Cold Blooded

A Legend is made

My only problem with war is that is so brutally flawed. This flaw, of course, is the human aspect. I have never understood this concept of "morals". It seems so futile and inefficient to avoid the war crimes. War Crimes are simply ways to survive by any means. If, for example, you are in the middle of a battlefield and need to escape, and you have a fellow soldier beside you who is already injured. Do you: 1. Try and save the injured soldier. or 2. Use that soldier as a human shield and guarantee your safe return to your own side. The answer seems quite obvious to most people. Most people would pick 1. However, I beg to differ. I think that it is much better to survive by any means. Who cares if some random person dies facilitating this, as long as you survive.

This was my current situation. I was in the middle of a crater, and beside me was an injured soldier. He was a young boy of about 17. He looked scared, no, terrified. His wide eyes pleadingly stared at me. He was shaking. Both his legs bled profusely, and his neck had a hole in it. He would never speak again. The tears streaming down his face made a path through the mud and grime on his cheeks. Blood trickled out from the corners of his mouth. He held a photo of a woman, I assumed was his mother. He kissed the picture.

I picked up the soldier over my shoulder, his large, bulky body providing more than enough cover for my small frame. I dragged him over my shoulder, using his arms as straps of a backpack, the backpack being the soldier himself. He seemed happy at first. He smiled. I wasn't too far from my trench. We both got there safe and sound. I lay him on the side. I decided to operate on him, to treat his wounds. And so I did, disinfecting the injuries and wrapping them in bandages. Since he didn't die being my human shield, he might be useful as an ally, who is conveniently grateful for me saving his life.

He mouthed the words "thank you". I smiled back and held his hand as a friend would. The smile did not reach my eyes. I told him to relax and to get some rest. I gave him some water and a piece of bread. I then left the trench once more. If I was found there, I would be shot for insubordination and neglect of duties.

I ran across the field, hunched over so as not to be seen. I ducked behind a dead tree and covered myself in mud as I saw enemy mages flying overhead. They were scouting the area, most likely. Once they had left, I carried on. I came upon another hurt soldier, and gave him the same treatment I had given the other one. We made it back and I used some of the contents of a nearby first aid kit on him. I lay him down and told him to rest before I went back out.

I repeated this process an astonishing amount of times. I was shocked that I, nor the injured soldiers, had been spotted and killed. In this situation, my chances of survival were low anyway, but it seemed that I was surviving anyway. I had found over two dozen soldiers and had given them life-saving help. They were all very grateful. I had read many a book on medicine in my early childhood. Then again, I was still a child, aged 8. And yet, I was almost a master in tactics and medicine. An odd combination to most people, but they were, in fact, the two most useful skills in war. To know where the enemy will be and what they will do, and to be able to heal oneself at any given time.

After a a few more hour doing this, I saw enemy mages flying overhead. This time, it was impossible for them not to notice the injured soldiers in the trenches. I, myself, was a few metres away. I was already covered in mud and blood, so I blended in very well with the ground. I lay down and covered myself in even more mud. They didn't see me. I heard the voice of a young girl.

'The battle is over. Surrender now and we'll guarantee your rights as prisoners under the Treaty of Worms.' She said. The incapacitated soldiers didn't move. The didn't say a thing. I, on the other hand, knew what the treaty of Worms was. It dictated that any enemy soldier who willingly surrenders cannot be killed, and that a prisoner with good behaviour can be released under special circumstances. It didn't specify, however, that you couldn't kill an enemy soldier for taking too long to answer. Another problem with it in my situation was that, under another treaty, prisoners had no rights whatsoever, aside from the right to be kept alive. They could be put under any number of terrible conditions, and the death toll was very, very high.

I knew that if the injured soldiers didn't act soon, they would all be killed, and I didn't know if they had seen me or not. And so, without shame, guilt, or pride, I snuck back into the trench made a white flag, stuck it up, then hid myself in mud once more. No one saw me, since the mud and low lighting from the twilight sun combined to make me invisible. I hid myself once more outside the trench and watched as the handicapped soldiers I had helped were taken to the enemy camp.

For the pragmatists who don't understand my actions, you are the people who don't understand the incredible use of legends. A soldier who was about to die and was saved never forgets the saviour. They then tell everyone else about the unknown person who had prevented their death. When dozens of people like that keep on blabbing, even in an enemy camp, a legend is born thusly. They had each seen my face and would most likely recognise me on first sight. Living legends are generally highly commended for their actions, and live very happy lives.

Once they had left, I stood up. I ran to the woods to the south of the battle. There, I killed to survive and hid to sleep. I had left my armour and helmet behind. They would only tell people of my nationality. Nothing else would, seeing as the English language had become the worldwide language that everyone learned.

My destination was the Empire. They were the most likely to win the war. From all the maps I had seen of enemy and allied movement, along with all other factors, it was very likely for the war to become a world war, and for the Empire to be a winner of the war. My goal was to become part of the Empire and make sure I wasn't anywhere near the front lines. I was only eight years old, after all. I didn't have to fight.

After about a week, I arrived at a city. My clothes were torn, my body was bloody and bruised, and in my hand was a knife. I stumbled through town and headed towards an open and public area. There I made a show of walking weakly with small, limp steps. People stared at me. They looked simultaneously scared, concerned, and intrigued. Very human reactions. I walked towards the hospital.

My plan was to get treatment for my bad condition, then become a doctor. I would do this by going to the best university I could find and asking for the exam to become a doctor. Actually... doctor wasn't the correct term. I wanted to work with viruses, bacteria, fungi, and all sorts of other things. I hoped that eventually, nano-bots might become a possible option. Parasites also intrigued me. These plagues were all fascinating. How they spread, affected the human body, wiped out entire populations... they were truly amazing. Besides, I could also become a doctor, as well as a virologist. It just meant I had to do two exams, both of which I was overly qualified for.

Once at the hospital, they instantly took me in and treated me. It wasn't as bad as it looked, however, and I was better after only a few hours. They had asked me where my parents were, and where I lived, and how they could contact them, and on and on they went, trying to find the adult responsible for this mess of a child. I avoided their questions, telling them I would be fine. However, I had a question I wanted answered.

'Hey... do you know what the best university of medicine is?' I asked the head nurse.

'I-it's in the capital, I do believe. I think it's called "The Royal Institution of Medicine and Science". Why do you ask?' She questioned back.

'How do I get there?' She seemed surprised. 'My parents live there. They live right next to the university that has the reputation for being the best in medicine. That's why I asked.' She seemed satisfied with that answer.

'I-if you want, I could call a taxi.'

'Thank you so much. I'm forever grateful.' She smiled at me.

'It's my pleasure.' She took my hand and brought me to a carriage. She paid the driver and told him to bring me to the "Royal University of Medicine and Science". And with that, I was gone. I waved goodbye to the nurse as I left. Best to let her think I felt the need to.

I may have accidentally fallen asleep on the way...