The second bullet whizzed over Şehsuvar’s head.
He ducked.
The snow-covered ground in front of him erupted when a bullet struck the slope.
“Don’t stand up!”
A Çavuş grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to take cover behind a rock.
Şehsuvar gripped his rifle with both hands.
His fingers were trembling.
He didn’t know whether his body was shaking from fear or the cold.
Maybe both.
Through the snow-filled fog, the silhouettes of Russian soldiers began to appear.
They moved slowly down the slope.
Rifles raised.
Some fired from prone positions.
Others advanced cautiously.
The Ottoman soldiers returned fire.
The thunder of rifles repeatedly shattered the mountain’s silence.
Şehsuvar pulled the trigger.
One shot.
He didn’t know whether his bullet had hit anyone.
He fired again.
Then again.
Someone beside him shouted.
“My bullets!”
Şehsuvar turned.
The soldier held up his empty hand.
He was out of ammunition.
He ran toward the supply crate several yards behind them.
A shot rang out.
His body staggered.
He fell into the snow.
He didn’t get up again.
Şehsuvar stared at him for a few moments.
Then he turned back and aimed.
There was no time to think.
The battle continued until nightfall.
The snow fell harder.
Muzzle flashes looked like tiny bursts of light in the darkness.
The Russian soldiers retreated from the slope.
But the victory didn’t feel like a victory.
There was no cheering.
No music.
Only men trying to count how many of their comrades were still alive.
Şehsuvar slowly rose to his feet.
His legs felt heavy.
He looked around.
Some soldiers were carrying the wounded.
Others searched for their comrades among the snow.
A young man sat alone, clutching his rifle.
He stared blankly ahead.
“Did we win?” he asked.
No one answered.
Şehsuvar turned toward Khanım.
The woman was still standing far from the battlefield.
She surveyed the whole place with an inscrutable gaze.
“Why do you never look afraid?”
Khanım answered without turning around.
“Because I’ve seen too many people die.”
“So you’re used to it?”
“No.”
At last, she looked at Şehsuvar.
“No human being should ever be able to get used to death.”
Şehsuvar fell silent.
Scary, huh? ( ´・∀・｀)
That night, the troops began moving again.
No one really knew how far they had gone.
The orders from above remained the same.
Advance toward Sarıkamış.
The soldiers started walking again.
Some could barely lift their heads.
A soldier in front of Şehsuvar stumbled.
He tried to get back up.
He couldn’t.
Two of his comrades pulled him up by the arms.
“Come on.”
“I can walk.”
“Then walk.”
He stood.
They continued on.
Şehsuvar watched their faces.
Their eyes were red.
Their lips had turned blue.
Their beards and mustaches were covered in ice crystals.
No one spoke of victory anymore.
They spoke only of reaching their destination.
Sarıkamış.
The name was like a promise.
Yet the closer they came, the farther away the city seemed.
Several hours later, Şehsuvar began to feel something strange.
His steps grew heavy.
His legs were difficult to move.
He stopped.
“Why?”
Khanım stood beside him.
“Your body is beginning to give out.”
“I can still walk.”
“Not for much longer.”
Şehsuvar looked down at both his hands.
His fingers could barely move.
He rubbed his palms together.
It didn’t help.
“I can’t stop.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone else is walking.”
Khanım looked at the long line stretching out before them.
“And what if everyone is walking toward a ravine?”
Şehsuvar didn’t answer.
The woman moved closer.
“Will you follow them?”
“I’m a soldier.”
“Bad answer.”
“Then what should I say?”
“That you want to live.”
Şehsuvar looked at her.
For the first time, the woman’s face looked serious.
Morning came without bringing any warmth.
The sun was only a pale circle behind the clouds.
The snow was still falling.
Şehsuvar walked with the troops.
But their formation had changed.
It was no longer as orderly as before.
The distance between one soldier and the next grew wider.
Some walked alone.
Others fell behind.
Some stopped to rest and never stood again.
A Çavuş shouted from the front.
“Don’t stop!”
No one answered.
“Keep moving!”
The voice grew weaker, swallowed by the storm.
Şehsuvar stared ahead.
Through the white fog, he finally saw something.
The outlines of buildings.
A city.
Sarıkamış.
He almost smiled.
“We’ve made it.”
But Khanım said nothing.
Şehsuvar turned.
The woman was gone.
She had vanished just like that.
As if she had never been there in the first place.
Şehsuvar looked back toward Sarıkamış.
The city seemed so close.
But between him and the city lay a white slope covered with human bodies.
He drew a breath.
Then he stepped forward.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
And each step felt heavier than the last.
The days that followed blurred in Şehsuvar’s memory.
He could no longer tell sleep from waking.
Dream from reality.
Sometimes he saw Russian soldiers.
Sometimes he saw Ottoman troops.
Sometimes he saw figures wearing no uniform at all.
They merely stood among the snow.
Watching him.
Not moving.
One night, Şehsuvar saw a small child standing in the middle of the road.
The child was dressed in white.
“Who are you?”
The child didn’t answer.
Şehsuvar moved closer.
The child pointed behind him.
Şehsuvar turned.
There was nothing there.
When he looked back, the child had vanished.
There was only snow.
Şehsuvar began to wonder if he had gone crazy.
Then he heard a voice he knew all too well.
“Don’t wander too far.”
Khanım stood atop a rock.
Her long hair moved gently in the wind.
Şehsuvar looked at her.
“You’re back.”
“I never left.”
“You weren’t there before.”
“I’m always here.”
“Then why couldn’t I see you?”
Khanım smiled.
“Because you haven’t learned how to see yet.”
Şehsuvar furrowed his brow.
“What do you mean?”
The woman climbed down from the rock.
She walked toward Şehsuvar.
“A simulacrum is more than just a second body.”
She raised her hand.
Her fingertip touched Şehsuvar’s chest.
“You’re learning to become something different.”
Şehsuvar felt a strange pulse inside his body.
As if something were moving beneath his skin.
“What’s happening to me?”
“You’re changing.”
“Into a monster?”
Khanım smiled faintly.
“Didn’t you already decide for yourself that you’re a monster?”
Şehsuvar fell silent.
The woman withdrew her hand.
“No.”
She looked at him with deep gray-green eyes.
“A monster isn’t something born from a wound.”
“A monster is something that chooses what to do with that wound.”
Şehsuvar didn’t know whether those words were advice or a threat.
But before he could ask, gunfire rang out in the distance again.
He turned.
When he looked back at where the woman had been standing, there was no one there.
Only footprints in the snow.
The sole proof that she had truly been there.
Şehsuvar followed the footprints.
But after a few steps, they stopped.
There was no continuation.
He stood alone in the snow.
And for the first time, he began to wonder:
If that woman wasn’t human, then what exactly was she?