Forbidden Friendship-A tragedy by =(eG)=Chaplain

*Note-for this story Axis and Allied positions are switched-

I still remember that cold morning in October. The small town in Europe, Donner some called it. It had been beaten, battered, and blasted down to a un-inhabitable battlefield. It was on that day the simple bloody world of a soldier would be forever changed. My world.
The fighting was easy at first, the axis cowards refusing to move up on the main street. Their downed tank only served as cover now. Thousands of German marks spent for a large sandbag. It seemed ironic. Grenades flew overhead like birds, swooping down in hopes to find a fresh kill. Grenades would not save the Wermacht however. Not from me. My fury was swift and strong. My iron sights perfect. My brass knuckles stained with Nazi blood. Every inch of my being a German nightmare. As far as I was concerned, this battle, nay, this war was already over. The rest of the American army could go home and I would stand to finish it.
Passing the tank, I noticed 3 windows where the enemy snipers were set. A sniper house so it seemed. I sprinted across the street, strafing the oncoming axis. I was farther up the flank than any of our boys by 100 yards. It felt right. I ran up the stairs, Hearing the high powered shots of deadly axis snipers. The first would have to go quietly. I made my way into the 2nd floor room. He didn’t stand a chance. I saved him from seeing the bitter defeat of his beloved Germany. He would see only blackness now. Cold, dark blackness. I started creeping up the stairs to the third floor. My boys were keeping the Germans busy enough to where I didn’t have to watch my back. Good for something at least. I reached the top of the stairs. Before me stood two more snipers wreaking havoc on my brothers. I roared as I rushed the first, shooting my Garand into his body. I charged right into him, gutting him with the barrel of my gun. I turned to the other. Fear gripped him. He tried in vain to shoot at me close range with his rifle. There was no hope for him. I pulled out my knife, and sprang at him. He grabbed my wrist with both hands as we fell back onto the hard wooden floor. The tip of my blade drew closer and closer to his face, of our hands shaking as if in an arm wrestling match. He eyes grew wide. His strength was failing and he knew it. He was staring his death straight in the face. My face, nothing special about it, seemingly the same as all the rest would now be the last face he saw. As the ice cold tip touched his cheek his choked out “Mother…..forgive me.” I was startled. I couldn’t resist asking before I struck my blow, “You speak English fascist dog?”
“I…..I do.” Came his weak response. “My mother taught it to me as a child.”
I had satisfied my curiosity, and now looked to finish the conversation when he said,
“Why do we fight each other American? For Adolph? For your president? We are not slaves to those men, yet we do as they bid us. Why? For what purpose?”
I cannot tell you what was said after that. I doubt it would make sense to you. Perhaps it only made sense to one man who was tired of many things and may have not even known it. I can’t tell you why we carried a desk to the first floor and blocked the entrance to the house. I couldn’t say why we spent the next hours talking, laughing, and sharing our stories with each other, but it happened all the same.
After hours of sitting there, listening to the sounds of the battle below, we heard it very quiet……then, to a sudden shock of horror, we heard the U.S. Army song play. We
had won the battle. I looked back at him, but all I saw sitting next to me was a flower pot. I was confused and frightened. “What has happened to you my friend!?”
“It is my time. I can never thank you enough for these last hours you have spent with me. Have peace my friend.”
I heard our barricade being broken down. I frantically yelled “Area clear! Area clear!” in hopes they would take their search elsewhere, but they did not. Three of my men rushed the 3rd floor, and started punching the flower pot My flower pot. I tried to tear them off of him, but he didn’t even try to run. He stood until he died. The bravest man I ever knew. I screamed, “Why?! What did he ever do to you!?” The response was brief.
“Lolz, he was just a noob who camped the sniper house the whole game.”
The war wasn’t the same for me after that. I became depressed and useless. I was sent home where I write this to you now. I cannot explain all my feelings with simple words, but this I can tell you. When you look into the face of one that is seemingly your enemy, sometimes all you will actually find is your own reflection staring back at you.