Loss

The story of two friends based on Franco-Prussian war in 1870.

The minister Otto Von Bismarck had had been working hard to create a new German Empire, the army was perfectly equipped with requisite weapons for the declared war by France.

Wolfrom Dresner, a stout heroic soldier, was determined to defeat the opposing party of the war - the Frenchmen. He knew that the Prussian army was finely drilled by the Prussian minister Bismarck. It was to their advantage France had not been prepared and that they were quite efficient in using industrial technology - especially when their steel artillery was noteworthy.
Dreaded screams roared into the clear sky, with the harsh uproar of 1000 pounder Krupp gun and the mitrailleuse defiling it further more; numerous troops scattering to fight with their lives on the line.

"Doing well it seems," Wolfrom heard a familiar voice, which - with no doubt - had belonged to his best friend, Heiko Irmgard.

"We can do this," Wolfrom nudged the man, earning a small smile.

"Hell yeah, we can."

Firing from their needle rifles, the army moved forward in order to prevent the French invasion. Moreover, since German states quickly joined forces, Prussia and its German allies had twice as many troops as France.
Owing to Wolfrom's satisfaction, the French lines were gradually breaking. He always believed that heroism was all that mattered in wars. In his peripheral vision, he saw Heiko had somehow managed to survive a barrage of bullets. But in the blink of an eye, a violent explosion burst from his direction - which made Wolfrom jerk his head to that particular point.

"Heiko!"

The vehemence of the soldiers of both the sides displayed through precarious firing, but all that seemed vague as Wolfrom rushed to his friend's side, screaming for aid. "Heiko! Talk to me!" Wolfrom held the man, uttering for help. Heiko's face was scorched, one of his arms had barely been there; his body was bleeding as the scourge of war got to Wolfrom's heart.

The latter had merely tried to utter his last words, but couldn't as his lifeless body lay right there, in his friend's arms. He breathed his last with a smile plastered on his lips that regarded satisfaction.

Carrying Heiko to a safe place throughout the clamour, Wolfrom reloaded his equipments. He ruthlessly fired canon sabre, the breech-loading needle rifle tempting him.
Wolfrom's heart stung in grief.

He remembered how Heiko and he sparred and how they would be partners for missions. Heiko Irmgard was truly a great man, he thought. Tears accumulated at the edge of his eyes. That day, he had lost a good friend - the reason being absolute. No war could be won without any cost.
Whilst the intensity of protests pierced the atmosphere, Wolfrom had realized something that had awaited him for ever so long...

War was not merely about heroism, there was a much, much deeper meaning to it. It was important, but there had always been something more than that. And that was precisely what Wolfrom had to acknowledge.

Author's Note

I wrote this for a contest on 3rd December, 2012. So it's a really old piece.

Reviews

[M.E.Lyle]

This piece left me feeling cold. The characters seem calloused and cold as well. But that's the way war must be. Emotional attachments must be kept at a minimum range. Wolfrom did show a moment of weakness, but he realizes the necessity of human sacrifice and goes on. I believe he's come to a realization that next time he could be the one lying dead on the battle field.
A disturbing, but wonderful write.

[Dai Hanshou]

Ah, I'm glad to have my piece reviewed by someone so wise. ^^

[M.E.Lyle]

Well, I wouldn't say wise...a little lucky, perhaps.