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Soldiers in Frances uniforms sat in a row, kneeling and with their hands behind their heads. Among them were those who had participated in the Huntingham Church Massacre.
They were due to stand trial soon. Fourteen of Frances's key military leaders had already been sentenced to death yesterday by a military tribunal.
The faces of the Frances soldiers were all ashen and dead. A Padanian officer walked among them, checking something.
Then he checked the name tag of a soldier, stopped in front of him, and asked.
“Elliot Sydow?”
“Yes.”
"Wake up."
The officer gave the order without a word. Elliot obediently rose from his seat. The officer gestured for him to follow.
Two rifle-wielding soldiers flanked Elliot on either side. Elliot continued to walk, his hands still on the back of his head.
Eventually, they arrived at the back of an empty lot. There, a large, high-ranking officer was standing with his back to the ground, carrying a heavy load on his back.
Elliot recognized his opponent just by looking at his back.
“Extend your hand.”
The soldiers tied his hands. Despite staggering slightly from the harsh treatment, Elliot kept his eyes glued to the man's back.
Both hands were tied so tightly that the blood flow was cut off. The tingling sensation was unpleasant. But Elliot spoke in a feigned cheerful tone.
“Long time no see.”
At those words, the other man slowly turned around. A face as numb as a bleached rock gradually revealed itself. Elliot grinned at the sight of his friend, who remained so unchanging.
“Heiner.”
Heiner watched from a few feet away the man he once considered a close colleague.
Jackson looked much the same as he did ten years ago, only older. That bubbly smile, that light-hearted way of speaking, that almost felt frivolous.
“Hey, you’re too normal.”
Jackson, who was looking over Heiner, said as if he were admiring him.
“It seems the gift I sent didn’t work well.”
“So you were the one who left the sniper behind that day.”
He suspected it wasn't a coincidence that a sniper was there the day he rescued Anette from the rubble of Huntingham Church. He just wasn't sure. But now it's become clear.
Jackson smiled as if he knew he'd noticed.
"I was so sad to hear that he was shot dead on the spot. He was a guy I cared about."
“I guess you were sure I would be there.”
Heiner gestured to the soldiers behind Jackson and spoke indifferently. The soldiers immediately retreated.
"Hmm, maybe 73 percent? I thought 27 percent was a no-brainer. You're the commander-in-chief of a country. If you knew your own life was precious, you wouldn't act rashly. But seeing as you came..."
Jackson, who had been dragging his words, let out a short, empty laugh as if he was indignant.
"You really loved that woman. Miss Rosenberg kept saying no, so I figured it wasn't true. If I'd known this would happen, I would've used her as a prisoner and gotten a promotion. And even a medal."
"So."
Heiner continued, looking at him with cold eyes.
“When this is over, you said you would become an officer, get a house in the country, receive a medal, and be happy... I guess you’ve achieved your dream to some extent.”
“...”
“Are you happy?”
For a moment, Jackson's face lost all expression. It was clear what Heiner meant by "this."
Jackson lowered his head and looked at his feet for a moment, then raised his eyes again and gave a short laugh, "Haha."
“Well, that’s true.”
“Surely you could have captured her.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow as if to ask what it meant.
“What you said earlier doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t you do that?”
“Well, I did consider taking her prisoner, but... Miss Rosenberg kept insisting that she wasn’t worthy of being a prisoner, and when I heard her story, it sounded plausible, so I wasn’t really sure.”
“...”
"And then that woman apologized to me, saying she was the Marquis's replacement? In that case, I was the victim. That was the first time she'd ever said something like that. Well, so..."
Jackson's mumbled words were scattered by the wind and inaudible. Jackson gave a slight shrug.
“So I just didn’t want to do it.”
Jackson was scheduled to stand trial. He would likely face life imprisonment or the death penalty. Captain Elliot Sydow was the prime suspect in the Huntingham Church Massacre.
The young man who was determined to be recognized and happy was awaiting punishment as a war criminal of a defeated nation.
The sun was setting slightly. Rays of sunlight filtered through the branches. Their transport time was approaching. Heiner asked his final question.
“Why did you open the door then?”
The two men's gazes met in a straight line. Their eyes, which, no matter how many different forms or identities they disguised, could conceal, stared straight at each other.
"Well."
Jackson whispered.
“Should I call this a belated apology?”
"I see," Heiner muttered, staring at his mouth. The dry winter wind blew the hem of his coat.
There was a brief silence. Jackson's face, which had been somewhat slumped, quickly regained its vitality. He grinned.
“Still, it’s a bit embarrassing to see you progressing so smoothly.”
“Well, it’s not that I’m fine, so that’s a little consolation.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
By their standards, being unwell meant at least permanent damage. But Heiner appeared perfectly fine, with no injuries, let alone any disabilities.
Jackson's gaze, filled with wonder, slowly scanned Heiner.
After a brief observation, Jackson realized that when Heiner turned toward him earlier, he had turned to the right. He also realized that he had been observing the shape of his mouth throughout the conversation.
"Ah!" Jackson let out a small gasp. He chuckled.
“It looks good.”
The laughter soon subsided. A clanging iron gate opened from the open space. Heiner gestured to the soldiers standing behind Jackson.
“Don’t be too happy with that girl. It’ll make your stomach hurt.”
The soldiers who approached grabbed Jackson by both arms. Jackson uttered his last words as he was dragged away.
“Just be a little happier.”
The three men's boots pounded the ground as they moved away. A thin layer of dust rose on the cold, frozen ground. Heiner, watching their backs, answered quietly.
“...Yes.”
The post-war situation was as hectic as the war.
There was a mountain of work to be done: the trials and punishment of war criminals, the issue of reparations for the defeated nations, the redistribution of territory, and the various treaties concluded after the war.
The armistice agreement was abolished. In the city of Biche, where the Biche Accords had been signed, a new Biche Peace Accord and peace treaty were being discussed.
Furthermore, at the insistence of Padania's Commander-in-Chief, Heiner Valdemar, a postwar treaty was concluded, adding new provisions to the international law of war.
The main provisions of the treaty were a strict prohibition against attacks on doctors, nurses, ambulances, and medical support vehicles, hospital ships, and buildings displaying the emblems of international medical organizations.
Many things were gradually being sorted out.
The plane, gliding across the evening sky, slowly lowered its altitude. Clouds began to pass outside the window, and the white and yellow lights of the city began to appear.
After placing the final, stamped, international law document into an envelope, Heiner opened his briefcase. At the very front of the thick, light brown envelopes were several unusually white letter envelopes.
He took one out and unfolded it. The neatly written letter began with the words, "Dear Heiner."
[I'm writing to you with the window open. Winter has arrived in Santa Molino, but perhaps because it's in the south, it's not as cold as the capital. That's fortunate. As you know, I'm more sensitive to the cold than the heat.
How's the weather there? Are you doing well? I'm worried because I haven't heard back from you...
I'm studying composition again. In fact, I think I'll be able to finish a piece by next month. It's not a new piece, but just a refinement of something I've written before. When I stopped by the official residence to meet Joseph, I brought my belongings with me and discovered some unfinished pieces from the past.
I'm always worried about you.
I hope you return safely.]
Heiner's eyes delicately traced each word, each miraculous sentence.
There were several reasons why he didn't respond to these letters, the most important of which was his uncertainty about the war. This became even more evident after hearing the news of Katrine Grotts's death.
That day, amidst the Cheshire Field bombing, he realized he might never return to her whole again.
Heiner didn't want to burden her with any burden. He simply wanted to give her victory, like a bouquet of flowers.
In a new day of peace, where everything is over.
“Your Excellency, we will be arriving in Launceston shortly.”
The plane's noise grew louder. His left ear felt particularly ringing. Heiner turned his head and looked out the window. The city lights were getting closer.
It was a beautiful sight, like a night sky studded with countless stars.
They were due to stand trial soon. Fourteen of Frances's key military leaders had already been sentenced to death yesterday by a military tribunal.
The faces of the Frances soldiers were all ashen and dead. A Padanian officer walked among them, checking something.
Then he checked the name tag of a soldier, stopped in front of him, and asked.
“Elliot Sydow?”
“Yes.”
"Wake up."
The officer gave the order without a word. Elliot obediently rose from his seat. The officer gestured for him to follow.
Two rifle-wielding soldiers flanked Elliot on either side. Elliot continued to walk, his hands still on the back of his head.
Eventually, they arrived at the back of an empty lot. There, a large, high-ranking officer was standing with his back to the ground, carrying a heavy load on his back.
Elliot recognized his opponent just by looking at his back.
“Extend your hand.”
The soldiers tied his hands. Despite staggering slightly from the harsh treatment, Elliot kept his eyes glued to the man's back.
Both hands were tied so tightly that the blood flow was cut off. The tingling sensation was unpleasant. But Elliot spoke in a feigned cheerful tone.
“Long time no see.”
At those words, the other man slowly turned around. A face as numb as a bleached rock gradually revealed itself. Elliot grinned at the sight of his friend, who remained so unchanging.
“Heiner.”
***
Heiner watched from a few feet away the man he once considered a close colleague.
Jackson looked much the same as he did ten years ago, only older. That bubbly smile, that light-hearted way of speaking, that almost felt frivolous.
“Hey, you’re too normal.”
Jackson, who was looking over Heiner, said as if he were admiring him.
“It seems the gift I sent didn’t work well.”
“So you were the one who left the sniper behind that day.”
He suspected it wasn't a coincidence that a sniper was there the day he rescued Anette from the rubble of Huntingham Church. He just wasn't sure. But now it's become clear.
Jackson smiled as if he knew he'd noticed.
"I was so sad to hear that he was shot dead on the spot. He was a guy I cared about."
“I guess you were sure I would be there.”
Heiner gestured to the soldiers behind Jackson and spoke indifferently. The soldiers immediately retreated.
"Hmm, maybe 73 percent? I thought 27 percent was a no-brainer. You're the commander-in-chief of a country. If you knew your own life was precious, you wouldn't act rashly. But seeing as you came..."
Jackson, who had been dragging his words, let out a short, empty laugh as if he was indignant.
"You really loved that woman. Miss Rosenberg kept saying no, so I figured it wasn't true. If I'd known this would happen, I would've used her as a prisoner and gotten a promotion. And even a medal."
"So."
Heiner continued, looking at him with cold eyes.
“When this is over, you said you would become an officer, get a house in the country, receive a medal, and be happy... I guess you’ve achieved your dream to some extent.”
“...”
“Are you happy?”
For a moment, Jackson's face lost all expression. It was clear what Heiner meant by "this."
Jackson lowered his head and looked at his feet for a moment, then raised his eyes again and gave a short laugh, "Haha."
“Well, that’s true.”
“Surely you could have captured her.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow as if to ask what it meant.
“What you said earlier doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t you do that?”
“Well, I did consider taking her prisoner, but... Miss Rosenberg kept insisting that she wasn’t worthy of being a prisoner, and when I heard her story, it sounded plausible, so I wasn’t really sure.”
“...”
"And then that woman apologized to me, saying she was the Marquis's replacement? In that case, I was the victim. That was the first time she'd ever said something like that. Well, so..."
Jackson's mumbled words were scattered by the wind and inaudible. Jackson gave a slight shrug.
“So I just didn’t want to do it.”
Jackson was scheduled to stand trial. He would likely face life imprisonment or the death penalty. Captain Elliot Sydow was the prime suspect in the Huntingham Church Massacre.
The young man who was determined to be recognized and happy was awaiting punishment as a war criminal of a defeated nation.
The sun was setting slightly. Rays of sunlight filtered through the branches. Their transport time was approaching. Heiner asked his final question.
“Why did you open the door then?”
The two men's gazes met in a straight line. Their eyes, which, no matter how many different forms or identities they disguised, could conceal, stared straight at each other.
"Well."
Jackson whispered.
“Should I call this a belated apology?”
"I see," Heiner muttered, staring at his mouth. The dry winter wind blew the hem of his coat.
There was a brief silence. Jackson's face, which had been somewhat slumped, quickly regained its vitality. He grinned.
“Still, it’s a bit embarrassing to see you progressing so smoothly.”
“Well, it’s not that I’m fine, so that’s a little consolation.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
By their standards, being unwell meant at least permanent damage. But Heiner appeared perfectly fine, with no injuries, let alone any disabilities.
Jackson's gaze, filled with wonder, slowly scanned Heiner.
After a brief observation, Jackson realized that when Heiner turned toward him earlier, he had turned to the right. He also realized that he had been observing the shape of his mouth throughout the conversation.
"Ah!" Jackson let out a small gasp. He chuckled.
“It looks good.”
The laughter soon subsided. A clanging iron gate opened from the open space. Heiner gestured to the soldiers standing behind Jackson.
“Don’t be too happy with that girl. It’ll make your stomach hurt.”
The soldiers who approached grabbed Jackson by both arms. Jackson uttered his last words as he was dragged away.
“Just be a little happier.”
The three men's boots pounded the ground as they moved away. A thin layer of dust rose on the cold, frozen ground. Heiner, watching their backs, answered quietly.
“...Yes.”
***
The post-war situation was as hectic as the war.
There was a mountain of work to be done: the trials and punishment of war criminals, the issue of reparations for the defeated nations, the redistribution of territory, and the various treaties concluded after the war.
The armistice agreement was abolished. In the city of Biche, where the Biche Accords had been signed, a new Biche Peace Accord and peace treaty were being discussed.
Furthermore, at the insistence of Padania's Commander-in-Chief, Heiner Valdemar, a postwar treaty was concluded, adding new provisions to the international law of war.
The main provisions of the treaty were a strict prohibition against attacks on doctors, nurses, ambulances, and medical support vehicles, hospital ships, and buildings displaying the emblems of international medical organizations.
Many things were gradually being sorted out.
The plane, gliding across the evening sky, slowly lowered its altitude. Clouds began to pass outside the window, and the white and yellow lights of the city began to appear.
After placing the final, stamped, international law document into an envelope, Heiner opened his briefcase. At the very front of the thick, light brown envelopes were several unusually white letter envelopes.
He took one out and unfolded it. The neatly written letter began with the words, "Dear Heiner."
[I'm writing to you with the window open. Winter has arrived in Santa Molino, but perhaps because it's in the south, it's not as cold as the capital. That's fortunate. As you know, I'm more sensitive to the cold than the heat.
How's the weather there? Are you doing well? I'm worried because I haven't heard back from you...
I'm studying composition again. In fact, I think I'll be able to finish a piece by next month. It's not a new piece, but just a refinement of something I've written before. When I stopped by the official residence to meet Joseph, I brought my belongings with me and discovered some unfinished pieces from the past.
I'm always worried about you.
I hope you return safely.]
Heiner's eyes delicately traced each word, each miraculous sentence.
There were several reasons why he didn't respond to these letters, the most important of which was his uncertainty about the war. This became even more evident after hearing the news of Katrine Grotts's death.
That day, amidst the Cheshire Field bombing, he realized he might never return to her whole again.
Heiner didn't want to burden her with any burden. He simply wanted to give her victory, like a bouquet of flowers.
In a new day of peace, where everything is over.
“Your Excellency, we will be arriving in Launceston shortly.”
The plane's noise grew louder. His left ear felt particularly ringing. Heiner turned his head and looked out the window. The city lights were getting closer.
It was a beautiful sight, like a night sky studded with countless stars.
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