Chapter One

The events of that night precipitated from an incident that occurred two days prior, when I was separated from my company by a snowstorm. The winds destroyed any tracks they may have left behind. The storm raged relentlessly for two days and only slackened on the third. When the winds subsided, I left my shelter and made my way north, hoping to reunite with my company. It was then that I reached the canyon. Long and narrow, it was a mere cleft between two mountains, and our camp was to its north. I would have to pass through it to reach them.

I slid down the side of the hill as noiselessly as I could. Using the rifle butt for support, I edged down to the western side of the gorge, behind a large slab of rock. I dropped my rucksack and lay on my back, facing the mountain. The rifle sat on my chest and my finger tightened around the trigger, while my gaze drifted to the skies. It was snowing again and the wind began to howl. I readjusted my helmet and mopped the sweat off my face. I marvelled at the absurdity of sweating in the middle of winter—war did crazy things to men.

It was very quiet. My thoughts felt somewhat disjointed and I could discern no particular pattern to them. I pondered the snow first, but then my thoughts wandered towards my family back home, and suddenly I found myself thinking of food. I thought of steak and potatoes, of meatloaf and gravy, of the thousands of dinners I'd had, without ever pausing to relish every bite and every morsel. I promised myself that if I made it out of here alive, I would learn to celebrate every moment of my existence, no mat