Is It Too Late?

Etzelied was alone. Alone with the smoke, the debris, the fiery, scorching air, and – he hesitated even to think it – the bodies, the dead bodies everywhere, littering the ground like so many rocks, like an additional layer of earth spread over this Godforsaken battlefield. He hadn’t signed up for this. He shook his head violently, trying to clear away this image of purest devastation. No, he had signed up for it (voluntarily, even), but he didn’t know at the time what he was in for. He’d heard his share of horror stories from the more experienced soldiers, and from the colonel, but no verbal account of such a massacre could ever really prepare one for the sight, the feeling, the knowledge that this had happened and that he was a part of it. He was quite certain that he was melting. Breathing in the hot air and the revolting stench of death, he would, sooner or later, collapse like all the rest, sink into a formless puddle of flesh…

“Filthy German,” a coarse voice croaked from somewhere behind him, followed shortly thereafter by the sound of a clumsy step, the shuffling of debris.

He turned abruptly to see the hunched, bleeding form of a young Frenchman, bayonet raised at eye level, moving toward him with the frantic perseverance of a wounded buck. Etzelied blinked for a moment in shock, and then burst into hysterical laughter. What was this? A joke? Who did this guy think he was? Did he really think that after all this…that there was a reason, any reason at all, to keep on fighting?

Taken aback, but still determinedly marching ahead, the Frenchman jabbed his bayonet forward angrily. “You’ll die laughing, you son of a -----.”

Amusement quickly transformed into fury. “Yeah? Despite all that?” he asked, pulling out his own weapon and pointing it at the multiple patches of blood on the other man’s uniform, which must have concealed quite grievous injuries. He advanced forward one step, now within three feet of him. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing made sense. Why were he and this man the only ones to survive? What gave them the right? Why should they not die as well, and--

The Frenchman’s blade arced up, up, over his head and around on one side, quickly, so unbelievably quickly, and Etzelied felt it pierce his side. He would have screamed in rage, but he felt as if something were caught in his throat. Perhaps the smoke. He grabbed the bayonet with his bare hand, letting it slice deeply into his palm, and wrenched it out of the other man’s grasp. “You fool!” he managed, his voice choked and much quieter than he had intended, as he threw the weapon aside. No…why should they die? Maybe they had no right to live, but it wasn’t their duty to die either. Another thought occurred to him, and he demanded, “Tell me your name.” Who was this nameless warrior?

“Arnaud.” Suddenly fearful for his life, he gave his name without hesitation. Then, ashamed at his weakness, and seeing that the German didn’t seem to have any intention of killing him, he grimaced and added sardonically, “You want to make peace now? NOW? Isn’t it a little too late for peace? Look around you. Look at all of them!” His voice broke on the last word, and he dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

Etzelied’s expression was stony, impassive. He threw his weapon atop Arnaud’s. Hastily, he tore the sleeves off of his uniform, tied the end of one to the other, and wrapped it around his waist as a makeshift bandage. “And what was it all for…” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Arnaud was silent, trembling slightly. He lowered his hands and stared, without really seeing (rather, seeing beyond, toward something deep in his mind), at the mud beneath him.

Etzelied turned his face to the sky as a light rain began to fall, and held his arms out like wings. “Yes, what was it all for!” he shouted into the smoke and the rain. Arnaud grumbled scathingly, but Etzelied paid him no mind. “I say this with dead men as my audience, and one living who has the mind of one dead. I say this to God. I say this…with hardly any heart left to feel the words. But I say…” He paused dramatically, raising his hands an inch higher. “I say, it is never too late for peace!”