On a Road from Victory
By G.K. Fields

 

Smyth hurt.

He couldn’t nail down what part of him hurt, he just hurt. Could it be the radiation? He decided probably not. The detonation appeared too high. He supposed it was just to fry the Imperial’s electronics. Besides, he wasn’t sick to the stomach, he just hurt. He looked south ahead of him. He’d given up looking back north. Nothing good would come from that direction, and he didn’t wish to see his death coming for him, kill him though it might.

 

Ahead of him marched, walked, staggered, and occasionally, crawled men. Originally soldiers, now they were merely men. He supposed that he was beaten—they were beaten—it didn’t seem to mean much of anything at the moment. It may have meant something yesterday. Lord willing, it might tomorrow. Now, not much.

 

He came upon a cavalryman crouched beside an infantry corporal lying alongside the road. The horse soldier held a cigarette to the gravel cruncher’s lips as he raggedly drew on it, his eyes half closed. Smyth paused, struck by the humanity of the moment. The wounded man coughed, twitched twice, and ceased to breathe. The cavalryman put the cigarette between his own lips and sat back.

 

Smyth spoke, “That was good of you.”

 

The cavalryman glanced up at him. “Eh ?”

 

Smyth cleared his throat. “Staying with him and giving him a last smoke.”

 

The other shrugged. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to let some other bleeder get his boots. They’re almost new.” The cavalryman leaned over and began to untie the corporal’s boots. “Besides, they come off easiest while the body’s still warm,” he continued matter-of-factly.

 

Smyth stood watching. A small part of him suggested he should be revolted at the callousness, but a larger part pointed out that the other had at least waited. On a retreat/rout could one really ask for more?

 

The cavalryman finished tying his new boots and standing, slung his gear on his shoulder. As he and Smyth fell into step, he remarked, “Cavalry boots are fine things when you’re on a horse, but they’re a terror when you have to walk.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. He took a puff or two and passed it to Smyth who did likewise and passed it back. They continued south, not looking back.

 

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