Soldiers on our side also started to prepare to retreat while others remained to stand guard on the battlefield. People with fatal injuries were brought immediately back to the camp to receive medication. We, Sergeant Charlotte's squad, on the other hand, began departing back to the camp. Everyone at the back of the truck started sleeping due to exhaustion brought from the exchange of gun fires that lasted for six hours. The sun started to set when we arrived back. No one even bothered to eat and just rested in the tent. I went to General Roger's tent for him to call Mr. Aaron to fix my right arm.
"General Roger," I said, entering the tent. "I have returned,"
"Mhmm? Oh, if isn't it my beloved nephew. You're here early," General Roger who was about to sip his cup said, sitting in his chair. "What's the report?"
...Is 'beloved nephew' necessary? And what did he mean by 'early'? Did he expect us to be there until tomorrow? Then, if by any chance, I didn't come up with an idea of throwing rocks at them, would they still be attacking the North till tomorrow morning... No, for days?
Conflicts between countries, I truly don't understand it...
"Did Sergeant Charlotte not report to you yet?" I asked. "I saw her leaving this tent earlier."
"Well, yeah. But I want to hear what happened to you."
"I killed for the first time. I felt nothing as I pulled my trigger. Killing all the ones I see in my field of vision.
"Am I even worthy to take someone's life as if it was just nothing..." I said my thoughts out loud.
"..." General Roger stared at me, not muttering a word.
"...Pay no mind to what I just said –"
"Even humans have difficulty dealing with this thing called 'emotions'... Some people even die for the reason of it." he cut me off, turning his back on me. He took a single sip of his cup and started talking. "...I also remembered the first time I killed someone with my own two hands. Every time I remember that scene in my head, I threw up. 'What if that person has a family to return to?' 'What if that person did that kind of thing because of some good reason' 'What if that person didn't forgive me until now?' – Questions like that kept running through my head over and over again. Eventually, guilt and fear ate me for days to the point I can't even swallow my food properly..." He paused for a bit, turning his chair to face me forward. "I also ask that question myself over and over again – 'Am I even worthy to take someone's life as if it was just nothing?' Emotions can kill somebody... Just be grateful you don't have to suffer from it..."
"..." I just stood there silent as I watch him talk with such a serious tone.
He took another sip from his cup and smiled. "Anyways, what's wrong with your right arm?" he said, changing the topic. "You walked in here while that thing was swinging back and forth, are you practicing a dance?" he laughed.
"Unfortunately, I'm not," I replied. "It broke while I was fighting in the North."
"You got shot?" he asked, looking at my arm intently.
"We ran out of ammo, so I threw rocks at them. It seems I overdid it and then it broke."
"Damn... I can't get bored listening to you," he laughed, "Wait a minute, I'll call Aaron to get your arm fixed."
"...Understood."
I expected him to shout at me. I got laughter instead...
Twenty minutes had passed since General Roger called Mr. Aaron.
I heard faint fast stomping outside the tent that gradually became louder as if it was getting closer and closer to us. Somebody dashed through our tent, heavily breathing. It was Mr. Aaron carrying a toolbox. "Jacob?!" he shouted.
