The stench of death filled the air. Overpowering the smell of gunpowder and smoke. Bodies and blood littered the open field, some laying on piles of mud, some half buried in small craters from explosions that had littered the battlefield hours prior. Billows of smoke covered the muddy stretch of land that had housed a massacre earlier that day. In the midst of the settling chaos, a single soldier wandered the field, a bloody hand holding his stomach as he limped quietly. He slipped, falling to one knee and crying out in pain, clutching at his kevlar vest as small drops of blood leaked from beneath the armour. He’d reach up, unbuckling his helmet and tossing it aside, slowly reaching up to rub at a cut on his forehead, wiping up some blood as it trickled down the side of his face.
The young man slowly forced himself to his feet, looking around for a moment before cupping a hand over the side of his mouth, calling out immediately.
“Sergeant?” He’d call out, getting no response.
“Sergeant?!” He yelled again, limping forward again as he held his side, trudging through the blood and the mud. Stepping over the bodies scattered around him. The man took a few more steps forward, his balance shaky as he tried to keep walking, scanning the ground around him to see if he could spot the man he was searching for. Staff Sergeant Smith.
“Sergeant?!” He’d call out once more, coughing a few times afterwards, buckling over and falling to his knees, covering his mouth as he coughed harshly. When his hand moved away, he looked to the small specks of blood and spit in his hands, shaking his head softly and groaning. He needed to call for a MedEvac, and soon. Not yet though.
Bently slowly forced himself up again, taking a few steps forward and stopping. He looked to his right, eyes widening a little as he spotted the man he was searching for. On the ground, slumped over and covered in dirt and blood, Staff Sergeant Smith laid there. His arm had been torn off, leaving a large pool of blood on the ground coming from the stump, as well as the large tear along his stomach, revealing his mushy and mangled intestines that partially hung from the gaping wound in his stomach. Bently immediately rushed over, limping and dragging one leg behind him, unable to move it properly due to the large cut running down his outer thigh. He could feel his eyes watering already, his fist clenching as he collapsed a few feet away from the dead man.
With an angry growl, Bently dragged himself along the floor, grabbing the man by the shoulder and lifting him closer, holding him in his arms as he shook his head.
“No, no no no…” Bently would whisper, shaking his head as he placed a hand to the man’s neck, checking for a pulse. Of course, there wasn’t one. Smith wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing and he was completely limp in Bently’s arms. His eyes would fill with tears as he gripped the man tightly, rocking back and forth as he held the man close, speaking in a shaky pain filled voice, battling to speak despite the lump in his throat.
“God no, please… Don’t go- don’t fucking go, Richard, please-” Bently would whisper as he buried his face into the man’s shoulder, sobbing and clinging to his lifeless body as he gripped onto his clothes so tightly that his knuckles would turn white.
In the distance, the sound of helicopter rotors could be heard, getting closer to the battlefield. Less than a minute would go by before Bently could hear yelling and shouting, looking back for a brief moment to see soldiers jumping out of a helicopter and spreading out, branding red crosses to show they were medical troopers. They were looking for any survivors and two would spot Bently and Richard’s body, sprinting over as they yelled out.
“Got one! Over here, quick!” Bently looked away, taking one final look at his Staff Sergeant. His best friend, his brother in arms. Dead in his arms. He’d look down at him for what would be the final time before the medics pulled him away, kicking and screaming to be let go of, not wanting to leave his friend’s side as they carried him off to the helicopter.
