1939

Chapter 13: Another Lifeline

Tents screamed in the wind as crumbling steel was defeated by strong blades of grass, each one sliced through the heels of the calloused men who walked weary through desolate tombs. Mikey limped to the largest one, dragging bloodied bandaged leg behind him.  Ryan was standing outside with his arms crossed, head bowed in sentiment to the many soldiers he had lost. In his place of mourning he beckoned for Mikey to come closer. Leaning against the cane he was given he hobbled towards him in silence.
"There was a riot at one of the P.O.W. camps near here and a guard was killed. Due to your injury disabling you from fighting properly I've put your name forwards as a replacement. You'll be escorted there in an hour." With a monotonous tone Ryan's once sparkling eyes told tales of hard loss. Mikey was only one of many to be taken from his team, and Mikey still mourning for Dallon and Will simply nodded in thanks and turned away after a salute. As he walked towards his tent a quiet snicker could be heard behind him and large boots kicked his cane from his hand. He stumbled forwards and feet slid in the mud, pain as pain gnawed at the nasty bullet wound poisoning his leg. Ronnie stood beside him with a smirk and shoved Mikey to the ground, the taste of dirt coated his tongue as rocks ground against his teeth. He rolled over as knees shook whilst he tried to stand.

"Would you look at that. No ones here to help you sweetheart. Where's William when you need him eh?" Snide laughter echoed from his hollow shell as emotionless eyes surveyed Mikey's corpse that was hardly walking at this point. He crawled across the mud, uniform already stained hygiene was not an issue for anyone here. They sat in filth and disease everyday. At this point Mikey was more likely to die from the infection already spreading through his body. Ronnie quickly disappeared when he heard the call of another general demanding all working soldiers adjourn by the left entrance.

Alone in the bitter mud Mikey fumbled around for his cane, glasses coated in mud he finally felt the grooves of the wooden stick he called a cane that quite often got lodged in the soft mud. Walking without it however, was extremely painful and difficult. Leaning on it he used a filthy uniform to clean even filthier spectacles. Limping towards the congregation of men he struggled behind, the quiet click of a gun being loaded drew his attention. When that sound could be heard it always spelt trouble, so naturally his wounded feet directed him in the direction of danger welcoming him as he approached the machine that had left him dependent upon a wooden twig. Turning a corner he came across a familiar face sitting amongst empty crates, loaded gun poised in his fingertips. Franks dark hair stood against green uniform as he sat with a crucifix clutched in his hand. Mikey didn't take for a religious man but in that instant all he saw was the loaded gun propped underneath his chin, silver crucifix on a chain wrapped around the hand on the trigger.
"Frank... What are you doing?" Quiet whisper sliced through the silence as the distant echo of orders and gunfire surrounded their bubble of tension as Frank's broken soul screamed behind his eyes to be released. Tears brimmed behind the deep hazel as his hands shook with fear and anticipation.

"I can't Mikey... I can't do this. My wife.. My wife Jamia. She was caught in a bombing, with my daughter Lily in her arms and- and everyone of my friends are dead. I'll be next, I can't do this anymore Mike's." Glossy tear rolled down his cheek leaving a trail in the dust that  caked his pale skin as ribs poked out through holes in the fabric of an uncomfortable uniform that provided no warmth against the snap of the relentless air. With a careful silence Mikey watched him. There was no point in convincing Frank that he would be okay. Mikey had considered the option several times but he still had a brother, a family, a home. Something to return to. Frank had nothing, only coffins and a loaded gun. He sat beside him without a word exchanged and nodded. Frank would be known as a coward, he would never get the burial he deserved but perhaps that was okay. When you're already dead what's the point in living? To get an honourable funeral that one may never receive? To avoid the slander of harsh tongues that knew nothing of fatal suffering and pain? No, his hope of life had diminished with the fires of the bombs and the sound gunfire that had destroyed everything he stood for. Mikey could see he was a man who's family took priority and without it he was lost, as they all were.

Ryan's call to leave the camp forced Mikey to stand up, back turned to Frank he carefully limped towards the voice summoning him. He faltered as a gunshot echoed throughout the camp, a sound of a heavy object hitting muddy floor as soldiers ran to the sound and Mikey was lifted into a truck. The heavy doors closed on him he said goodbye to the place that was his sick and twisted home, the resting place of all of his friends. As it seems everyone of them met a tragic end that he had yet to face.