Griff's Frozen Heart

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Chapter 1

A desolate landscape stretches in all directions.
The poppies that covered the field only a few days ago were all burnt to ash,
and the butterflies that extolled the beauty of spring are now dead.
The flowers are dead. The butterflies are dead.
The only survivors are soldiers and rats, but they, too, are slowly dying.
The young man's squad is completely surrounded.
Neither retreat nor surrender are permissible in this situation.
This prolonged war has exhausted the army.
They knew from the start that the enemy had the overwhelming advantage
in terms of resources.
Despite it all, the man has maintained battle lines,
but it seems he's reached a limit from which there is no escape.
Artillery bursts in the air. The nighttime battlefield is awash in light.
Gouges dot the earth. Mud, guns and swords, blood and bones,
and screaming soldiers...
The battlefield exists between the boundaries of life and death.
Bullets whiz overhead. The young man hides behind a barricade
as he takes aim at his enemy, his finger resting on the trigger, focusing.
How can he overcome the disparity in resources and win this fight?
Ultimately, as captain, how can he protect his squad?
But the nightmares that constantly replay in his mind hinder his thinking.
They are memories of when he first joined the army.
His own selfish actions in battle led to the death of his entire squad.
He recalls walking among the bodies of his compatriots, crying.
He recalls the smell of burning flesh, the sensation of entrails sticking
to his soles.
To this day, he thinks of that hell every time he loses a soldier.
At this rate, isn't everyone's death inevitable? Just like it was back then?
The worst-case scenario plays in his mind. He shakes his head.
He cannot let the past drag him down, not right now.
He digs his nails into his temples. The pain forces the guilt and fear
to leave his body.
He must do this. Otherwise, he very well may lose his mind.
The battle grows ever more intense, and still, he cannot find an effective
way forward.
It's then that a man wearing an eyepatch appears before him.
The man with the eyepatch grins widely and
points his gun at the young man's chest.
But before the young man can react,
the other man has already pulled the trigger.
A red flower blooms.
A red flower made of cloth bursts from the gun's barrel.
The young man's eyes go wide.
The eyepatch man gives a light chuckle.
You look like hell. Ain't every day I see you like that.
The young man heaves a sigh of both exasperation and relief.
The easygoing eyepatch man is an ally in the same army.
Much like the young man, he commands his own squad.
That he's here means he's finally met with the reinforcements.
Don't you worry. Now that we're together, we'll make it outta here alive.
The young man nods at his encouraging words.
And to himself, he makes a vow.
He will not allow his compatriots to die. Not like last time.
The eyepatch man commands his squad to move to the front.
Timing a precise opportunity for them, he orders a hail of gunfire.
Like a magic trick, smoke and flame bloom to hide him and his allies.
The young man takes advantage of the situation to command his own squad
to press forward and eliminate the enemy.
Despite the strife of the battlefield, the eyepatch man remains calm
and easygoing.
Though his countenance is more akin to a court jester than a soldier,
the young man trusts him all the same.
He boldly cuts his way into the enemy camp, but his eye focuses
more on his own squad than on his enemies.
He rallies the frightened soldiers, keeping tabs on the situation and avoiding
any unnecessarily harsh orders. Now and then,
he volunteers to venture into danger personally.
No matter how brutal the battle, he never forgets the care he holds
for his soldiers. In that regard, he's quite similar to the young man.
The two captains press forward with squads in tow.
But the enemy has an overwhelming material advantage.
Days pass, and enemy reinforcements arrive.
They attack from behind, attempting to occupy the rear.
One can scarcely hear over the raging battle's deafening crescendo.
Their lines of communication fall, and the squad descends into chaos.
Still, the young man and his soldiers fight back in the face of certain death.
They shoot, stab, and pummel every enemy that comes into view.
Stopping is not an option.
They must get through this and send everyone home alive.
They must reorganize their strategy, no matter what it takes.
Night approaches. A flare overhead shines like a firework.
In the red light that bathes the field,
the young man spots an artillery shell headed directly for them.
The nightmares of battle, the fear of killing enemies,
the guilt of dying allies—it all heralds the end.

Chapter 2

Red sky. Bloody footprints. A hellish battlefield.
The young man huddles on the ground, arms covering his head,
his dead compatriots standing around him.
It's the recurring nightmare that slowly consumes him.
Some of the dead are squadmates who perished due to his selfish actions
long ago. Others are soldiers who die due to his powerless now.
With glares of hatred, they point their guns at him.
This is your fault.
We'd have been better off without you.
They batter him with curses, and in unison, they pull their triggers.
......
.........
............
Along with the bullets that riddle his body in the dream comes
a sweet sensation...and then he awakens.
The peculiar ecstasy mixes with the discomfort of his soaked clothes.
Why this dream? Why now?
He suppresses his urge to vomit as he sits up in his hard bed.
It's barely dawn. The room is dim.
He can hear the pitter-patter of rats scurrying about the room.
He looks around.
The enemy's detention house is dark.
He and his soldiers are prisoners—they sleep on a row of beds, a dozen or so.
The young man sits atop the bed in a corner.
A few days prior,
he and his squad found themselves between a rock and a hard place.
The eyepatch man and his squad arrived as reinforcements.
Together, their strategy afforded them a brief advantage.
But once enemy reinforcements arrived, the battle became a deadlock.
As the carnage grew, the chain of command began to collapse.
Amidst the concentrated fire, the young man lost consciousness.
In spite of the looming death, his wounds were not serious.
And in spite of everything, when he awoke,
he found himself a prisoner in this detention camp.
That must've been one hell of a dream.
There came a voice from the bed beside him.
The eyepatch man smiles as he regards the young man.
He and several of his own soldiers have been captured as well.
But the young man does not know what transpired
on the battlefield nor the status of his soldiers.
And, of course, there's no guarantee anyone will leave this terrible place alive.
The thought of his fellows dying sends a shiver down the young man's spine.
He digs his nails into his skin—the sensation of pain may be the only thing
that allows him to maintain his sanity.
But the eyepatch man grasps the young man by the arm to stop him.
He sits beside him and peers into his face.
C'mon, buddy. I'm asking you what's the matter.
His voice inspired his soldiers countless times in that catastrophic battle.
Hearing it for himself, the young man feels a bit calmer.
In my dream, my soldiers killed me.
He reveals his past, his nightmares.
His voice is hoarse, and quiet so he doesn't wake the other soldiers.
Quiet so only the eyepatch man hears him.
Long ago, my actions led to my entire squad dying.
Ever since, I struggle to keep myself composed when I lose a soldier...
He wanted to take his terrible past to the grave.
But considering how the eyepatch man seemed to care genuinely about
the lives of his soldiers, perhaps he would understand.
The young man feels as though he has nothing to lose.
Believe me, I know the feeling.
His one bright blue eye sparkling, he tells the young man his story.
He, too, lost most of his comrades in battle.
He's heard their voices ever since.
Their voices as they burned in the fires of battle.
He had promised that they'd survive together, but before he knew it,
he stood alone amidst their corpses.
There's loathing in his voice for how carefree he lives now.
Be it the past, the present, or the future, no matter where he goes,
that's all there is.
Despite his grim words, the smile on his face is as cheerful as ever.
But the young man realizes that the eyepatch is every bit as stained
by guilt as he is.
Silence settles between them for a time.
Every now and then, airplanes pass overhead like distant thunder,
rattling the windows. Shells whistle through the air like burnt-out stars,
and the glow of fire illuminates the room.
And then—
Death. Death is our only salvation.
At length, the eyepatch man speaks. The shocked young man turns to him.
The corners of his mouth turn upward slightly,
and he pats the young man's shoulder. "Kidding, of course."
We'll survive and get everyone outta here.
You don't wanna lose any more soldiers, right?
Right, the young man tells himself.
They're without rations or doctors in this filthy,
inhumane place where they make even the injured and sick work.
To sit here idly would be tantamount to killing his own soldiers.
They must put together a plan of escape, and soon.
The first light of dawn glows beyond the window.
The eyepatch man gazes at the distant gunfire and begins to him.
It's a song that everyone from their country knows.
Slowly, the sleeping soldiers are roused.
Though not all belong to the same squad, they all share a home.
One by one, they join in the humming, and before long,
everyone in the room is singing.
The guards shout as they rush in to stop them,
but prisoners continue to sing.
The eyepatch man sings even louder in encouragement.
Nobody here has lost hope yet.

Chapter 3

The young man was trapped in a bombardment.
Along with the eyepatch man, who serves as a captain as well,
and a dozen or so of their soldiers, he was detained in a camp.
It's difficult to retain one's humanity in an environment like this.
The young man's spirit wavers, but the eyepatch man inspires him.
The young man, his soldiers,
and all the others still hold fast to the hope that they will see home again.
Beside the detention camp is a barracks, demarcated with barbed wire.
The soldiers stationed there occasionally come to the camp when they have
free time.
What they come to do is, essentially, trade with the captives.
In exchange for stale bread, they receive things from the starving prisoners
they might deem useful.
The prisoners have very little, but a handful of them possess things that are
worth more than bread to the soldiers.
Today, a soldier visits the detention camp.
The blond young man and the eyepatch man hand over their pocket watches
and demand more bread than usual—their sickly fellows need all the nutrients
they can get.
Their earnest gazes grieve for their comrades.
Taking pity on them, the soldier accepts the watches and brings them bread,
as promised.
The two men give their gratitude for the soldier's kindness.
And then, the three of them begin walking around the facility and engaging
in idle chatter.
The soldier speaks with the unarmed, starving prisoners.
He regards them with caution at first.
But he finds the eyepatch man particularly fascinating,
and before he realizes it, he's let his guard down.
He's been led down an empty corridor, a blind spot in the guards' watch.
The young man whirls to punch the soldier.
The sudden attack sends the soldier to the ground.
He reaches to pull a knife from his boot, but the young man straddles him,
depriving him of movement.
The soldier attempts to yell for help, but hands quickly clamp around his throat.
The young man then grabs the knife and stabs him repeatedly until his life
is extinguished.
The last thing he saw...
Was the young man's faint smile.
I've done a terrible thing, the young man thinks as he looks over the
soldier's corpse.
An enemy though he was, the last thing the young man wanted was to take
a life outside of the battlefield.
But this is the day they've been waiting for—when the enemy soldier
with the storehouse key visits the camp.
All of their confiscated items are being held in storage,
including their weapons, according to one prisoner.
They will arm themselves there. They must.
The young man searches the soldier's clothes for the key and finds it.
He exchanges glances with the eyepatch man,
and they nod in confirmation.
If they remain here like they're supposed to, they'll never be able to send
their soldiers home alive.
That is the conclusion they came to. And so, they have opted to take action.
The young man has his soldiers, and several other P.O.W.s have been
nterned here before them.
If they all work together, they might just make it out.
The two captains take their chances, putting everything on the line.
The young man takes the keys and a gun from the soldier.
The bullets tear through the guards who watch the storehouse.
And on the eyepatch man's signal,
their fellow soldiers rush into the armory.
They take their guns and begin readying themselves for an uprising.
But the guards respond to the commotion much faster than the young
man anticipated.
A hail of bullets flies toward the storehouse.
They duck for cover with little opportunity to poke their heads out.
But they're prepared for this.
Wanna do this?
The eyepatch man asks the young man, who nods in response.
The two step forward, pistols at the ready.
They pay little heed to the bullets that graze their skin and dig holes into
the earth beside them.
They pull their triggers and kill their enemies,
risking their lives to save their allies.
If they can't manage that much, they have no right to live.
The eyepatch man has made the same resolve, the young man believes.
He, too, lost many of his squadmates in battle. Theirs is a shared past.
His deadly bullets tear through the enemy's heads, faces, necks, hearts.
He shoots their hands carrying their guns, their fleeing legs,
their sobbing eyes, their screaming mouths.
Are you smiling?
The eyepatch man asks the young man.
There's no way I'm smiling, he thinks to himself,
but curiosity gets the better of him, and he brings his hand to his face.
And for the first time, he realizes he is indeed smiling.
It's nothing to worry about, the eyepatch man says.
You killed the enemy to save your soldiers.
That's every reason to smile, he says.
And so he, too, does the same—shoots an enemy soldier, then smiles.
Their smiles look much the same, both hiding the fear that they may lose one
of their own.
Then, they hurl grenades at the enemy and rush them.
They pull their triggers without mercy,
quickly turning the soldiers on the opposite side into corpses.
The two captains' silhouettes flicker in the hellfire.
The men who were mere prisoners only moments ago are now raging demons
in the eyes of the enemy soldiers.
They make their escape from the storehouse.
From there, prisoners from other countries join in the uprising.
They foresee victory in the young man's actions and declare their cooperation.
Pressing forward, they take weapons from the dead soldiers.
And at the end of the prolonged firefight,
they manage to take control of the armory in the barracks.
A few hours pass.
All that remains in the silent battlefield are the charred remains of the barracks
and the detention camp. The only survivors: the young man and his allies.
Together, they cheer and share in their joy,
but the young man cautions them—they should leave before pursuers arrive.
But when he realizes all of his squad has survived,
the tension in his body melts away.
Pain previously suppressed by adrenaline now bubbles to the surface.
Only now does he realize he's suffered a gunshot wound to his leg.
He is but a breath from collapse, but the eyepatch man keeps him up.
The young man gives his thanks and the older man murmurs.
Maybe our nightmares are a thing of the past now...
The young man gives a nod.
With the battle won, he gets to hear the laughter of his soldiers—a sweeter
sound he cannot imagine.
And so, they set off on the road to home.

Chapter 4

After getting caught up in a bombardment on the battlefield,
the soldiers were captured and taken to a detention camp.
But under the command of the two captains—the blond young man and the
man with the eyepatch—they rose to action and made a successful escape.
They celebrated their survival and safely returned to their home country.
This all took place in late summer.
The young man reunites with the squadmates he parted ways
with on the battlefield.
They survived the brutal fight and returned home alive.
Their survival is like a dream come true to the young man,
and his relief is immeasurable.
He had once led his entire squad to annihilation. But not this time.
Together with the eyepatch man,
he receives a medal of honor and a promotion.
They successfully carried out an operation that made up
for the overwhelming resource disadvantage of the previous battle
and freed the prisoners of war—successes held in high esteem.
These are accolades completely unlike the ones he bitterly received
in the past after the deaths of his squadmates. Rather,
these were things he earned as a result of protecting his soldiers.
The two captains are showered with praise at the medal ceremony.
They are heroes.
Bright rays of summer light beam through the windows of the lavish
ceremony venue.
This beautiful morning blesses their honor and the miracle operation.
In his ceremonial garb, the admiration of onlookers is palpable
to the young man.
After the ceremony, he leaves—there's somewhere he needs to go.
Somewhere that lies beyond the dark forest in the far corner of the city.
A place he's been so many times he can practically find his way there
with his eyes closed.
It's the military graveyard, the place where his fallen squadmates slumber.
Step by step, he makes his way toward the graves as if drawn by something.
And there's our answer, eh?
A voice comes from behind him—the very same voice that soothedand
inspired him time and again in the detention center.
He turns around, and there he finds the eyepatch man, his friend in arms.
His one eye, blue as the summer sky, stares straight at him.
Our answer?
Answer... The young man meditates on the word.
That's right—they have their answer.
They both lost so many squadmates due to their mistakes.
They both vowed not to commit the same sin again.
And so they proceeded to kill their enemies to protect their own.
At last, their vows were fulfilled.
Every soldier they commanded in the previous battle returned home safely.
Every ally held in the detention center successfully escaped.
They received medals.
They were lauded as heroes.
All was right.
They now stand atop the path they dreamed to walk.
They now stand in the light.
And yet...the nightmares do not cease.
Reflected in the young man's eyes is not only the eyepatch man before him
but the countless ghosts of his fallen men.
He still hears them. He still hears their curses.
He still hears them dragging him to the depths of hell.
Indeed, they have their answer.
No matter how much they look after their allies,
no matter how they risk their lives for them,
the damage has already been done.
The nightmares will never end. They have no destination.
Everything boils down to regret. Penitence. Guilt. Despair.
Whether they stand on a battlefield or in the light, that is all they have.
The notion occurred to him the moment he was called a hero in the ceremony.
But you know how to escape this hell, don't you?
The eyepatch man speaks.
He steps toward the young man, his eye examining him.
What you know, I know. And what I know, you know.
The young man stares silently back.
The affection he has for the other man drains from him at once.
This is a man who has saved him in battle countless times.
They both risked their lives to save their allies.
The warmth he felt in those moments is now completely absent.
But that, too, is a given, he realizes.
Much in the way he cannot love himself,
he bears no love for a man with the same sins as him.
But he is a special compatriot.
Perhaps he can grant him this wish just once.
The eyepatch man smiles.
The young man knows exactly what he wants.
He presses the barrel of his gun to the man's chest.
And without a moment's hesitation, he pulls the trigger.
The summer sun bathes the man's corpse,
lying among the blue flowers in golden light.
His face glows. He slumbers like an innocent boy.
As the young man looks down at him, he smiles in defeat.
Death truly is their only salvation, isn't it?
He then brings his gun to his temple.
A sweet numbness coats the skin where the warm barrel presses
against him.
Hurry, hurry! urges the trigger.
Flowers bloom on the battlefield.
Butterflies dance beneath an azure sky.
A gentle breeze puffs over the horizon.
And in the distance, his squadmates laugh.
The young man bids farewell to a flickering past.
And then he pulls the trigger.

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