Base Camp

• Thomas Gatzen-O'Keefe, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

It has been 2 months of trudging through the cold howling snow. The war used to have meaning, before the fighting began but not anymore. We used to be a team of about 50 people ready to attack a sole military base of the Soviet side. Now we are down to 26 soldiers huddled together as we slowly make our way to Base Camp. We can barely see a few metres in front of us. The storm hasn't stopped.
I have to tell myself to put one foot in front of the other or I will just fall to the ground. The same as all the others. We tell ourselves that we are almost there, but that is just a lie, a lie some of us have said so much we believe it. Most of us have dropped our guns so our packs are lighter, but I decided to keep carrying it. Who knows what we will find.
I hear the croak from one of the other soldiers, "Jon, he passed out." I look back at the body lying in the snow. It has happened to so many I am starting to think it would be the best thing to happen to me. I remember holding my son's hand and telling him it would be all alright when I left for the war. Oh boy I was wrong.
After hours and hours of thinking of the same thing, stepping in the same fashion, I fall down onto my knees. I don't care anymore, I am bawling my eyes out. I cry for so long I am actually surprised to see the others are waiting. My friend Julian grabs my hand and pulls me up. "It'll be ok," he tells me. "It will be ok," he says again as I make my way to my feet. I just nod and keep walking.
I already know this feeling, the feeling of going crazy, it is just too common. But the headache I am having now feels more like someone shot me than just a simple throbbing. Again, without any meaning or any reason to, I just tell myself that I must keep walking.
The engine roar makes me almost jump. The feeling is strange. We all look around in the storm, but nothing comes into view. We see a fighter swoop us. Screams won't even make their way out of our mouths. I pick up my gun and point it to the sky, fearfully, and only so subtly hopefully, but they don't come again. Now a new horrid feeling comes across us as we keep walking. We find ourselves hiking faster. I still have my gun out ready to fire. The feeling comes again, worse than before, I feel like I am going to drop now. "There it is! Base Camp!" We run up seeing the flash of buildings in front of us. It is Base Camp, but it is in flames, the smoke rising to nothing.