Fragments Gallery
Never Surrender
The pounding of the soldier's heart echoed in his ears. Blood dripped from the gaping wound in his side, pouring the essence of his life into the ground. He was dying. He knew this and had accepted his own mortality but still he staggered forwards. Struggling, striving, to continue his journey. He staggered and fell with a curse, tripping over an unclaimed body still remaining on the field.
There had been a battle here not too long ago. The battle had raged for several hours, neither side showing any mercy, neither side giving in.
Never surrender.
Slowly he rose from the damp ground.
The words had been whispered countless times by the soldiers of either side. Words to fight for. Words to die for.
This soldier whispered that short phrase to himself as he advanced. Never surrender. Continue on.
One foot in front of the other.
The rough bandage he had wrapped his wound with had torn when he fell; blood now seeped out from under the ragged cloth, running down his flesh, staining his already grimy clothing. The soldier groans and presses a hand to his side. Trying vainly to stanch the flow.
The soldier's pace slows and he comes to a stop as his legs wobble and he loses his balance. With a curse he topples onto his side. The impact causes another grunt of pain. He stays still on the ground for a moment, his chest heaving from exhaustion.
But he had to carry on. He had to reach his comrades.
The soldier struggles to push himself to his feet once more but his strength gives out as he rises. With a sigh he slumps to the ground once more. This was as far as he could go. His limbs start to grow numb as the ground surrounding him is stained red.
The beginning of the end, thinks the soldier, my time has come.
Struggling to raise his head from the soft ground the soldier spots another body resting a short distance away. The corpse's arm is outstretched. It was reaching in the same direction that the soldier had been travelling. The soldier squints, trying to see across the distance. The corpse's armour and clothing matched the armour and clothing that he himself was wearing. The clothing over the armour was marked with reds and black and in the center of the chest there would have been a silver bear outlined with silver thread. The corpse had been a soldier from his own company who had tried to do the same thing that he had. Return to the company.
The soldiers of the company had always said that there was a second level to the maxim "never surrender". They had said that it meant one could never surrender themselves to the enemy, never stop fighting, but they said this was only half the meaning. The other half was that they could never surrender their comrades to the enemy. No matter the cost they had to return to their comrades. Return to protect and support their fellow soldiers.
After this the soldier’s thoughts idly drift as he awaits death. After a short time, a few minutes or a few hours he could no longer tell, his thoughts turn to the maxim of the armies. The saying never surrender could be tied hand in hand with the adage of his company, first in and last out. They were the ones who had the longest fight; they had to stay strong for the longest. And they never gave in. The soldier grimaced as he thought of this and his own situation. Even when he knew he was dying he had struggled to rejoin his remaining comrades. They had become more than a saying. They had become the words by which he had unconsciously lived. The soldier’s eye lids are growing heavy as he considers the sayings. What if...
His eyes close one last time.