“Marshall, you can’t send that letter. No one besides us knows we’re here, not even our families.” Private Darryl Winston’s nervous eyes darted around the mess hall to check for onlookers.
     “I just don’t think it’s right, Darryl. My whole life they always taught us in school, ‘No one ever has or ever could ever live in Antarctica; it’s just too cold.’ but then here we are because there have been people, and they’re suffering. One of the most oppressive societies was right underneath our nose the whole time; don’t you think someone had to know about this? I mean, c’mon, it’s the 21st century. How would something like this slip under our noses so easily?” Private Marshall Peterson lifted a forkful of scrambled eggs to his mouth as he wrote the final sentences of his letter.
         Hope all is well back home. Boy, do I miss you guys.
                    Love, Marshall.
                         ~ ~ ~
     As the sheets of ice and snow crunched under the rubber soles of Sergeant Declan Kent’s boots, a shiver ran down his spine. It was cold. Could one expect any differently from December in Casey, Antarctica? “The blasted weather on this Godforsaken continent…” Declan grumbled. Sergeant Kent was a handsomely crafted man, in his mid-thirties, with a tall, agile stature and posture that screamed authority. He had angular cheekbones and a jawline that could chisel granite, along with a pointed chin and a thin line of lips that were accustomed to frowning. His short, coffee-colored hair complemented his olive skin tone and his dark, piercing eyes. Wiggling his stiff and near-frozen fingers and toes, the Captain’s gloved hand pulled at the door handle and he walked into the mess hall. “On your feet!” He boomed and the dull roar of conversation drastically changed to the sound of forks and knives being dropped and chairs screeching back from tables. “Training is starting early this morning! No more breakfast. Deal with it. Move out!” The men, most still half asleep and empty-stomached, grumbled as they grabbed some last-minute toast, bananas, and sips of orange juice and filed out of the mess hall, two hundred bees squeezing through the only door out of the hive. Sergeant Kent spotted Marshall along the far wall of the hall, pulling his fur uniform hat over his caramel hair and shoving a crumpled piece of paper into the pocket of his jacket. The corner of his lips curled into a snarl as he waited for the young boy to come closer. “Taking our time are we, private?” Declan sneered. Marshall’s topaz eyes stared blankly at Sergeant Kent. “Turn out your pockets.” Marshall reached in his jacket pockets and opened up his fists. Sergeant Kent immediately snatched the piece of paper out of his hand. “Unbelievable,” he spat as he read the words Marshall had written. His hands shook with anger as he ripped the piece of paper to shreds. Kent grabbed the front of Marshall’s shirt and pulled his face so close to his own that their noses were practically touching. “Your lack of focus is despicable. You’re rations are halved until further notice. Get to training, and you’re late now so it better be a run.”
     “Yes, sir.” Marshall stammered as he jogged towards the door.
                                       ~ ~ ~
     “You better pick it up, ladies!” Declan screamed at the troop of men on their daily six-mile run. “The war has no time for weakness!”
     “I hate Antarctica,” Marshall’s soft words could be seen in puffs of mist in the freezing morning. “Why are we here?”
     “It’s…like…he enjoys this,” Darryl muttered between heavy breaths.
     “What was that, Winston?!” Declan turned his yell towards the baby-faced private. “Everyone stop!” The company came to a standstill and a hushed silence fell over the men, who waited to hear what punishment was coming next. Declan walked up to Marshall and Darryl’s place at the middle of the pack. “Well, well look what we have here. Are you two having a good time? Enjoying a nice conversation?” he snarled through an artificial smile. The coldness in the sergeant’s voice turned the blood in Marshall’s veins into icy rivers of fear. “Since Winston here still has enough oxygen on this run to talk, we are clearly not working hard enough. So all of you drop and give me fifty and then we’re going double-time for the rest of the way! You can thank your delightful friends here.”
     “He’s crazy. First no breakfast, and then no talking now, too?” Marshall whispered as Sergeant Kent strode away. “What’s next, no going to the bathroom?”
                                     ~ ~ ~
Marshall and Darryl laid their wet socks and gloves on the brick next to the fireplace as they sat their sore bodies next to the fire to thaw themselves out. “What is his problem, anyway?” Marshall demanded. “He’s more than just tough; he’s unfair. It’s like he’s picking on us for his own pleasure.”
     “I feel so bad,” Darryl moped. “They probably all hate me now.”
     “Darryl, shut up. It wasn’t your fault and that’s what I’m talking  about. It’s all Kent’s. At first I just didn’t like the guy, but now I really hate him.” Marshall clenched his teeth in anger.

                                    ~~~

     Sergeant Declan Kent lowered his aluminum can full of lukewarm instant coffee down to his desk as he reread his shaky handwriting on the paper in front of him. After signing it with a flurry of his pen and carefully folding the paper, he abruptly stood up and placed the letter carefully in the top drawer of his desk. Straightening his belt and hat, Sergeant Kent strode to the door to his office.
     Crunch crunch crackle. Marshall’s eyes sprung open and he sat up as he fine-tuned his ears to the sound that had awakened him. Zippering his climate-resistant jacket, Marshall opened the door of the sleeping quarters and his breath was taken away by a gust of forty-below-zero winds upon his opening of the door. The cold became incredibly less bearable at night, and as his body heat began its frantic runaway into the raw winter night, Marshall’s muscles stiffened. His eyes scanned through the darkness to locate the cause of the noise he was hearing. Crack crunch crackle. Finally, Marshall’s eyes focused on a silhouette in the distance, steadily crunching across sheets of ice and snow towards the far edge of camp to a short drop-off and a seemingly never-ending expansion of water. Crunch crackle crunch. With bewilderment, Marshall recognized the man as having the unmistakable poise and gait of his hated sergeant.
     Declan Kent reached the edge of the water and looked up into the clear night sky, untainted by light pollution, and his attention was drawn to a particular star. It was Sirius, the brightest star in Earth’s sky, and Declan noted how far away its burning brightness seemed from him. He wondered how it was possible for something so far away to still be visible from his standpoint.
Marshall watched Sergeant Kent pause on the edge of the water and stare into the sky. Suddenly, a venomous rage bubbled up inside him as he thought how easy it would be to push the sergeant into the deathly cold water. No more push-ups or punishments, no more harsh yelling. It was too tempting. His anger seemed to take control of his movements, marching his legs closer to the sergeant, eyes locked on his prey. However, what Marshall next witnessed stopped him in his tracks. Sergeant Kent had voluntarily stepped off the ledge and had begun wading into the water. Marshall froze where he stood and contemplated how easy it would be to walk back to his warm bed and pretend he did not see anything happen. It would be Kent’s fault because Kent deserved it and he had to pay. Marshall turned back towards the sleeping quarters when the voice of his mother from his childhood drifted into his head. ‘Be kind, Marshall, for everyone you meet has their own story.’ Suddenly, Marshall turned with realization and took off in a sprint across the ice. “Sergeant! Sergeant Kent! Wait! Stop!” His shoes skidded to a stop before the water, black in the darkness of the night, and Marshall looked out at Sergeant Kent, who was now nearly fifteen yards away in knee-deep water, completely unaware of his cries. “Sergeant!” Marshall screamed. “Come back!” Realizing there was no other option, Marshall jumped off the ledge and groaned in agony. The cold water sliced through his bones like knives, filling Marshall’s whole body with a clumsy numbness. He forced his feet and legs to keep moving and when he reached Sergeant Kent he grabbed him by the back of his jacket. At the touch of Marshall’s hand, Kent gasped and whipped around to face Marshall. He blinked as the glazed look in his eyes cleared to show their sullen mistiness. “Sir, we have to get out of here or we’ll both die!” Marshall cried as he took Declan’s willing arm and pulled him towards the shore like a lost puppy.
                                       ~ ~ ~
     “It’s so nice of you to visit your Sergeant after his accident!” The nurse cooed. “Slipping and falling into that freezing cold ocean is pretty scary, huh?” Knock knock knock. “Sergeant Kent, sir?” The nurse quietly called as she opened the door to the hospital room. “You have a visitor.” Sergeant Kent looked to the doorway to see Private Marshall entering the room.
     “Hello, Sergeant,” said Marshall weakly.
     “Private Marshall, please come in,” Declan softly stated. Marshall walked across the eggshell floor to the chair beside the hospital bed and gingerly sat down. A silence fell upon the room as Marshall looked at the once stone man, now crumbling before his eyes, and begged his mouth to say the right words.
     “I see your frostbite seems to be almost gone, Sergeant. Do you feel better?”
     “Marshall, I just want to thank you for what you did.”
     “Sir, I had to. It was the right thing to do. But, if you don’t mind me asking…” Marshall ran his hands through his hair and sighed in suspense of the uncomfortable question he knew was coming, “…why were you going to do it?” Sergeant Kent took a deep breath and looked into Marshall’s concerned eyes,

     “I know you’ve only been in the military for a short time, but soon you’ll understand there are certain things you won’t talk about. They hurt too much. It was one of my first missions in Afghanistan, shortly after I was put in charge of a company of about two hundred men. That’s where I got my start. The goal of our operation was to secure the corner of a city, set up in a good place, gather information from the locals. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult mission, and I was in charge. We took about seventy-five men in front and the rest would follow once it was secure. So we get into the city and it seems almost too easy; it’s too quiet, too still. I decide to get our men through quickly to avoid any trouble. The building we are going for is just in front of us and someone hears a gunshot, a sniper, so we’re in a trot now. I tell the men to hurry up, to get ahead of me. I thought I was getting them to temporary safety. There were about twenty men in front of me and they’re running towards the building. More sniper shots. ‘Duck and cover! Let’s go! Let’s go!’ I yell. I turn towards the twenty men in front of me; I see the man in front reach the door and open it. He steps on the threshold…” Declan takes a deep, shaky breath and his eyes fill up, “…and steps right onto a landmine. Twenty of my men are blown to pieces right before my eyes, and all I can do is stand there and watch.”
     “Sergeant, I’m so sorry, but that’s not your fault; it was an accident.”
     “I know that now but for the longest time I blamed myself. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about it. Those men were my friends and I watched them die. So, I vowed to never let something like that happen again. I would train the best soldiers I could, make them the strongest and best there ever was. That’s why I have been so hard on you men. When I realized how hated I was here, none of it seemed to matter anymore. I thought I had lost what I worked for. But now I realize I have to do both: train the best soldiers and have them be friends, too. Words alone can’t describe my gratitude to you enough. You gave me a second chance and that’s something I’ll always owe you. You are one heck of a private, Marshall, and for that I am recommending your promotion to Corporal. Congratulations, son.”
Marshall looked at Declan with awe and smiled,

     “Thank you so much sir. I will not let you down!” With that, Marshall stood up from his chair and shook the sergeant’s hand. He walked to the door and when he turned around and lifted his hand in salute to Declan, who saluted him back with pride. As Marshall walked out of the room, Declan smiled to himself, the first genuine smile on his face in years.