☆Wish Upon A Star☆

☆~Chapter 3~☆

'The battle was fierce. The sea roared wildly, crashing against the ships in poweful waves. The thunders and lightening stroke through the cloud-covered sky. Both Japanese and Russian soldiers fell into the freezing, wet hell, their lives draining from them along with his body heat and the oxygen in his lungs.

The soaring storm played the war drums for an everlasting battle, both sides fighting at the same rhythm. Both sides lost men, both sides lost blood.

All that sacrifice, all that injuries and pain, for an unwinnable prize, a piece of land that none of the fighting men would enjoy in their victory.

But not all the soldiers were blinded by the bloodthirsty echoes of swords and guns; not all of them were merciless, crazy men. Some of them still had their sanity untouched, and they were the only ones who could see the truth.

His big, calloused handed grasped the steering wheel firmly, fighting against the ocean's fury.

The salty, cold water bathed the deck after every shake from the angry tide. He needed to get to land soon. Not only his life was in danger, but also his older's son's; a soldier like him.

The wooden ship staggered, hit by the sea foam, and soon after by an enemy ship.

Almost wrecking the wheel to shreds, the captain tried to ignore the fact that the deck was flooding now, shrieking after every tackle from another ship; a ship that carried an imperial flag.

"Oтец !! Fight!! We can't turn back to land now!!" The youngest man shouted for his father, taking his sword out.

But his father couldn't stop now. He had to try it, for his sons and for his wife.

Hope seemed to drain from him the instant a Japanese soldier jumped onto the deck, followed by his crew.

Their formerly perfectly white uniform, already bloodstained, drenched in the deck's flood, their almost emotionless factions twitching in both rage and disgust.

The fear took over the father. He had always been a good man, he didn't have a true soldier's instinct.

The Japanese soldiers quickly took advantage of this, a slight grin spreading across their face.

"In the name of the Emperor, retreat." The captain's voice was firm, not giving a second chance.

But the son wouldn't give up so easily. Drawing his sword against the Japanese, his lips curled in a snarl. "In the name of the Tzar, fight or die."

The Japanese soldier immediately took his offer, slashing his katana against the son's face.

The boy was a great soldier, but was still too inexperienced. There were too many warriors of the rising sun.

In less than seconds, the bloodied katana drove through the father's stomach.

"Oтец!!"

His eyes widened, blood slowly pouring from his mouth. When the captain pulled the katana out of his body, the emptiness that the metal edge left started to bleed, slowly draining the life out of him.

The son cried out in twisted anguish, tears flooding in his eyes. The father stared ahead lifelessly, his crystal blue eyes dry and motionless.

The Russian soldier's sword slashed across the enemy's arm; hot, red blood pouring and dying the water.

Red blood just like his father's.

"You bastard!! Fight me!!"

The soldier smirked, barely wincing at the slash.