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I was fucking petrified. Just one lone beagle in the middle of a goddamn war-zone, possibly in enemy territory? Not to mention that I should've died during the last shelling, so I think I was justified in almost pissing myself.

I think I might've pissed myself, if I wasn't so dehydrated. Not even a drop of liquid for at least a day, not even liquor. I was making a patrol when everything went to shit, bombers dropping payloads and shells from both armies tearing up the mud like they were trying to dig under it. My beige shirt and slacks were covered in muck and blood, a small portion of it my own. Most of it came from some poor pup who didn't jump away in time.

The shell dropped right on top of him, I swear, like it was meant for him. I tried to pull him away as I saw it coming. Suddenly, boom. I open my eyes and I'm at least 20 feet away from where I was. I look over to see that poor Golden Retriever, his eyes cold and dead, pain and fear and regret locked on his face for eternity. I looked back up to see his bottom half hanging from an upturned log, dripping thick, coagulated blood onto me. I immediately rolled to one side and vomited, away from the corpse. I didn't really know him, but I knew he lied about being 18.

I'd been wandering since, lost in the fucking killzone. I thought I'd died and went to hell, the only sight was grey fog and black mud, and the only sounds were distant gunfire. Then:

Click.

"Ha-Halte!" Just to my left, a scared voice commanded. I immediately raised my gun to face him.

There we stood, looking each other in the eyes down our rifle sights. Me, an Infantryman for the Ivory Empire, and him, a Scout for the Vaterland Military. I could tell by the cloth cap and rope on his shoulder that he was a marksman. Neither of us moved for what felt like an eternity, though it only had to be a few seconds at most. I really got to look at him.

He was a Dobermann, a young one. One of his ears was bandaged up from what looked like a trench-style clip job. His long coat was a dull forest green, and only revealed his black boots underneath. But what got me were his eyes, piercing and ice blue. They struck a chord in my soul, because he made the same fucking expression that pup had when I looked over: scared and hurt, regretting ever picking up a weapon.

He looked me up and down, shifting his feet a bit before further "commanding" me:

"Drop... weapons." He said in slow, broken Ivory. "Now... you... prisoner of... krieg."

I didn't move, not even a twitch or a flick of the ear. I wasn't about to surrender to one boy, battle or not, and I couldn't move my rifle away comic I wanted.

"What... is name?" I knew a little Vatern, so I tried to talk. I thought maybe he wouldn't shoot me if he knew my name.

"I am Frederick. Du?"

"I am... Henry." My tongue tripped a bit on trying to put a Vatern inflection on my name.

We stared at each other for a bit longer, the sounds of fighting slowly growing quieter as the battle presumably moved away. I couldn't pull the trigger, no matter how scared I was. I could see it in him too, he had stopped, but wasn't about to let his guard down.

"If you... no... shoot, I no shoot." He said, looking at my rifle. It was as if he had read my mind.

I nodded, and slowly, oh so painfully slowly, we each lowered our guns in time with the other.

Now that we weren't a twitch away from killing each other, I could see the relief flood his body. Then he turned and threw up.

I jumped and grabbed his hat before it could fall into the muddy bile and semi-digested rations, while my other hand started rubbing his back. I had a flashback to my younger brother when he was sick, retching into a waste bin in his bedroom because he couldn't run to the pot. I actually chuckled at the irony of the situation.

"Ich will nicht sterben-" he was cut off by another fetching fit and a few globs of orange yellow bile. "Töte mich nicht, bitte..."

"Hey hey, it's alright, let it out." I knew he said something about dying, and he was begging for something. I didn't really care, but at this point I just couldn't do it. "I will not."

He just stayed there on his hands and knees, crying and coughing out pleas in fast Vatern. I just kept rubbing his back, trying to distance this thought from my memories of my brother. I still don't know why I didn't just blow his head off when he fell, instead of immediately going into older sibling mode.

He fell away, backing up from me and holding up a hand in begging despair.

"-keine Munition!" He was talking fast, and I couldn't understand all of it, but I picked that up.

"N-no... no bull-ets!" He tripped over his own tongue, flinching and shaking to hard to speak. "No kill... me, bitte!"

Holy shit. He didn't shoot me because he didn't have any ammo. I could've done it.

I saw those eyes, welling up with tears as terror seeped into his bones. From his position sitting down I could see a dark spot growing in the crotch of his pants. He was a pup, just a scared pup who didn't wanna die. I should've killed him, he was a marksman, and under any other circumstances I would've beat him to death just for being one.

Here though, all of his emotions laid out bare? Fucking pissing himself in front of me, while he begged for his life because he couldn't defend himself? I felt like a monster for even entertaining the thought of hurting him.

"Go!" I pointed in one direction, standing back up. "Go, run home!"

He shot up, and after reluctantly taking back his cap, he ran away in the direction I had pointed. He kept looking back, stumbling over some of the terrain.

I jogged away as well, in the opposite direction. My heart was beating too fast to run, and it felt like it had jumped into my mouth. I didn't travel towards the quiet fighting, but in its general area.

I eventually made it back to the Ivory trenches, waving my arms and shouting out songs so the MG Crews wouldn't mow me down with bullets. As soon as they brought me in I collapsed, and threw away my gun. I cried, right there in another man's arms. I sobbed like a child who couldn't find his favorite toy, the weight of what had happened finally crushing me. I couldn't even explain it coherently, I was too busy trying to squeeze out tears.

I didn't tell anyone what had happened, I was too afraid of being accused of treason. I had let a Marksman live, that alone was punishable by dishonorable discharge. It was the most soul crushing thing that ever happened to me during my three years out there. Not because of the shelling and the fear of getting shot, but because for once I saw behind those dark green uniforms. I saw a scared pup who wasn't ready for war, and realized that neither was I.