Grandeur Defector

XXVII

Truffles didn't get much sleep.
Overthinking and wrought with idiosyncrasy, he could already hear the morning guard's patrolling the perimeter. It wouldn't be long until another day would officially begin, and the mortar of war would be relit like a candle on its dying wisps. Exhausted even before the day had begun, the blue tiger sat up grumpily on his cot, not looking forward to a new 24 hour day cycle.
This war feels like we're all trapped in a time loop that will never end.

Unsurprisingly, the light of dawn signaled day-walkers to awaken, and just like the day before, Flippy knocked on his tent. Truffles sighed.
It is... going to be a long day.

...

10 soldiers, including Truffles as the caboose, walked in a straight line down the hill and west. They held their guns high like trophies, their garrison caps reflecting the late autumn's sun rays. Although there were no words spoken, everyone was worried.
Today was new.
10 men were given the task of investigating signs of a campfire a few miles away. Though the weather was cloudy and cool, a few mile's walk was a struggle to most on rough terrain. The tall grass around them had already begun to die, turning brown and yellowish-grey; there would be less cover from enemy bullets, and more death on the horizon. The sky overhead had an overcast, cloudy with some sun rays peeping through.
Ever since Truffles had started joining side missions, crows began trailing behind. Today it was three in the sky above, circling, waiting. The idea of more unnecessary death made his stomach knot.

I'm nervous again.
Breathe, breathe.

The precise location of the smoke's trail into the sky was just up ahead, and those who led in the front were noticeably stiff. But one, the only one who wasn't, was Warren.

"Keep n' eye out," he grumbled, fiddling with his sergeant stripes on his uniform sleeves.

As all 10 of them made their way around the brush, the line suddenly halted. Men immediately drew their guns in defense; Truffles heard Flippy's familiar growl of warning close by.
Flippy, Warren, and Mouse are here with me. I don't recognize anyone else in this squad.

A small voice cut through the silence.
"Mẹ? Bạn đã đi đâu?"
'Mom? Where did you go?'

Truffles flicked his ear and flinched, instantly recognizing his mother-tongue language. The fur on his tail spiked as men around him— none of which understood what the voice had said— exchanged glances of confusion.
Truffles squeezed his way to the front of the line, earning confused yelps and annoyed glares of blatant disobedience. Warren noticed him and whispered in a rushed intensity.
"The fuck are you doing? Get back here pussy cat!"

Truffles didn't obey.
He stood at last at the front of the line and inhaled.

"Xin chào?"
'Hello?'

Silence, then.

"Mẹ!"
'Mom!'

A little orange tiger came running from the bush, her tiny frame fragile. She wore a worker's dress, one with overalls in a light tan shade. She had a small scratch on her leg, dried already with blood clotting. The little girl stopped and looked Truffles dead in the eyes.
She screamed.
And he knew why.
The dark grey-blue uniform he wore symbolized evil itself, responsible for infancies and slaughtering of the thousands— if not, millions. Perhaps not by his own hands, but a child's perception was warped in innocence; now, it was warped with pure fear.
I have no doubt that she's a refugee trying to find her mother to flee The Tiger Nation. I look terrifying to this poor child. It does not help that there are 9 strangers in strange green and tan attire behind me, foreign soldiers she has no understanding of.

"Không không, đợi đã!"
'No no, wait!'

Truffles called after her as she took a step back, tears welling in her eyes in terror.
He heard the men behind him undo their safety locks on their guns, already prepared to do what they must. Truffles faced them with fear, throwing his hands up to block Warren from taking a step towards the child.
"W-Wait, I can talk to her."