The Fog of War Made the Past Rose Coloured

"Seriously? More interrogation duty?" Aralim scowled, attempting to appear intimidating with only one arm available for crossing.

Helio snorted, lounging back in the seat beside him.

Commander Helter narrowed his eyes, a file clutched in his hand. "Who chose to run-"

"-Heroically-" Aralim interjected.

"-Foolishly-" His traitorous partner, Helio rolled his eyes.

"-directly into the line of fire? You're lucky we're clearing your injury in only a few weeks, because we have a lot of rebels to question." The tone was final, and the threat obvious.

Aralim reluctantly took the file from his commander, smoothly flicking it open to peer at the details contained inside. "Oh great, another defector? Why do I have to question these ungrateful-"

"Interrogation Room 6." Commander Helter snapped, pointing out the door. "Do not return until you extract something useful. We already executed most of the rebels working under her, and we need information."

Aralim scoffed, getting to his feet.

"Tough, buddy." Helio clapped him on the back, also getting up.

"Not you." Commander Helter glared at Helio, and Aralim winced in pity, speed walking his way out.

He read the file on his way to the interrogation room, struggling with flipping pages. Torture room with a clean table was a better descriptor of them, but that was besides the point.

The rebel's name was Neriah Alco, a former citizen of his country, before the invaders had torn it apart. She'd defected from the icier Lake provinces, at the age of 12, nine years ago. Since, she'd decided to help the enemy ravage her homeland and murder her people, serving as a squad Captain.

Aralim tasted bitterness in his mouth, shutting the file aggressively. There was nothing he hated more in the world than these traitors, the same ones who had almost cost him an arm in the most recent skirmish.

He finally stopped before Room 6 and sighed, reminding himself that he had a job. After stuffing the file awkwardly under his cast, he swung the door open.

"Shouldn't you knock? Seems like bad manners for soldier of the glorious nation of Irilis." The prisoner drawled, almost startling him as he entered.

Aralim scoffed at the chained woman, analysing the bruises on her face and arms. "I'll remember next time." He moved forward, dropping the file on the table. "Is there anything else you require? Hot tea?"

Neriah Alco smirked, tilting her head. "Let's see. You could start with remodelling, the chains and blood are bit much."

Aralim raised an eyebrow, she was bolder than any woman he'd met. "I can meet those demands, in exchange for information on fellow rebels and invaders."

The chains rattled as the rebel leaned back slowly in her seat. "Throw in your commander's surrender and you have a deal."

This time Aralim allowed a smile, but he was sure it came out disgusted more than amused. "Are all traitors as amusing as you are?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Don't you remember the greatness of the country you're destroying? Or is blood and filth the only thing rebels enjoy?"

"Let it be known that rebels do like their cities bloody and filthy, but I need to hear about this greatness." Neriah leaned forward again, resting her chin on a hand. "Please share..." She squinted painfully through a black eye. "Sergeant Aralim Dekker."

Aralim felt inklings of pity, but shrugged. "I'm sure you recall our world-famous architecture, the dozens of museums we had. We were powerful, wealthy. We celebrated the end of the summers with a grand party. Life was good, when children didn't grow up under the threat of war." His heart warmed at the memories, but he kept his eyes stony, drilling into the woman's deep brown eyes.

"Do you remember that? That beauty, happiness existed here?" He asked, hoping that something would get through to her.

"I remember things too, Sergeant. I remember not being allowed to study, I remember being treated as worthless. Your architecture was very pretty, when one was allowed to see it." The rebel smiled darkly, raising an eyebrow at the frown she saw in response.

"What are you talking about? Women were allowed to study, and our country treated its mothers and daughters with the highest respect." Aralim corrected, tired already with this. Maybe he should've made a bigger fuss over this assignment.

The rebel laughed weakly. "Being taught how to read, but forbidden from working, thinking, learning more is a punishment, not an education. And respect? It wasn't respect, it was control. It was banning women from an identity other than the house." The rebel sighed dramatically, chains rattling as she brought them down onto the table. "Teaching baby soldiers about empathy is the worst torture yet."

Aralim stared at her, wondering how much of a rebel's words could be trusted. "My mother and aunts have never said anything about-"

"They've never said anything to a soldier? That is so surprising." The rebel gave a fake gasp, and Aralim reminded himself not to underestimate her. He'd read her kill count, he couldn't be fooled by the rebel's theatrics.

"I get it now, of course you don't think women should be thinking, you barely think yourself, little puppet." The rebel hummed slightly. "You're wasting your time. I would never give up my people, so why don't you call for a firing squad?"

The sergeant wasn't sure why he was screwing up this assignment so spectacularly, but he needed to convince this rebel he was right. "How come you're so...remarkable for a woman? If our country is so..." He waved a hand, finding himself incapable of describing his homeland negatively.

"Well, I had parents who never let me be weak. I was taught to read, I escaped. The invaders and rebels are far more understanding of the simple fact that women are just as capable as men." The rebel waved a hand idly. "I'm not remarkable, Sergeant, if you let more of the women in your life follow their dreams, you'd realize exactly what potential you've beaten out of them."

Aralim contemplated that. How his aunts had wicked wit that died in the presence of threatening uncles. How his little female cousins were given less attention, less training than his male cousins.

"Even if your motives were right, you joined the people that destroyed your country?" Aralim demanded, ripping open the file to pull out documents. Evidence of the crimes the woman sitting in front of him was capable of.

"Is it my country, Sergeant?" The rebel stared him down, a humourless smile on her face.

Aralim didn't think he'd seen such open hostility on a woman's face.

"Yes, I joined the people that gave me rights. A position in society. I want to change my country, but-" The rebel reached out with difficulty to separate a paper from the rest. "I realized when you killed my parents, that the only way to change a country is by ripping up weeds."

The sergeant scanned the sheet. "They were traitors."

"Running a secret school for girls is hardly an act of treason." Neriah Alco cracked her neck. "Just like you're a soldier, I'm a soldier. You don't believe in what I say? Take off the blinders, Tin Man. Think about your made up, beautiful country like you're one of the maids that scrubs your floors, or a minority, or a woman."

Discomfort twisted Aralim's gut, distorting the beautiful view of his home in his mind's eye. According to the traitor, the problems didn't start with the invaders, the invaders just gave rebels like her a place to go.

A knock on the door shook both prisoner and soldier out of their respective stares.

"Finally, somebody with manners." The rebel muttered, and Aralim huffed out the suggestion of a laugh, getting up.

A young soldier stood outside the door, and Aralim recognized his pimpled face from the mess hall. So young, but in a few weeks' time this soldier would also be deployed to the front lines.

"Sir, Commander Helter has reports of another rebel hideout that's being attacked. If your prisoner isn't cooperating, he asks you send her for execution."

Another hideout under attack? Irritation ran through Aralim, it was unfair that he had to be here with that infuriating, puzzling rebel, when he could be getting rid of them without sympathy.

"Wait here," He ordered the younger soldier, going back into the room.

"We're attacking another one of your rebel hideouts. Shame that your invader friends can't help." Aralim told Neriah Alco.

The rebel's eyes narrowed. "Shame that I can't help them." Her clanging chains spoke volumes about a shared frustration.

"You could've done this another way." Aralim tried, again unsure of why.

"There was no other way." The rebel replied, that annoying smile back on her face. "You work to reinstate that awful past, and I work to banish it. Beauty, sergeant, flourishes more in times of freedom. Slaves understand very little of art."

"I'm sorry, Captain." Aralim said, truly sympathetic. Not to the means, but towards the reason. Surely not all rebels shared these reasons, but at least he understood this one.

"Don't be, it was a pleasure to serve. I should tell you that the rebellion needs new soldiers. They'll even take imbeciles like you." Something seemed to click for the rebel too, and she smiled a little more strongly.

Aralim gave his instructions and watched soldiers take the defiant Neriah Alco away. He left after that, marching unthinkingly away, trying to escape the infection in her words.

He stopped to watch a maid cleaning the President's statue in the main hall.