Forgotten Dreams of Eternity: Lost Odyssey: Thousand Years of Dreams

(Short Story -IX.) *The Talkative Mercenary*

Forgotten Dreams of Eternity: Lost Odyssey: Thousand Years of Dreams

Copyright © 2011 Sky_Knight

(Short Story -IX.)

*The Talkative Mercenary*

The ramparts will fall to the enemy. It is just a matter of time. They will mount their attack at dawn. The main body of the allied forces has already drawn far back from the front. Only the mercenaries are left behind the barricade. Their orders: defend it to the death. These men, who have gone from battlefield to battlefield, know exactly what that means.

"They've just left us here to die," chuckles the one called Toma in darkness too thick for a person to make out his own hand.

"They want us to buy time so the main force can pull farther back. We're supposed to be their shields, performing our final service for our employers."

His dry, papery laugh shakes the darkness.

Kaim says nothing in reply. Other mercenaries must be gathered there around them in the blackness, but all keep their thoughts to themselves.

Mercenaries have nothing to say to each other on the battlefield. They might be on opposite sides in the next battle. At a time like this especially, when they have to defend the barricade against the enemy's withering attack, they can't spare time even to look at each other's faces.

Kaim knows nothing about this fighter called Toma. His voice sounds young. He probably has very little experience as a mercenary.

If a man grows talkative in the face of death, it means that, deep down somewhere, he has a weakness that prevents him from becoming a true soldier. A mercenary with even a hint of such weakness can never cheat death and live to see another day.

It is the law of the battlefield, and a man like Toma will only learn that law in the moment before he loses his life.

"We're done for. We'll all be dead in the morning. We'll have that 'silent homecoming' they talk about. I can't stand it. I just can't stand it."

In the darkness, no voices rise to second these sentiments. It's too late for talk like this. The day they chose the mercenary's path was when they should have resigned themselves to death.

They will sell their lives for a little money. They prolong their lives, a day at a time, by taking the lives of one enemy after another. That's what a mercenary is: nothing more, nothing less.

"Hey... can anybody hear me? How many of us are here? We're all going to die together. We'll just be a line of corpses in the morning. Don't shut up now. Answer me!"

No one says a thing. Instead of voices, the silent darkness begins to fill with a tangible sense of annoyance.

Wordlessly to gather on the battlefield; wordlessly to fight the enemy; and just as wordlessly to die.

That is the rule of the mercenary, the "aesthetic" of the mercenary, if such an expression may be permitted.

But Toma has taken it upon himself to abandon that aesthetic.

"I knew it was hopeless from the start. Headquarters didn't know what they were doing. There was no way a strategy like that could work. You know what I'm talking about, don't you guys? We had to lose. It's a total mess. I wish to hell I had joined the other side. Then we could have gotten a mountain of cash for winning. We could have drunk ourselves blind. We could have had all the women we wanted. I could have gone either way on this one but I picked the wrong side to fight on..."

"Hey, you!" an older voice booms out of the darkness. An angry voice.

"Yeah, what?" answers Toma, his voice more vibrant now at having at last found someone willing to talk with him.