Stories of H Merrill

The dim lights of the tunnel flickered with each bomb that hit the metro station above. Dust was shaken loose from the years of neglect. Train cars stood idle, rusting on the rails. Groups of men gathered stretchers together on the floor. Reiner stood amongst the stretchers, quickly observing each patient before moving to the next. With each one, he would nod or shake his head before continuing. 

This dust won’t help, Reiner thought to himself, although the condition most of these men are in, it won’t hinder either. Even if the blood binders arrive in time, I guess it really makes no difference. No difference, a phrase Reiner thought to himself often. 

“This one is dead,” Reiner said to the small hunched figure behind him, “put the body with the rest. We can use the stretcher.”

“Right away, sir,” the man said, lifting the corpse off the stretcher. He hoisted it under the arms, dragging its feet on the ground as he weaved through the other bodies. Dust settled on the broad shoulders of his uniform as he moved, but he made no effort to brush it away. 

Reiner looked back as his attendant weaved through, ensuring that he did not hit any of the others on the floor. A wisp of the attendant’s hair poked through a hole in his cap. I could have sworn his hair was blonde, and he must have had green eyes. Reiner hesitated, no, no, that was Gerson, he was killed by Narselian mages a month ago in Ceriville, burnt to ash. Bauer has black hair. Yes, black hair. Black hair and brown eyes, black hair and brown eyes. He repeated those words in his head for a brief moment, before he sighed and stood.

The tunnels around them shook again, parts of the roof crumbled onto the train, collapsing one of the long abandoned tunnels. 

That was no bomb. A seventeen centimetre, they must have advanced into artillery range. It won’t be long now. Then the intrusive thought returned, no difference. Reiner shrugged his shoulders. Repeating those words aloud, he walked into the partitioned medic’s corner. 

More dust from the ceiling settled on his shoulders, masking the silver epaulettes beneath, as he settled into the seat. He drew his fifth to last cigarette from its near empty pack, tapping it twice on his thigh before bringing it to his mouth. The steel plate under his officer’s coat glinted in the flame of his lighter. Briefly, letting his mind wander, Reiner stared at the light’s muddled reflection. 

It had been over ten years of war, over ten years of his lighter reflected in his chest plate. Reiner remembered that when he had joined the Ishfadel Centre Medical Corps, the globe was already in the full throes of war. Narselus focused its fighting against the eastern kingdoms, while the rest of the Core Alliance powers fought in the west. Ishfadel, Reiner’s home, was in a deadlock with the Core’s western push. Nobody thought the east would fall to Narselus. Nobody thought the war would turn against the Six Kingdoms. 

The five kingdoms in the east had collapsed when fire rained from the sky. Narselus burned through the eastern cities with their occult bombs imprinting their curse upon the earth, magic unmatched to the nations that frowned upon its use. Then Ishfadel stood alone in challenging the Core. The last of the Six Kingdoms, what limited magic they had, was of no match to the Narselian scourge. Day after day, Narselus grew ever closer to victory, stalled only by the petty mages of Ishfadel and the ethics of the other Core nations. 

“Reiner!”

He looked up, still holding the unlit cigarette between his fingers. It was Gerson, no, Bauer, calling his name.

“Sir, is everything alright? I’ve been calling for you.”

Reiner finally lit his cigarette before responding, “everything is fine. What is it?”

“We’ve received word from the blood binders. They were hit from the west. The Narselian mages burned through the Eighth Mountain Guard. Whoever is left retreated to the north and will not be coming in for support. We have the order to evacuate.”

Reiner looked away. “Useless fucking sorcerers,” he muttered with the cigarette sticking from between his lips before returning Bauer’s gaze. “Evacuate to where? If the binders were attacked from the west, the city is as good as surrounded.”

“The order is to move all operations to the city centre and hold there until the Ninth Army groups with what’s left of the Mountain Guard and breaks through from the north.”

“Moving operations to the city centre won’t make a difference. Marshal Vogel’s army won’t be able to break through. Our weapons and mages are no match for the Narselian Mage Corps.”

“It was an order to all forces directly from the King, sir,” Bauer replied.

Reiner sighed as he nodded with acknowledgement. “Of course. Of course,” Reiner paused, “just give me a moment to get things together here.” 

Bauer saluted and left Reiner to sit alone behind the partition.

He took the cigarette from his mouth and began drumming the cork filter on his thigh. The tunnels shook again as Reiner stood, knocking the cigarette out of his hand and onto the tile floor. He took a moment to regain his balance and collect himself, taking the fourth to last cigarette from the pack, tapping it twice, and lighting it, before leaving the corner, before returning to the maze of stretchers.

“Bauer,” he called out.

The adjutant rose from dressing the wounds of those on the stretchers, “yes, sir?”

“It’s time to leave.” Reiner looked around at the writhing men scattered on the floor. “We won’t be moving the wounded with us, leave everything you cannot carry behind. We will meet at the west exit in five minutes. And tell anyone who can still walk to do the same. ”

Bauer stood in defiance. “Sir. We cannot leave anyone behind,” he pleaded.

“If the King ordered us to evacuate, we will do exactly that. We cannot be slowed down.” Reiner replied. 

“Sir—”

Reiner interrupted, “five minutes, west exit.” Then left Bauer standing alone. 

The sound of the artillery was clearer at the west exit, each impact sending more toxic fumes down into the tunnels, each impact thundering in Reiner’s ears. He paced back and forth, again letting his mind wander, with only brief interludes from the uneven drumming above. 

He remembered that ten years ago, perhaps even to the day, he had asked Eliza to marry him. He remembered the yellow dress that she had worn that day, vivid against the drab of his uniform. He remembered her hair, a silky red, tied up in a bun. He remembered the simple wire framed glasses, but there were no eyes behind the lenses. He remembered the words she had said, but not her voice, not her smile.

Are you sure? she mouthed the words, but no sound came forth.

“Why wouldn’t I be,” he had replied. “Who else would I want by my side? Who else would I want to come home to?”

They had wed a month later. He remembered when he was first deployed to the front line leaving her in the capital. Before leaving, he promised Eliza he would return when Ishfadel’s flag flew over Narselus. Reiner remembered that at that time, he had known that would not be long. He remembered that Eliza had told him something. And every day of his stead in the Medical Corps, Reiner thought of Eliza and that promise and those words she had said. At least he had. Now his mind grew overwhelmed with intruding thoughts, muddling what memories he had left.

When Narselus had pushed past the Nineteenth Peak, no more images of Ishfadel’s flag flying victorious permeated anyone’s mind. Narselian flame laid waste to city after city, leaving little standing and little breathing.

“Sir, I’ve gathered everyone,” Bauers voice floated into Reiner’s ears.

“Ah, what,” Reiner stammered, turning towards the voice. “Oh, yes. Good.” Before him was, by his count, seventeen men—four medics, a surgeon, and a dozen or so soldiers of varying health, but all able to stand.

Bauer stood at attention, but his eyes refused to meet Reiner’s. “What is the order, sir?”

Reiner took a deep breath before starting. “We will be taking surface routes. Many of the tunnels have collapsed, so we have little choice. We will move as a group to the city centre. If anyone trails behind, they will be left behind.” Again, he took a deep breath, “the enemy will be upon us soon, so let’s get moving.” On the last word, Reiner turned and looked up the stairs of the exit, not knowing what fate awaited them on the surface. 

The sounds of artillery had stopped, but the fumes remained, mingling with the smoke in his lungs. He tossed the butt of his cigarette aside, and took the first step. The men followed silently behind.

Upon exiting the dim tunnels, light overwhelmed their eyes, briefly blinding them to the ruin around them. It reeked of the sulphur from the mage branded shells, a stench masked only by the flavour of Reiner’s cigarette. Reiner paused as his sight returned to him. The city had been shattered. Craters dug into the asphalt. Debris lay scattered about the street, scarred and deformed by magic barrages. Concrete hung from melting rebar supports, dangling overhead. Entire buildings had been blown away. The air was warm and thick with ash. The last light of dusk that pierced through the clouds of dust was warped into a fiery red. 

Reiner, tapping its cork filter twice, lit his third to last cigarette. “It’ll be a long walk through this rubble. We should move,” he said.

None of the men responded, only silently acknowledging him. 

Reiner led the way through the city, climbing over toppled buildings, ducking in and out of houses no longer holding up their roofs. With each step, the weight of his uniform resting on his shoulders felt heavier and heavier. He walked mindlessly, barely noticing what was around him. 

For a brief moment, he could see Eliza’s face clearly, her green eyes appearing momentarily behind her glasses. They vanished just as soon as they had appeared. When he had been deployed to the south, she was living in the capital to the north. A whole continent between them. With each retreat, he moved closer back to her, but each time he lost more and more of her face. In that brief moment, he remembered his promise. He remembered that ten years ago, victory had been assured, that he would go home soon and see his wife again. He remembered the locket he had carried, the locket he had lost during the battle at the Nineteenth Peak. He remembered the feeling of the gold ring he had worn, the same ring he had lost at Ceriville, recent enough that he could still feel its imprint in his finger. 

Then, he remembered the dead. 

Eliza’s face faded away again, replaced now with those who had been under his care. There was the corporal that had lost his leg from one of the shellings. A binder had been able to seal the wound, but not stave off the infection. Reiner had looked him in the eye as he spoke through unbelievable pain, begging for death. He remembered how he had nodded silently, accepting his responsibility to end the corporal’s misery. He remembered how he felt pressing the steel of the pistol’s barrel against the temple of the weeping man. And despite the man’s pleas, Reiner could not pull the trigger. 

The shot that killed the corporal came from behind Reiner’s ear. Another soldier, Reiner could not recall his rank, had taken his comrade’s life. Reiner’s commanding officer had simply told him that it made no difference how the corporal died, he was going to die anyway. It makes no difference. If it was not from the gunshot, it would have been from the gangrene. Two months later, the officer was killed, placing Reiner in command.  

Voices called out in the darkness. In the distance he could see the light of a small fire. Two figures silhouetted by the light hunched over it.

“Who goes there? If you’re Narselian, move along, we have nothin’ for you.”

“I’m from the Medical Corps,” Reiner called back.

“We have nothin’ for soldiers like you neither.”

“You sound like men. All able bodied men were drafted into the King’s Royal Army, are you not soldiers as well,” Reiner asked. 

“Fuck your war,” the figure yelled. Then turning to his friend, he spoke in a tone just loud enough for Reiner to hear, “Goddamned nationalists.”

As Reiner approached, he began to make out the coats of the men. Each was ragged, fraying at the seams. One bore an infantry insignia. On the other, where an insignia would have been, was a hole, ripped fabric still dangling by its threads. 

Reiner stepped forward, then paused. He looked around him, only Bauer and three soldiers remained—none could look Reiner in the eye. Reiner sighed, no difference. 

“Told you to move on,” one of the men said.

“May I at least rest for a moment,” the voice coming from Reiner’s mouth was a melancholy pitch that he was not familiar with.

“If you must.”

Reiner silently nodded, unstrapping his chest plate and letting it fall beside the fire. The flames danced, reflected in its worn steel. Bauer and the other three sat across from him in silence. Reiner took the second to last cigarette from the pack and tapped it twice. “You were soldiers weren’t you?”

“What business is it of yours,” one of the men snapped back. 

“I was merely curious.”

The other man responded in a calm manner. “Yes. We were.”

Reiner nodded silently again. He lit his cigarette and watched the embers of the fire float into the ash stained air. “May I at least know your names,” Reiner asked with civility, knowing he would soon forget them.

The calm man answered. “I am Thomas,” he pointed to the other, “and this is Arno.”

“Why, if I may ask, are you here, Thomas,” Reiner asked, still staring up into the sky.

“Where else would we be?”

“The King gave orders to move all operations to the city centre, and yet you are here.”

“What difference would it make? It’s all over. The war. Ishfadel. It’s finished.”

Reiner continued watching the embers drift into the sky, letting silence deepen the gathering darkness. 

He finished his cigarette before standing and taking a deep breath. “I guess I’ve stayed long enough. I should get moving.”

“Where are you going,” Thomas asked.

“City centre. Like you said, it’s all over. So it makes no difference, right?” Reiner turned away, leaving his chest plate resting on the ground. “Bauer, you three, let’s get moving.”

“No, sir,” Bauer replied. “We’re done. We’ve been brought to ruin. If there is nothing more for us in city centre, then I’m staying here, where I’m at least in similar company.”

“If you must,” Reiner said, letting his tone drop in disappointment. 

Arno’s voice murmured at his back, “you’re walking to your death.”

Reiner sighed and kept moving, the darkness deepening around him as he left the warmth of the fire. 

Thomas had borne the insignia. Arno had torn his off. Their faces had been, as their coats, deeply worn. Even in the uneven light of the flickering flames, Reiner had noticed the dark circles under their eyes. He had noticed the careful embroidery of the insignia. Aged as the insignia had been, Reiner knew that Thomas had been in the war perhaps as long as himself. He could not recall their names, but he was sure that the other soldiers had been with him for some time. Bauer had been with him at least since Ceriville, but perhaps longer. 

Yes, he remembered, Bauer had been with him since the Nineteenth Peak, but was not yet Reiner’s adjutant. But Bauer was there. He was there after the Nineteenth Peak when the corporal died. The corporal, what was his name? Peter, no, Konrad. Yes, it was Konrad. He had served in the Ceriville Forward Guard that had been deployed south to hold the Peak. 

Reiner had only spoken with Konrad when he did rounds of the trenches. He was young, much younger than Reiner. Often, Reiner had found him writing in a small leatherbound book. When he asked what Konrad was writing, he simply responded that they were letters. Reiner had pressed him further. Konrad explained that he knew it made no difference whether he sent them as they would never arrive, so he would write them in his journal instead of trying to send them. 

No difference, he remembered, now, that it was not his commanding officer nor Konrad from which he first heard those words. It had been from Eliza. She had said them when he made his promise. 

It makes no difference whose flags fly, I just want you to come back to me, she had said to him. He remembered those words, but could no longer see her face in his mind nor hear her voice. Only the words remained. 

Reiner returned with the sound of revelry in his ears. Before him, he could see the city centre. Gathered around the city centre, Narselians and their allies stood in festivity. As Reiner approached, a small group noticed and broke off, moving towards him.

One, bearing the mark of a mage on his overcoat, gestured and spoke in a foreign tongue, “a’ka, a’ka.” His palm faced Reiner, and he understood to stop. The mage continued, this time in a familiar language, “why are you here?”

Reiner responded, shrugging and raising his arms above his head, “I have come as ordered by the King.”  

One of the other Narselian soldiers interjected, still laughing, “etanigan  katenaket.”

The Narselian mage kicked some rubble towards his comrade, “a’kai.” Then he returned his gaze to Reiner, speaking first in his mother tongue, “Ishfadeligan kavekaket—Ishfadel has fallen. The capital is gone, blown away.” The Narselian looked once again to his comrade, then back to Reiner, “and your king is dead.” 

Reiner slumped his shoulders, careful not to drop the hands over his head. “Then I have come to surrender.”

“I cannot accept. You had your orders, and I have mine. I cannot let you live,” the Narselian mage said, outstretching his hand.

Reiner let his hands fall. He drew the final cigarette from its place, tapped it twice, and put it between his gritted teeth. He brought the lighter up to his mouth, then paused. 

After a deep sigh, he let his muscles relax, and flipped the lighter closed, “I guess it makes no difference.”

The Narselian mage did not respond. Flames shot from his outstretched hand. 

Reiner saw a face before him, wrapped in the oncoming heat. Its features were soft and familiar. He let his cigarette fall from his mouth and reached out, embracing nothing but flame.