Hope among the ruins (EN) ✅

Chapter 5

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"Try to rest, miss," asked the dark-skinned guy.

"I don't promise."

"You have to get up early in the morning."

"I get up early every morning," I shot back, narrowing my eyes a bit and walking past him, but after pausing, I turned to the soldier. "Like every night, I go to bed late. Sometimes I don't even sleep all night. And not just because every third night I get a night watch. But also because of what is happening in this difficult period."

"You're not alone, miss," he tried to sympathize with me. 'It is a difficult period for all of us now."

"Private James died tonight," I shot back.

"What?"

"You probably didn't know that? How could you if he was sent on a secret mission and the command didn't even care that the enemy was only five feet from where he was sent. They do not care about the lives of any of you, even though they claim to be defending the country from the enemy."

"Miss..."

"No," I extended my hand to the boy and closed my eyes tightly and took a deep breath of polluted air, then exhaled and opened my eyes. Tears began to well up in his eyes. "No need. No sympathy. I don't need anything. Our deepest sympathies go out to the children, parents, siblings, grandparents and other relatives left behind for whose lives you are all fighting, and who hope that you all return home safe and sound. And who suffer when they learn that their son, brother, grandson, lover, fiancé, husband and father of their children have died senselessly at the hands of the enemy."

The dark-skinned, tall soldier did not answer. He just stared at me with his almost black eyes and probably already began to wonder in his mind whether I might be out of my mind. It probably was. I was already starting to think I was going crazy. It is quite possible that seeing so many victims of war and the death of innocent people and soldiers, my mind began to no longer distinguish truth from lies, reality from fantasy.

"Forgive me. I shouldn't have snapped," I apologized, looking away somewhere and without even looking to see if the paratrooper was still looking at me with that strange, disbelieving look, I walked into the room where we were all sleeping together on bunks placed just an inch apart.

This is always the case in war: it doesn't matter if you are a soldier, a military medic or a lieutenant - at night we all sleep in the same room, next to each other.

And no one cares that maybe it annoys you that the neighbor to your left spoils the air every five minutes, and the one to your right snores all night.

Lying down on my couch, which had become a bed, I curled up in the flimsy bed, which was already soaked with sweat, dust and dirt, so that it would hardly ever be washed and become again as white as snow, as it was before.

I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep immediately, but the frozen look of James appeared in my imagination. The moment he breathed his last. His quiet, peaceful death in the context of war should have been more comforting, but I couldn't understand why it affected me so much.

I won't be able to sleep. No way.

Although no one attacked us for a week, the Germans seem to have calmed down for a while, because they are probably just now planning how to resist us again, but we cherished those moments when we could rest for at least a few days. Despite the fact that our platoon leadership keeps sending foot soldiers on secret missions and at least one of them returns with a cloud of death, we still have a lot of work to do as military nurses and medics. We nurse and treat the wounded, the sick, or those just returning from those secret missions.

I decided to stop trying to sleep, I still couldn't. So I left the bedroom and went to the same military SUV I was standing by a few hours ago before Scarlet called me to the hospital room.

Even before Private James died.

The whiskey bottle was no longer placed next to the tire. One of the passengers must have thrown it. Leaning against the front of the car, I looked again at the pink sky, which is slowly shining.

I was still thinking about why people go to war with each other instead of deciding to come to an amicable settlement. Why is there so much strife in this world? Why so much anger and evil? Why do people act as if they are immortal?

I have so many questions and all of them will never be answered. Those who start wars probably don't even know why they cause conflicts and strife, why they decide that they are the masters of this planet and everyone must obey them.

Suddenly, I heard someone nearby as if breaking windows. I lifted my leg to take out the knife I carry everywhere with me from my high-heeled shoe. In my other hand, I took the pistol that I pulled from the passenger seat of the SUV. I don't know what kind of stupid soldier left this gun unattended, but it will make me.

As I crouched down and walked towards the place where I heard the sound of breaking glass, I put both hands forward, one holding a sharp bladed knife and the other a black heavy pistol.

It was fortunate that I was trained in military operations. All those who are responsible for the soldiers and other crew members coming to the army also make sure that absolutely everyone is trained. Even people like military medics.

I quietly crept up and hid behind the corner of the building and crouched down a bit. As I watched closely, I noticed a soldier entering the canteen building. But he was dressed in a completely different uniform than ours.

The uniform of the soldiers of the United States of America is made of cotton. The uniform was a greenish-gray yellow color. Sometimes they also changed to gray clothes, which were made of wool. The boots were long-legged, made of very good, strong and waterproof leather and laced with laces, but such military boots were worn by soldiers of almost all states. Only the color of those shoes was always different.

If the American soldiers wore light brown boots, the British wore the same boots, only in black or dark green.

The soldiers of the United Kingdom wore the same uniform and made of the same material. Only the color of their uniform was light brown. Of course, both the Americans and the British also wore caps with beaks according to the colors of their clothing. Sometimes they also put on helmets, but it was the colors of the helmets that differed from their outfits.

The American helmets were dark green and the British dark grey.

All Soldiers: Both American and British uniforms were marked with the flags of their countries sewn into the right shoulder of the jackets.

Well, this guy... He was dressed in a dark green one-piece outfit. The difference was that his pants were flared from the hips to the knees and tapered from the knees to the ankles. He wore a black belt around the waist of his jacket, to which he had attached quite a few weapons. Not to mention he was holding one of them.

He was wearing a black helmet. Even from afar, I could see the blushing swastika sticker on the front of that headgear.

How did I understand who he was and where he came from?

However... how?

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