章 79: Alcohol
"Hello, I'm Borne Matthews. I just enlisted today."
Young Borne stood straight, facing the two people in the room.
He did his best to make his voice sound firm, then saluted them with a standard military salute.
The two men in the room looked up at him.
One had a slightly flushed face, while the other was thin, with a playful glint in his eyes.
Seeing this new recruit, they exchanged glances, the corners of their mouths lifting slightly.
The thin man was the first to speak, grinning casually.
"I'm Bush, and he's Gommern. If you don't understand something in the unit, just come and ask me."
Gommern, the one with the flushed face, gave a broad smile and patted Borne on the shoulder gently.
"Don't be nervous, rookie. From now on, we're comrades.
You can ask us anything, but make sure you keep up with us.
If you don't, don't blame us for being tough."
Borne nodded earnestly.
"Thank you. I'll be in your care."
As time passed, Borne gradually learned more about Bush and Gommern's personalities.
Bush was naturally talkative and straightforward.
He said what was on his mind without hesitation, never sugarcoating things.
Whether it was about battle strategies or daily matters, he was always the first to speak up, often bluntly.
Gommern, on the other hand, always had a flushed face, not from shyness or anger, but naturally so.
His speech was often awkward, and he struggled to express himself clearly.
Whenever Bush and Gommern argued over trivial matters, the result was almost always the same: Bush would dominate the conversation with his endless words, while Gommern would feel frustrated, unable to respond quickly.
Despite their differences, Bush and Gommern were inseparable.
Their bond went deeper than their petty quarrels.
No matter how many times they argued, they always reconciled and worked seamlessly together in battle.
During his first mission, Borne's inexperience quickly became apparent.
It was a nighttime reconnaissance task to scout the enemy's movements, requiring absolute stealth.
But Borne stepped on a dry branch, and the crisp "crack" echoed through the night, alerting the enemy patrol.
Panic gripped Borne.
He realized he had made a grave mistake.
Before he could react, the enemy's footsteps drew closer.
Sweat dripped from Borne's palms as his heart pounded wildly.
His body froze, unsure of how to handle the sudden danger.
Just then, Bush acted quickly, rushing over to him and hissing, "Get down!" as he pulled Borne into the bushes.
At the same time, Gommern skillfully moved ahead, creating subtle noises to divert the enemy's attention.
The patrol's footsteps neared, and Bush pressed down on Borne's shoulder, signaling him to stay still and hold his breath.
The enemy patrol passed by their hiding spot, their weapons glinting menacingly in the dim light.
Borne's heart raced, but he dared not move.
Gommern quietly led the enemy away, and soon the patrol was gone.
When the danger finally passed, Borne collapsed onto the ground, drenched in sweat.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart still pounding in his chest.
Bush glanced at Borne, his tension easing slightly, but his tone was still sharp as he slapped Borne's shoulder.
"What the fuck were you thinking? We almost got caught!"
Borne lowered his head, his face flushing with embarrassment.
He knew his mistake had put everyone in danger.
He wanted to explain, but the words caught in his throat.
He clenched his fists, full of guilt.
Seeing Borne's silence, Bush sighed, his tone softening.
"You won't be so lucky next time."
Gommern quietly approached, still with that ever-present flush on his face.
He patted Borne's other shoulder and said gently, "Just be more careful next time."
Borne gritted his teeth, filled with remorse, and nodded solemnly.
"I understand. Thank you. I won't let you down again."
Bush waved dismissively, his bluntness unchanged.
"Let's not get too dramatic. Right now, all we need to do is survive.
We can talk about disappointment later."
Crunch. Crunch.
Borne dragged Bush's lifeless body, carefully placing it beside Gommern's.
The two comrades, who had once fought side by side, now lay motionless on the battlefield, surrounded by blood and corpses.
They weren't the only ones.
Many other soldiers who had fallen that day were piled together, awaiting the final burn.
Borne sat quietly beside them.
The sun's light gradually faded, the sky turning a deep orange-red.
Borne sat in silence, his eyes dry, with no tears, only endless quiet.
He didn't speak, his mind a blank void.
The wind blew gently, taking with it the last traces of warmth and the memories of their time together.
Bush's laughter, Gommern's quietness—images of those days flashed in Borne's mind.
They used to bicker and tease each other about their mistakes.
But now, they were gone, forever part of this battlefield, never to respond again.
"Want a drink?"
A voice behind him broke the silence, accompanied by the steady sound of boots on the ground.
Without turning around, Borne knew exactly who it was.
Albert walked over to Borne's side, glancing at the bodies of Bush and Gommern.
Then, he looked toward the distant, fading sun.
"I traded for this," Albert said, breaking the brief silence again as he unscrewed the cap of a flask.
He took a swig, grimacing as the strong alcohol burned its way down his throat.
The expression on his face showed the drink's intensity.
Albert handed the flask to Borne.
"Drink up. If you drink enough, you won't have to think about any of this."
His voice was hoarse.
Borne hesitated for a moment but eventually took the flask, smelling the strong alcohol that made him wrinkle his nose.
He hated alcohol.
Memories of his father's drunken outbursts flashed through his mind—his father losing control, slurring nonsense, and the scolding from his grandfather who always said that alcohol was no good.
Despite his distaste, Borne took a deep breath and downed a mouthful.
The liquor burned like fire in his throat, leaving a sharp pain.
But Borne kept drinking.
Soon, his mind grew hazy, the world around him blurring as the alcohol took effect.
The numbness dulled the pain of the battlefield and the grief in his heart.
Now he understood why his father used to say that alcohol was a good thing.
Night fell, cold winds carrying the stench of blood across the battlefield.
The piled bodies were set alight.
Flames roared into the night, consuming the fallen.
The fire blazed, bright and fierce, lighting up the darkness.
The flames grew larger, illuminating the surroundings, the stench of burning bodies thick in the air.
Borne sat silently, his mind clouded by the alcohol, watching as everything was swallowed by the flames.
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