?

It left him feeling cold inside. After all he had done, after the life he had lived, after all the wars he had fought in, this war was forcing him to doubt all what he believed in.

Damn the boy. Bella knew the instant that he had let him go that he himself had somehow fundamentally changed in ways he had yet to understand. Mercy had spoken aloud when he spared the boy's life and now it would not stop whispering to him, telling him to stop the killing. Ignoring the voice of mercy was futile now.

Jed came out of his thoughts when he heard the sounds of footsteps outside the prison cell. Looking up he saw it was the stranger who had come and talked with him before. He didn't move.

"I make it my business to know what prisoners are doing, boy," the man finally said. "What would my commanders think if they heard one wasn't cooperating?"

Jed stiffened. "And does it make your business when someone refuses?" he retorted. "You may believe you're God, but you aren't."

Surprisingly, the man did not rise to the bait with that—he instead replied in a completely different way. "And you are not either, boy, which means you cannot sustain yourself without food and drink."

Bella watched the boy's face close off again, his blue eyes flat. "I guess that all depends on whether you want to live or not."

Now Bella felt irritated. "This will solve nothing. Either you will eat voluntarily or you will be forced to."

Jed laughed now, a laugh that was biting and bitter. "You really must think you're God. It's not up to you to decide who lives and who dies. I'm not even that important anyway."

"On the contrary, you are. You are the leader of the Wolverines. You led the attacks that killed so many. You know the surrounding land, and you know how to survive here."

That did surprise Jed. He cursed himself for showing his surprise but there was no stopping the way he straightened and frowned. He considered retorting that he wouldn't help the ones who killed everything he had loved, but couldn't summon the energy. He did nothing ultimately but snort quietly, looking entirely indifferent.

Bella cocked his head. "What is your name?" The boy simply frowned at him again, thrown by the random question.

It was silent for a long moment with the two of them simply looking at one another, then finally the boy sighed and gave in. "Jed Eckert."

Bella's chin rose. "I am Colonel Ernesto Bella."

The boy—Jed Eckert—raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous, isn't it, telling the enemy your name?"

"And yet you have told me yours."

Jed shrugged. "I have nothing left to lose, Colonel. My family is dead, my home destroyed… And I really doubt that there's much hope in a life spent here, if I live that long."

'Which you doubt.' Bella did not voice his opinion aloud, yet he couldn't help but think it. It was probably true—prisoners rarely lived long in places such as these, especially the high-spirited ones.

He did something then that he did only around his own children: he softened his tone. "So why won't you eat?"

Jed looked back at him. "Maybe because I'm not hungry." It was a heavily sarcastic retort, but when he saw Bella made no move to show if he was irritated by the response, he decided to answer truthfully. What did he have to lose, anyway? "Colonel Bella, I am nineteen years old and I've seen more things in my life than most people my age should see. I've killed men and not given a second's thought about it, just as I've seen my friends and family gunned down in front of me. After all that, you begin to wonder what makes life worth living."

Bella mulled over those words carefully. He thought he understood the boy's sentiments but he couldn't say he entirely sympathized with him. After all, if he could be believed, this "Jed Eckert" had no family left, no home to go to. Bella had both waiting for him. This boy had no one. "Surely you must have some purpose left in life if you were spared?"

Jed looked at him again, and suddenly understanding and realization flared in his gut. His guard fell away, and he suddenly looked very young. "It was you that night, wasn't it?" he asked softly. "It was you who spared my life when I was carrying Matt away."

Bella wasn't sure what he felt about the question—whether it was anger that the boy had figured that out, or trepidation of being called a hypocrite, or relief that he didn't have to pretend ignorance anymore. He settled on the relief. "Yes."

"Why?"

The simple word asked a lot.

Bella paused again, not quite understanding why he was explaining this to an enemy. Little did he know that when sparing Jed's life that night, he had created a bond between them, one that had changed their opinions about other people and of life itself. It was not a bond that would create an easy, trusting relationship in any sense; it was instead the simple knowledge that there was a debt between them. And the sparing of a single life can rock even the sturdiest of lives. It would be years before Bella came to realize this.

For the present, he merely told the truth the way he saw it. 'Because, Jed Eckert, that night I did not see the leader of the Wolverines. I did not see an enemy soldier who was a threat to me and my men. I saw instead saw a young man who was simply trying to get a fallen comrade out of danger. You showed love that night, a brother's love. And I couldn't raise my hand against that."

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Another week passed. Bella was busy reorganizing the chaotic city, just finishing the burial of the dead. Bratchenko's body had not been completely found, and Strelnikov's was being shipped back to Russia for an honored burial. Due to this, he spent very little time thinking about the young prisoner still held in the jail house.

Jed, for his part, had nothing to do except for lying there looking at the ceiling. After the talk with Colonel Bella, Jed spent his time reevaluating his opinions of the man. He had begun to eat again, more out having nothing else to do than actually being hungry. Daylight came and went, but he never saw it; the building had no windows, only overhead lights, but it did not matter if it was night or day: the memories still came. Nightmares accompanied sleep. Guilt hounded him during waking moments. The guards had long since stopped taunting him after finding he refused to rise to their bait; he simply laid on the shallow bunk in a restless stupor, wondering when something would give.

Finally he heard footsteps approach his cell door. Lethargy was settled on him heavily and he didn't bother looking over until he heard the door open.

Of course the boy was still in Bella's thoughts. When he was resting, his act of compassion hounded him until finally he could stand it no longer. This problem would have to be settled once and for all. After finishing his paperwork one blustery day, he left the offices and made his way over to the jail. In his belt he placed a loaded pistol. He made his way through the dark hallways and past the empty cells until he came to the one that housed the boy, who he saw was stretched out on the bunk. He looked over slowly when Bella opened the door.

"Get up," Bella snapped, and grabbed his forearm tightly when the boy was on his feet. He saw his charge did not look confused or even frightened in the least. Resigned, perhaps, but clearly untroubled by what was going to happen.

No words were spoken as they stepped outside. As it was a Saturday, the citizens of the town were all at home. Only a few witnessed the tall, black-haired Cuban colonel escorting a young brown-haired prisoner at gunpoint out to the city limits. The ones who did see this sight only shook their heads in sadness; they also knew what the boy's fate was going to be.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Colonel Bella stopped. They were now far beyond the outskirts of Calumet, with only the dry, frozen plains surrounding them. A wind picked up, ruffling Jed's unruly hair and rippling the sleeves of Bella's jacket. He released his hold on the boy's arm and stepped back, lifting the pistol up coldly.

"You knew this was going to happen sooner or later."

Jed nodded slowly. "I knew it. I only wondered why it hadn't happened yet."

"Then you understand that it won't happen today, either."

Jed blinked, then frowned in confusion, not understanding what the colonel was talking about. After a long moment, however, realization sank in. he couldn't help but grin at Bella's convincing performance.

"You're risking your life for me, Colonel?" He found that hard to believe, even for a communist who was maybe rethinking his position in the war. "You do realize how dangerous this is, don't you?" It was more than that, however; he may have had a couple of meaningful conversations with this man but that didn't mean he trusted him. Daryl Bates's fatal betrayal of the group was still fresh in his mind. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Bella didn't grin, but the look in his eyes softened. "You can't. You know that. The question is, can you trust yourself?"

There it was, that one word: 'trust'. Over the past few months Jed had had certainly placed his trust in a lot of things. Six people had ended up dead.

Bella watched Jed carefully; the question he had asked was troubling the boy greatly.

Finally Jed frowned again and shook his head. "Why are you doing this?"

"I would think it would be obvious, don't you? I am just as tired of this war as you are. I am resigning this day—I am going back to Cuba. I let you go now because I would like to believe I am perhaps not so heartless as I am thought to be. So I am giving you the chance to begin again. People in the town will believe you dead. My superiors will concede. Perhaps by letting you go, I hope to someday have taken the first step in healing the wounds of this war." He offered the pistol up. "Go to Free America. Find the friends you have there. Perhaps someday you will be able to forgive us for the hurts we have committed against you."

Those were the words that finally moved Jed from his motionless surprise, and he was able to uproot his feet from the ground. He accepted the pistol. "Thanks."

Bella knew the boy had not forgiven him or the other Communists for their acts against him, and perhaps he never would: scars like these took a whole lifetime to heal. But at least he could see now that humanity still existed.

And that realization changed everything.

"So I'm being exiled." Jed's voice was flat. It was not a question.

And finally a surprisingly bitterly ironic smile flitted across the Cuban's face. "I would think you would have realized it before now, Jed Eckert. In the eyes of the town of Calumet, you are dead, a victim of soviet cruelty. Just as your friends and family were."

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A/N: The scene in which Bella lets Jed go is the most breathtaking scene of the entire film, in my opinion, so much so that it still brings tears to my eyes. For years I struggled to put in words what I believe happened in that scene—what Bella says here about it is what I see: simply two downtrodden, world-weary men looking each other in the eyes and seeing not an inferior animal or an enemy, but simply someone who perhaps understands. Seriously, if you have never seen this movie, watch it for this one scene. That is one thing of the remake that I was severely disappointed in: that they did not have any kind of moment in it like Jed and Bella have in the original.