Renegade Reaper

I

Fiat justitia ruat Caelum. She closed her eyes and involuntarily flinched as the wagon began to shake due to the rocky, wet road ahead. The sound of crackling thunder invaded her ears as she jumped and squeezed her eyes shut, drawing her knees to her chest and pulling her musket closer to her as she trembled from a mixture of cold and fear. She hated the sound of Thunder and the sight of a lightning crack was frightening to her.

She knew a storm was coming, judging by the smell of the soil, the dark gray clouds that had begun to shield the light blue sky, and the directions of the wind, she knew she did the right decision to convince Sergeant Carter to allow her to cover his shift the night before in exchange for taking his spot on the wagon for a whole night. It wasn't exactly cozy, but it was a whole lot better than marching in the midst of an awful, messy storm.

Not that the wagon kept her, or anyone dry. The Wagon's Canvas top, which was drawn closed to supposedly prevent slig getting in, was so thin and worn the water easily seeped through the small holes in the thin fabric. She jumped in fear as yet another thunder crack boomed across the land, but this time it was so loud it made the ground shake; just as she was gathering her wits, she felt a large hand pat her shoulder. She glanced up and found Sergeant Davis smirking down at her. "Huh. So it's lightning that scares the bejeezers outta the feared Sergeant Rain Storm" he teased. She scoffed at the sound of the nickname many had called her and warily eyed him before responding. "I am not" she opposed, but knew he didn't fall for her curt answer since her voice trembled.

He chuckled. "Don't lie to me, boy. We all got something we're scared of, even you, so stop denyin' it. You ain't got no reason to be embarrassed about it. I've noticed how you're always in here whenever a storm's flyin' by." His face became somber and sympathetic as he spoke. "It isn't your fault, Rain." She forcedly smiled up at him before hearing another haunting thunder strike again. As if proving his point, she gripped her only weapon tighter and buried her head between the long barrel of the gun, as if clutching the weapon would provide her protection. His smile faded as it reminded him how sad it was, seeing how this man had literally grown up tainted in blood and grime. It made him remember just how young he was, and the time Emerson was first recruited. The child was no more than sixteen years of age. And even now, Emerson had not even reached the age of twenty yet. An innocent child that was willing to enter a dangerous lifestyle where the only option is to kill or be killed is a decision that not many would know how to make, let alone consider. Every man knew the consequences. Every man who got themselves into it knew that their fate lied in no one but their own hands. But that was what War meant. No one ever leaves a battlefield unscathed. May it be a good friend, a limb, their innocence, or even their minds; there was always something that would get lost in the battle. It was a sad fact, yes, but it was inevitable. No one could change the rules of how a game must be played. One may win the game, but it didn't mean one could receive all the prizes.

He always thought it was better to be realistic and undaunted than woolgathering everything he did & attempting to deny it. He was more tactical, more precise. He knew what had to be done, and that it involved many deaths. Sure it was a terrible thing to admit, but it was inevitable and there was no reason to lie about it. He was a man who had done horrendous things, past and present. And not once did he regret it, because it was his job. He couldn't afford to feel regret.

He was prideful, violent, and fought like a bloodthirsty beast going in for the kill. But he was an honest man and a man that kept his word as well. So when he promised Rain Emerson prosperity, he meant it.

He knew that this was no ordinary man the minute he laid eyes on him. He felt stunned by the fierce yet determined gleam in his eyes, and it took a lot to shun him.

He stood up and returned to the spot where he previously sat, knowing better than to bother a man that was trying to restore himself from the tragedy. The least he could do was give him some time to reflect. Especially after a war. Each and every one of them had more than enough time to think and reminisce about.

She felt relieved once he left. His words were kind, but they rang on deaf ears, as now was not the right moment for an encouraging speech. She tucked a few soppy dark brown strands behind her ear and peered up at the pitch black sky and nearly jumped once she saw a lightning strike run down again as it began to trigger disturbing images of what had happened only hours ago. The deafening sound of murderous gunshots still rang in her ears, the image of them crumpling down to the ground like ragdolls. The cold chill that crept up her spine at the sight of a familiar crimson red staining the bright green grass where their bodies lay in an all too familiar fashion she had seen many times before; blood leaking out of their bodies like a water flow as she desperately pressed her hands against the fatal wounds, trying to not allow their life to slip away from her hands as she filled her mind with desperate miraculous thoughts, knowing deep down that there is a one out of ninety-nine probability that they might survive, but ninety-nine out of one chance that they won't.

Friends she once knew and spent years, fighting side by side and smiled with when times were good were now lying on the floor, staring at her with eyes as vacant as a fish, unnerving and with not a speck of life in it. Just an Empty vessel that was once occupied with someone she had once knew.

They'll make it, she remembered screaming out at Davis, who warned her that it was too late to save them, despite of her desperate attempts to fix their wounds. She even remembered promising and reassuring to privates Henry and Garrison that they weren't going to die. That she would save them.

But she was no field medic. And she failed them. She couldn't keep her promise and now they were both dead because of that. And all these men had so many great things to look forward to in life, and she knew that because they would all gloat and smile while they said it--how they couldn't wait to get home to see their parents or their wives. And now they weren't able to enjoy them. Now their families will never see them again, she bitterly thought. She'd remember Private Garrison telling her that he had planned to propose to his best friend with whom he had grown up with as soon as he got back home.

The immense feeling of guilt, as she wondered why she survived and eight thousand didn't. The pain of the aftermath of a war battle isn't the pain of a gunshot wound. It wasn't just physical pain. It's the pain of grief and the loss of a loved one; the feeling that constantly ate her alive. And in every single nightmare she had and every memory that she'd relive she would feel it again, her blood boiling with rage as she would remember all those moments she shared with them and wonder why the good always perished and the evil lived, and eventually cry herself to sleep, knowing that those moments will never happen again. The pain of getting to know someone, to spend so much time working with them, talking, laughing at things, and then suddenly watch them die right infront of you and not being able to save them or at least do something. The all too familiar feeling she had when yet another one of her allies had withered away with death and she hadn't been able to stop it.

Fiat justitia ruat Caelum. The words continued to repeat in her mind as she rocked back and forth in an attempt to ensure herself that everything would be alright. But it wasn't. It never was. Whenever she felt vulnerable after war, she would always repeat those words over and over until she'd eventually get a hold of herself. It was the only reminder she had of her family, and the only quote she had managed to remember from her mother's daily recitals.

Let justice be done, though the heavens fall. Out of all the quotes her mother used to recite to her, it was the only one that stuck with her throughout her life, and possibly even saved her from losing her mind.

She turned to look at Davis tending to one of the injured soldiers that lay bedridden. Was war really necessary? She would ask herself. Why was it even a choice in order to bring peace and power to a balance? Was it worth sacrificing more than eight million lives for a simple disagreement with the enemy? Was it really worth dying for?

Was it really?