Serving High Above the Mountain's Slope

I Shall Rise Above

The morning was cold, as others had been. I stood attentive, watching men pass, pushing security that they'd get through safely. Many stood in ragged, torn clothes, not meant for this weather; others wore clothes that were too thin to warm. 

The poor souls have to stand in the cold and suffer through the exhaust and famine it brings. Many brave men had been frozen and buried beneath the snow; some lost in avalanches that shook the grounds. Men, young and old, will never go home. 

I took a deep breath, the cold air not as painful as it had been the day I first arrived. I had grown used to it since my arrival in early December.

I glanced to my side, lifting myself from the snow. A man sat nearby, propped against a stone, face hidden within his coat. He was older, around my age, and seemed to be freezing. I walked over, kneeling beside him.

His body didn't shake with the cold, and it was best to assume he was gone. I advanced, brushing some snow from his coat and straightening it out. Unfortunately, he never woke through the days we spent afterward on that mountain.

So, I sat with him and talked peacefully. He must've had so many stories that he wanted to share when he got to go home. Of course, every dead man has a story to tell, much like the living. I had seen souls rise from the snow, screaming for someone to listen, to know. So, I'll sit with the poor men and let them tell their stories and what they had hoped to do on this Italian front. Some tell stories of heroism, others tell the stories of family, and the rest say they were looking for purpose and found it. They smile and walk to the grand stairway that awaits them atop this mountain.

I, on the other hand, keep my post. I monitor carefully, detached from the body that stays trapped beneath the ice and snow; the one that prays Spring will arrive. So far, nothing but an eternal winter waits for me, howling winds bringing night after night.

I stared to the top of the mountain, counting the stairs. I've done it so many times. Hundreds of steps lay in sight, and who knows how many more rest just above the clouds. I have grown tempted to climb them and see for myself, but the soldiers here still need someone to turn to when their time has come.

I have seen it all, but no one will ever tell my story.

That thought was scary. Being alone in Death is not a soldier's fate, but being forgotten will always be a risk. I know all these men's stories, but I am beneath such a force of nature, one too strong for any man to fight. There I am preserved.

That brought a smile to my face. One day, hopefully, someone will find me, and they will tell my story.

"That's right."

I glanced up, seeing a kind man. He offered me a hand, and I took it firmly, moving to my feet. I got a better look at him now.

He was a soldier, decorated highly with medals. He wasn't much older than I was, maybe twenty-five, and had kind, dark eyes. I smiled, unable to help myself.

"What's your name?"

"That's not important. All I need to know is the story you want the world to hear one day. You've been helpful to so many men that have died, and you've let them tell their stories. You should tell yours, Soldier of Heaven."

I let a small breath pass my lips, and my eyes skimmed the ground. I felt a hand on my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. 

"What's your story, son?"

"I'm a twenty-year-old soldier. I came to serve the battlefront to provide for my mother," I explained quietly, "I hadn't known what to expect from this, but now I know that we have Spirits leading the way, guiding these young men home, and taking the fallen happily. The never fading winds will leave marks that they will never be able to get rid of."

The man smiled at me, pulling me into a hug. "I said this is supposed to be your story, soldier."

I laughed, wrapping my arms around him tightly. "I may have no story to tell other than I lived, fought in the war, and died there. I led men home, and I watched soldiers pass me. I've listened to their stories, their woes. I've heard men sing and cheer, and I've watched others cry for the ones they lost. I've seen boys lose their fathers and dig through the snow to the point their fingers nearly froze entirely, and I've seen men write letters to their wives, daughters, and mothers. Each soul seemed to have so much left that they never got to share."

"And you let them talk about it."

"I've stood guard at my post for the last few years. I comfort them and let them know that stairway will take them home."

He had a soft look as he turned to look up at the mountain. "I say it's your turn."

"Not while there are soldiers still lost, sir."

"No soldier that died here shall be lost, for you have guided them home. Come with me, son. I'll walk with you. You've stood your guard for too long now. That should no longer have to be your responsibility."

"But-"

"Come on now. I've walked many soldiers to their homes. From those that died in the Ancient days of Greece to those that had fallen just before you, I was there to lead them."

I stared but wasn't so surprised. Death has many forms, each one just as kind. 

"Alright."

"There we go, son." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leading me further up the slope. No matter how rigid or slanted, my legs hadn't grown tired. It felt almost relieving that I move this much.

It didn't take long before I stood before the mighty stairs, wondering what would wait for me as soon as I went. I hesitantly took a step, the kind man following close behind. My breath caught in my throat, and I looked over my shoulder. "What's waiting?"

"Something better for you. I promise that much. Every soldier shall get a final wish; that is a place they shall rest for eternity."

I took a deep breath, beginning to climb, counting each step as I went. That curiosity burned into excitement, and I started running, counting step after step. 

Finally, I reach the top, laughing. I felt like a child again as I looked around with pure curiosity. A little cottage surrounded by woodland rested before me, the door open and welcoming. I walked forward, peeking inside. My father sat inside, talking about something I couldn't quite hear.

He looked much younger, but I knew it was him; it had to be.

I rushed forward, embracing him in a tight hug. It was the most warmth I had felt since the day I was trapped beneath the snow and left to die. That had been so long ago because now the memory felt hazy. I backed away, unable to find the words to say, but he spoke first.

"How many steps were there?"

I sniffled, looking up at my father. "Not as many as I thought there would be. I was sky high when I died; they didn't need to extend as long."

He smiled, wrapping me in a tight hug. "Welcome home."

"I've missed you."

"I know, but it's okay now... Here, you're safe. Away from all pain, you're immortal."

I backed away, staring around the room. An apple pie sat on the table with a large glass of milk. I walked over, taking a seat. "So, you did save a slice for me?"

"As promised." My father laughed, joining me at the table. "Let's have a slice, kid. We have some catching up to do."

"I have so much to tell you about!" I cheered.

---

Death stared from the doorway, nodding his head. He turned, walking from the cabin. "Welcome home, Soldier of Heaven, rest easy."