The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Hayes silently zipped up his bag and turned to look at Hashet, who simply smiled and waved at him.

He waved back, then picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked through the crowd without a word. Suddenly, he saw his commander.

Arnie's armor was no longer pristine and new; it was covered in battle scars. His left shoulder, right knee, and left ribs were damaged, and dried blood had formed black clots at the joints.

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He seemed to be inspecting the camp. Even the Crusader guards around him had dwindled from twenty to only three or four, all wounded, a testament to the ferocity of the previous battle.

Then, Arnie noticed Hayes and beckoned him over.

Hayes jogged over, puffed out his chest, and saluted.

"Commander!"

Arnie's pale and weary face broke into a smile, as if seeing the company's "lucky charm" had lifted his spirits.

"Hayes, you're alive. That's great."

He then noticed the bag on Hayes's shoulder and back, and, realizing something, nodded.

"Well, you've already given a lot. It's just a bit of a shame; I was hoping to get you a soldier's medal."

Hayes lowered his hand, and after a moment of silence, he boldly faced his commander for the first time.

"Commander, why are we still holding here? Why are we waiting here to die?"

Arnie gave a bitter smile and reached out to pat Hayes on the head.

"Because it's an order. We're ordered to hold the line. Until we receive the order to retreat, we have to hold, even if we're down to the last man."

Hayes wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words.

Arnie then patted him on the shoulder.

"Hayes, you've been allowed to leave the battlefield, but I hope you'll remember the brave men and the glorious moments of your service."

With that, he turned and left.

Hayes stood there blankly for a while, then turned around as well. But after only a few steps, he saw Habry, the big guy. His left hand was gone from the elbow down, and he was leaning weakly against a box, wrapped in bandages, seemingly asleep. Hayes knew Habry was terrified of pain, and this injury must be terrible for him.

He felt something pricking at his conscience.

After another two steps, he saw Winter, the boy, who was looking down and sorting ammunition with bandages wrapped around his waist and head, seemingly sobbing softly.

Hayes walked over and gently patted him on the shoulder. Winter looked up and said in surprise:

"Hayes, Brother Hayes! You you're awake!"

Hayes nodded.

"Yeah, lucky to be alive."

"That's good but everyone else"

Winter turned to look at the helmets piled haphazardly to one side. Many of them showed horrific damage, with tears and punctures.

"There are so few left in the company. Brother Pike is dead, Commissar Aye is dead are we all going to die here?"

Hayes looked at the helmets and was silent for a long time, then reached out his hand.

"Winter, give me your expeditionary manual. And see me off."

Winter didn't know what was happening, but he handed Hayes the manual and followed him toward the almost deserted transport station, where a train loaded with wounded soldiers and flatcars was waiting.

On the way, Winter talked a lot with Hayes. He mentioned his last meal with his family before leaving. That evening, he had no idea what was coming. When he returned home after feeding the livestock, he found his parents and sisters sitting in the kitchen waiting for him, and it was clear that they had all been crying. Their eyes were red and swollen with grief.

At first, he was curious as to why they were crying, until he saw the enlistment notice with the black border lying quietly on the table between them. The Imperial Eagle on the surface said it all.

That meal was exceptionally lavish. The frying pan simmering on the stove emitted the smoky aroma of meat and the delicious scent of his favorite foods.

But Winter admitted that he couldn't taste anything, because at that moment he suddenly realized that no matter how many years he had left in his life, those same aromas would now forever be associated with a feeling of desperate sadness.

Then he talked about his mother's anxiety when he was sick as a child, how she was helpless and could only hold him and pray to the Emperor until his father brought a doctor.

And then there was the effort he and his father put into moving and building a new water pump. He even broke his head doing it, leaving a shallow scar, and his mother blamed his father for it for a long time.

Their lives seemed to repeat themselves day after day, changing only with the seasons, yet there were always unforgettable details. That was the meaning of family, giving some real meaning to a seemingly monotonous life, something Hayes had never had or, rather, would never understand.

But he suddenly realized the goal of all the wars he had experienced. It was like a fog lifting before his eyes. It had nothing to do with faith or honor, but simply fighting for those who could not fight.

An officer smoking a cigarette waited impatiently at the front of the train. Seeing the two of them, he immediately shouted:

"Hurry up! You're the last ones! Or I'm leaving! The heretics are coming any minute now!"

"Brother Hayes, are you leaving?"

Winter looked at the flatcar with a hint of envy, then his voice dropped. In fact, he had already guessed that Hayes wouldn't come to this place for no reason.

"Then then can you take a message to my family?"

Before he could finish, Hayes shoved the pass into Winter's hand and pushed him forward.

"You go back and tell them yourself."

Winter was stunned. His mind almost didn't react. Hayes simply opened his expeditionary manual, punched a hole in the last page, and tossed it to him.

"Winter, you don't belong to the war. You belong to the farmland, family, and relatives. Let these war memories stay on paper."

Winter caught the expeditionary manual and asked blankly:

"Then what about you, Brother Hayes?"

Hayes smiled and replied, his tone extremely relaxed, as if he were talking about a trivial matter.

"I want to be with my father, with my comrades, my commander, my company."

"Hurry up!!! Or I'm leaving!!!"

Hearing the whistle, Winter hesitated for a moment, then finally turned and ran toward the officer, trembling as he handed the pass to him. The officer didn't even look at it and let him get on the train. Then the flatcar slowly started moving. Winter ran to the end of the car and waved his arms vigorously.

"Brother Hayes! You must survive!!!!"

Hayes smiled and waved goodbye, then turned around. He could already hear the frenzied roars in the wind, and the distant sound of gunfire, but he was used to it. All the loneliness, struggle, and despair had disappeared, replaced by an unprecedented sense of detachment and tranquility.

He had his relatives, his family, a "identity" in the truest sense of the word.

War can't hurt him anymore.

War will never scare him again.

The young soldier held the small red angel statue in his hand and walked firmly toward the battlefield, disappearing into the endless noise.