[ WP ] You are always the cause of your own death .

The high-pitched whine of the engine drowns out the shouts of the others in the car, their hands braced against the windows as they pitch back and forth with the turns. The sirens of the police cars all around us howl into the night. Behind us, I can see the fire we set creeping up the walls of the Tower, its flames wrapping around statues like lovers embracing in the night. A shot rings out and I start, jerking the wheel to the left. The tires begin to slide and I struggle to stay on the road, but it whips away beneath me and we hit the embankment, tumbling end over end into the cold empty air. As the mountainside spins wildly in the glare of my headlights, I close my eyes and slip away, the world growing distant and black. 
 
 Rifle fire erupts around me, its angry staccato setting the frantic pace of battle. Men drop back behind berms as they reload their weapons, and the enemy, now advancing across the field in ragged lines of blue and grey, answers with a volley of their own. My hands are shaking so badly I ca n't keep hold of the cartridges, and I drop several in the mud as I attempt to reload. The screams of dying men fill the air, punctuated by machine gun fire and artillery that shakes the very bones in your chest. I taste sweat as it runs through the dirt on my face, stinging my eyes and creeping into the dry corners of my mouth. They're getting closer now. I can hear them shouting in a language I do n't understand as they advance on our position. Another volley and Jameson goes down beside me, his face slack and strangely at peace. 
 
 `` They're coming, boys!'' the lieutenant shouts above the din. `` Fix bayonets!'' Tendrils of thick black smoke curl themselves around the razor wire at the top of the trench, and planes fly overhead dropping bombs on the enemy. They're swarming down the ridge now, hate and fear and terror all vying for control of their dirt-covered faces. A cry rises out of the men in our line, wordless and savage, clawing its way out of forgotten depths and driving away fear and panic before it. The enemy fire as they run and we rush the field to meet them. Men go down all along the line as we charge, and a lone grenade soars through the haze to land at the Commander's feet. Without thinking, I throw myself on top of it and slip away, the explosion against my chest already growing faint. 
 
 Blinding snow sweeps across the tundra, smothering the world in white. My fingers are numb even inside my gloves, and I think my goggles may have frozen to my face, but I'm too afraid to check. We have to keep going. The line around my waist jerks and I turn to barely make out the other members of the expedition struggling to stay on their feet. We're only a few miles from camp, but the sun was already beginning to set, and before long it would be too cold to move any further. I lean down and check on Perkins, still feverish and unconscious on the sled. The disease had struck suddenly, and we'd already been forced to bury three others so far. The sun dips even lower on the horizon, and I reluctantly give the order to set up the tents. We crawl inside and I look at each of the men, ice hanging from beards, faces scorched red and peeling from the wind and sun. They'd lost so much weight to the sickness their clothes hung like sacks around them, and I knew they would make it no farther. 
 
 `` I'm going on alone,'' I say to them. None have the energy to protest. I look at each of the men in turn, and hand them the waterskin hanging from my waist. It's frozen solid, but they could heat it on the fire, and it would help them last a little longer. I give Thomas the letter to my wife I kept in my pocket, and an understanding passes between us. I turn and step out into the coming darkness.
