𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART NINETEEN

Word count; 1,832

Frances

A mortar had hit the ground we drove over, tagging onto the metal of the jeep's bumper and blasting it to pieces. As a result, the vehicle flipped, launching us all into the air.

Head spinning, I propped myself up with my elbows, a deep, ecruciating spasm flowing from the back of my skull and down to my ankles. Out of instinct, I pressed my fingers to where the pain originated, feeling for blood. Seeing no red on my palms through the fuzz of my vision, I glanced around. I had landed on the field beside the road, protected from harm by the dirt.

On the road, the jeep had morphed into a bonfire, consumed by flames. Stan's body lay beneath it, his gaze lifeless as his flesh melted against the fire. My heartbeat quickened, fighting the sudden intake of oxygen in reaction to the Scotsman's decaying frame.

I rolled onto my stomach, Kenneth sprawled across the grass a couple metres away, his blue eyes settled on me. His hand extended, feeling for a foreign touch. I crawled along the soil, grasping onto handfulls of the snow-infested ground with each movement. When I reached him, our palms fastened together.

His body begun to shake uncontrollably, fighting alongside the adrenaline. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he raised his head, scanning down his body. When he had been placed on the jeep, his only injury was a few recovering gunshot wounds and a broken arm. Now, half of his leg had been torn off in the explosion, still lounging on the road. Nearly suffocating on another gasp, I tried to hold down the urge to puke. Realising the extent of his injury, his gaze met mine, his mouth immediately expelling sobs. I put my other palm around where our hands met.

"We need to go." I said slowly, silencing my own sobs, choking on the situation.

"I-I can't-"

"We are going." I searched those blue eyes, seeing another being I couldn't save.

He screeched as I tried to pull him up, begging to leave him be. Nearly tumbling with him, I resorted to dragging him, using the excuse that there was a shed on the intersection nearby that we could get to, any kind of shelter from the snow. Screaming all the while, I pulled and pulled and pulled, metre by metre, leaving a path of red behind us, luminated by the fire on the road. Every now and then, I'd trip over and Kenneth would scratch at my calves and forearms, pleading to leave him behind. Each time, I ignored him. I kicked down the door of the shed. We both collapsed onto the rotting wooden floor.

When my eyes next opened, the sky was dark, fresh with the scent of a new morning. I rolled onto my side - where Kenneth had folded - shivering from the lack of proper shelter. His head had reclined in my direction and hadn't moved since, his eyes adopting the same that Stan's had. I tapped his temple with a flat palm. When that didn't work, I shook his body. Nothing. The blood loss had taken him in the night.

I covered a hand over my mouth, crying into the ceiling. I tried to roll onto my other side, only for another sharp pain to stab through my shoulder, a howl releasing from my mouth. A large piece of shrapnel had embedded itself in my collarbone, right where it met my shoulder cap. The adrenaline hadn't allowed me to realise it the day before.

"What was that?"

I froze at the voice, the hoarseness of it, the muffled intent of which it was said. German.

"Go on, check."

At this point, I couldn't control the sobs. No. Not like this.

The sound of boots crunching against the snow approached the rear of the shed, carefully moving around it.