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Lying prone on the vantage point, Steve looked through his rifle scope, down towards the maze of trenches. Him and that Buck down there had a lot in common. Both were the last man standing. Both had been trying for to kill each other for a few days now. Both had survived. He didn’t know whether this was down to luck, a mutually bad aim, or maybe something else. Over the relentless days and nights of trying to end this battle, he would observe other things they had in common. They were both Blond. They were both left-handed. Steve wondered what else they had in common. He wondered if he would ever find out.
At night, the cold started getting to them both. But Steve couldn’t give up. He knew Buck wouldn’t either. Another thing they had in common. He liked that. Clearly Buck was persistent. Loyal. The scope floated over the trenches. Steve waited. A blond head of hair peeked out, Steve pulled, BANG, missed, miles off. Damn this cold, thought Steve. He was the best sniper in the regiment, and that was before the rest were wiped out. He didn’t see Buck for the rest of the night.
Next morning, Steve was rudely awakened by a single rifle shot. He checked for holes on or around him, cursing that he fell asleep. He couldn’t find any. He pointed his rifle at the trenches, and saw Buck smiling, playful, before he ducked back down. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle.
He had not seen Buck for hours, as usual, so he fired a shot in the air to keep him on his toes. A few seconds later he heard another shot, the sound moving away from him. They continued like this, firing shots at random intervals and replying in kind. “Are you still there?” “Yes.” Anytime he heard the crack of a shot, he felt a warmth in his chest. A warmth he welcomed in these colder days.
It was Thursday. Morning. Not that they had noticed. They had both forgotten what time was. Another thing they had in common. Steve scoured the trenches. Buck was hiding well. As he scanned, he stopped. It was him. Not just his blond hair. His head. His face. No raised rifle. Just a gentle smile. Steve’s heart fluttered. He looked through the scope. Just looking. He savoured every second. Buck. What is your name? Who are you? How did you end up here? Steve was cold. But he didn’t care. He wanted to look at Buck. In the cold, his hand spasmed. It pulled the trigger.
It was too cold for Steve to cry. So he left and reported the battle won. For this, he won a medal. But he never took it out the box.