Death Before Dishonour

By Rapscallion 27/04/2004

Heads aloft, they marched, boots stamping to the ground in perfect unison. Steven cheered and waved, his eyes watering from the bright flashes of sunlight reflecting from the highly polished weapons the soldiers carried over their shoulders.

He could see the fresh, clean uniforms, their rank insignia sewn to the exact same place on their shoulders. He could see the helmets, each one worn proudly, the insignia of the 5th Light Infantry on their sides.

"Jim! Jim!" Steven shouted.

His brother broke discipline for a moment to flash a smile at him, but it didn't last. Within a heartbeat, his face had turned firmly to the front once more, marching to victory.

"Death before dishonour!" the crowd roared, proud of their local regiment's motto. "Death before dishonour," Steven shouted, feeling the excitement well up inside him.

His mother lifted him gently from her shoulders. "You're getting too heavy for me," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Steven just giggled and pushed to the front of the crowds to watch his brother's regiment march away.

...

"I said, 'Wake up, traitor'."

Steven blinked himself awake, wiping his face with the back of his hand. The fog of the dream drifted away, and he tried to collect his thoughts.

"Are you going to sleep though the battle to avoid killing your countrymen?".

Steven recognised the voice. "Piss off, Smith," he snapped, struggling to his feet.

A solid kick to his chest sat him back down against the trench wall. Smith sneered down at him. "Best to stay in the dirt where a traitor belongs," he snarled. He looked around for support, receiving a few nervous grimaces. It was enough. "Your family are all traitors, aren't they, Taylor?"

Steven scrambled to his feet, but Smith took his feet from under him. "My brother wasn't a traitor," he yelled, but the faces he saw spoke volumes. "He wasn't."

"Really?" Smith demanded. "Well..."

He collapsed as someone struck him from behind. "He'll be out for a while," the newcomer said. "You lot - take him to a medic."

"Yes Sarge," the other men said, taking the unconscious man by his arms and dragging him away.

Steven took the outstretched strong arm and struggled to his feet, shaking off the worst of the mud. His fresh, clean uniform hadn't lasted more than the ride over to Germany. Many of the people on the transport hadn't taken to sea travel well, and he had been coated in the result of their sea-sickness. He'd become used to the smell, but there were things he couldn't live with.

"Usual stuff, son?"

"Yes Sarge," Steven replied, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Just rumours, son. Just rumours."

"I know, Sarge." Steven looked around and picked up his weapon. The polish had worn off as soon as he'd seen his first battle. After killing his first enemy, he'd not felt like cleaning it more than necessary to make it work. "It's just that..."

"I know, son. Now get to sentry duty. The main assault is soon, so we don't want to be taken by surprise."

Steven hurried away down the trench to the observation point - a trench that had been dug forward so the observer could peer out cautiously over no-man's land. It was a duty that attracted snipers like no other, but it had to be done. Berlin was only a few miles away, and the remnants of the German army were reinforcing it. There would be a fight for the capital soon, unless the enemy had enough strength to counter-attack.

Steven relieved the man on sentry duty and peered out over the torn landscape. He'd seen many battlefields by now, places where lives had been traded for a few hundred yards of land. He'd seen the effect of battle, and the aftermath. He'd seen men torn apart by machine gun fire, and he'd seen men drop as he pulled the trigger. He'd seen men standing next to him collapse as bullets had claimed them, but he'd never retreated.

"Death before dishonour," he whispered. Jim had died in battle. He had been put in an unmarked grave with all the other unrecognisable bodies. He had fallen with honour, and the 5th Light Infantry would honour him.

Rumours - that's all they were. The 5th would never give up land they had taken, and they would never betray their motto - death before dishonour.

Only the sergeant seemed to believe him when he said that Jim would never have betrayed his regiment. He wasn't just saying it to keep morale up. He wasn't!

Steven resumed his watch, peering out between wooden posts to watch for any enemy movement. The fight would come soon, and he would avenge his brother's memory.

...

Steven coughed, clearing his lungs of the smoke from the burning buildings. The enemy had scattered to fight in guerrilla groups, forcing the 5th to fight from house to house. Sarge had gone, a sniper's bullet piercing his chest. Smith had gone, a land mine hidden under a fallen timber taking him. Others had gone, but the 5th had gone on, ignoring its losses.

"Death before dishonour!" Steven screamed, kicking open a door and raking the interior of the house with bullets. Enemy soldiers wilted and fell, taken by surprise. Steven watched their bodies for a moment. All of them had bandages from previous wounds, but all of them had been holding weapons. The Germans were throwing everything they had left into the last defence of their capital.

They had lost the capital, though, and it wouldn't be long before Germany admitted defeat. The 5th had been at the front, taking the worst of the losses, but gaining the greatest of the honour. Steven stepped over the bodies to peer cautiously through the window on the other side of the building.

The streets he could see were littered with rubble, but they were empty of people. All the civilians had left weeks before, and the view had the lifeless feel to it that Steven knew all too well. Only the dead lived there. Berlin had fallen.

He spun, his weapon ready to fire. The noise had been faint, but it was within the house. Steven took a moment to replace his rifle's ammunition clip and then charged up the stairs.

A man and a woman huddled together in a corner of a bedroom; that's all it was. Not all the civilians had been evacuated, after all.

Steven relaxed, seeing their defeated faces and attitude of acceptance. They knew they had lost, and he tried to remember the little German he knew to reassure them.

"Hello, Steven."

Steven froze, his blood running cold with shock. The man wore German clothing, but...

"Jim?" he asked slowly, unable to believe his eyes. The man nodded, and Steven stared. Older, yet wiser, Jim's face looked back.

"You're here to kill us," Jim said.

Steven blinked and remembered the bodies downstairs. "I don't kill civilians," he whispered hoarsely.

The woman clutched Jim's arm, but he patted her arm affectionately. "I'll be a moment, Helga," he said, and she nodded. "A word outside?" he asked.

Steven nodded, unable to take his eyes off the woman. Although she was approaching middle age, he could tell that she had once been very attractive. Shaking his head, he walked out into the upstairs hallway.

"Mother thinks you are dead," he said. "I thought you were dead. I hoped you were..." His voice trailed off.

Jim nodded slowly. "I am," he whispered. He glanced back to the doorway to the bedroom. "I felt I was the luckiest man alive, to have a girl like that attracted to me," he continued. "I had hoped that you would find me, rather than anyone else."

"You wanted me to see this?" Steven demanded. "My own brother-"

"I wanted you," Jim said. "There's one thing you will do for me that others of the 5th wouldn't."

...

Steven picked over the bodies in the downstairs room. One had a captured British revolver that he slid into his empty holster.

A shot rang out from upstairs.

Had anyone else of the 5th found Jim, they would have taken him in as a traitor, Steven mused, rummaging through the corpses for spare ammunition. Public display and a noose were all that would await him back home.

A second shot sounded, and Steven heard the unmistakeable noise of a body collapsing.

He paused for a moment, thinking of what he would put in his report.

"Death before dishonour," he whispered, walking out of the door.