Flirting at a time like this was probably inappropriate, but the words were already out, and my heart was pounding. She didn't react too much, just nodded and said, "Oh."
I barely had time to feel disappointed, because a massive elongated ship suddenly appeared before us. Vine-like tendrils were wrapped around its body.
The mothership.
We were very close now.
We hovered in place for a while, waiting for the rest of the fighters to break through the fog and reach this position.
Sophie picked up the communicator. I looked at her. She nodded, brought the microphone to her lips, and said quietly:
"Earth, open fire."
All fighters pushed their engines to maximum and hurled themselves at the mothership. The mothership awoke. Its tendrils lashed out, powerful and thrashing. Some fighters crashed into them, slamming the tendrils aside and exploding against the ship's surface.
Those comrades, barely sixteen or seventeen, might have been laughing and playing in their schoolyards just months ago, harboring crushes on long-haired girls in their classes. Now they screamed in their cockpits, ramming their fighters into fireballs in the night sky. The stratosphere was freezing, but their young bodies still burned in the flames, slowly turning to ash.
The deaths of their comrades only fueled their fury. They fired every last round of ammunition, shooting down whatever interceptors they could reach, then plunged their fighters headlong into the mothership.
Through the communicator came everyone's roar: "For Earth!"
I knew that for many of them, it would be their last.
We banked our wings, dodging a swinging tendril.
I said, "Almost there. Where do we ram?"
Sophie said, "Leo, goodbye."
I blinked.
In an instant, the world spun. I was launched, chair and all, into the escape pod.
I shouted, "Sophie, what are you doing?"
Sophie had her back to me. She waved her hand. The ponytail she'd tied that afternoon swayed gently. She'd pressed the ejection button. The pod door closed before my eyes, and the massive force flung me clear.
Through the communicator came Sophie's voice: "There's a saying — real men never look back at explosions. Don't look back, you loser."
"From tomorrow on, you're an adult."
The escape pod dragged me toward the ground. The fighter vanished from my field of vision.
Then Sophie's voice came through the communicator again.
"Hey, that thing you said about marrying me — were you serious?"
I shouted, "I was serious!"
"I think I'm getting a little sleepy," Sophie's voice said softly. "Say goodnight to me?"
In the night sky, fires raged, setting the clouds ablaze.
I crashed to the ground and blacked out.
09
Someone dragged me back to camp. Drake pinched my pressure points to wake me up.
"How long was I out?"
"About half an hour. The escape pod stabilized well enough. Didn't kill you on impact."
I was groggy, head tilted back. The sky was still black. We were too far from the mothership to see what was happening. Some soldiers were passing around a pair of binoculars. I borrowed them and could barely make out clusters of flame in the sky — fighters that hadn't made it through the cordon, locked in their final dogfights with interceptors.
Drake said, "See? New Year's fireworks."
I said, "What a way to ring in the new year. No wonder they call us the cross-century generation."
Drake seemed to be crying. He said, "Damn. Our youth was too magnificent."
He was supposed to have flown in the attack today, but yesterday's ground defense battle had cost him an arm, so he had to stay on the ground. Word was he'd gotten into a screaming match with the political officer that morning and been locked in a holding cell, only released when the battle began.
I took a deep breath and started coughing. The fall had cracked my ribs, and now I was gasping.
I asked, "How many from the suicide squad survived?"
Drake said, "Half."
I said, "That many? We're lucky."
Drake said, "What are you talking about? Every pilot drew lots — life or death. Someone had to stay with the fighter for the suicide run. That's why each fighter only had one escape pod. Half live, half die."
He said, "Sophie gave you her ejection seat, didn't she?"
I froze. It felt like someone had punched me in the chest full force. I stood up, looking around, my ears ringing.
Drake said, "What's wrong?"
I said, "Do you have an eraser?"
Drake rummaged in his pockets and threw one to me. He said, "Believe it or not, I was still a sophomore half a year ago. That's the only reason I have one. Where are you going? — Hey, don't go to the trenches!"
I couldn't hear him anymore. I climbed over the barbed wire and threw myself into a trench near the searchlights. The note was still in my pocket, crumpled into a ball. When I unfolded it, it made a sound like dry leaves.
Or like a quiet sigh.
For every goodnight, there's a good dream. For every thought of someone, there's a parting.
"If the war ends, what do you want to do?"
"Sell buns. Live like an ordinary person."
The eraser in my hand rubbed and rubbed. I don't know what I thought I was wiping away. My vision blurred, tears soaking the paper.
Neat, elegant handwriting appeared:
The escape pod only had one seat. I didn't tell you this.
I was afraid you'd be stubborn. You're such a loser, always trying to play the hero. Just like a child.
Time was so tight. I still wanted to make you so many buns.
I could have made them forever.
Leo, forgive me.
Through the communicator, Drake was shouting: "Leo, you maniac, do you have a death wish? Are you trying to get court-martialed?"
I said, "You beast."
I said, "Sophie, you absolute beast."
I shouldn't have cursed. The truth was, Sophie was brilliant. She had foreseen her own death, and she'd seen through my weakness. Sophie, you know what? You were like a prophet. Only you were the Nostradamus of my twenty-second year.
I breathed heavily, grabbing my hair. I'd already forgotten which day it was — maybe it was the first day I came back from college to the district office. She was rolling dough, and she asked me what kind of bun filling I liked. I told her I'd think about it. Mom was right. Girls can wait when they're young. But don't make them wait too long. She rolled out blank wrapper after blank wrapper — was she still waiting, even now, for my answer?
Time really moves so fast. After tomorrow, whether it's destruction or rebirth, our 1999 — could growing up come just a little slower?
I don't know how long it took before I came back to my senses.
A voice said softly through the communicator: "Look up."
I raised my head. The mothership in the night sky was tilting, falling, little by little.
I watched the sky in silence. At some point, it had started snowing. Looking up from here, everything was white. That probably wasn't snow. It was the ashes of our comrades, burning alongside the interceptors.
Later, from behind us came the long tolling of bells. The millennium had arrived. Strangely, humanity had won, but the comms were silent. Nobody spoke. Everyone went quiet, silently watching this moment.
Fireworks bloomed across the mothership's massive hull.
I turned off the comms and activated the black box from the escape pod.
Static crackled, and Sophie's voice from minutes earlier came through.
"The mothership went down, didn't it?"
Yeah.
I fumbled with a cigarette and lit it, crouching against the trench wall.
"The fireworks are so beautiful."
Yeah.
I closed my eyes and gripped her hand in the void.
Dong—
The bells of the new millennium echoed across the earth.
"Hey, that thing you said about marrying me — were you serious?" Sophie's voice said again, loudly.
I'm not lying. We'll open a bun shop together. I'll make the filling, you'll roll the wrappers. When business is good, we'll be so busy. When business is slow, we'll shut the door, lean back, and sun ourselves out front. We'll invite our friends over — I mean, if they're still alive... and if the aliens surrender, we'll hire them too. Give them wages, let them eat at the shop. Nobody's allowed to say the buns are bad. We're not just selling buns — we're the town's legendary bun duo...
"I think I'm getting a little sleepy..." Sophie's voice, ever so softly.
Then sleep. When you wake up, it'll be the sun of the year 2000.
"Say goodnight to me."
Okay. Goodnight.
I said.
Have sweet dreams.
For every goodnight, a good dream. For every parting, a tear.
New Year's fireworks bloom in the night sky. Growing up comes so suddenly.
The planet spins and spins. The eraser rubs and rubs. Before dawn, what filling am I? After dawn, what tomorrow do I choose?
Why am I so fond of writing poetry? I don't know either. That was the first day of the new millennium. I crouched in a trench, the brave Earth warriors had defeated the alien overlord. I'd gained everything, yet felt like I had nothing at all.
The bells tolled across the land. All memories of 1999 came to rest on this day.
10
Fifteen years later, it's already late autumn. My sister and I are sitting outside the house, soaking in the sun, teasing a cat at our feet.
My sister said, "You still haven't told me about your comrades."
I said, "Drake and the others? Most of them left the military. After college admissions resumed, they got their degrees and started families. Isn't it weird that there are more and more students now? That's the country making up for lost time. Oh, and Drake had it rough — he switched to programming in 2008, and he still hasn't grown his hair back."
My sister said, "Bro, is everything you told me true?"
Well, I thought. How should I explain to this girl? Everything I'd told her was state secrets. After the war, I rejected the officer's commission, went into hiding, and fled the military — all for the freedom to tell these stories?
In truth, even if it was just me, I had to remember — for her, and for all those vanished fireworks, I had to hold fast to the memory of that year's sky.
I said, "Yes. That was the youth our generation shared."