“You’d do the same for me, bud.” He grins, soot and gunpowder covering his face.
“I won’t.” I mean it humorously, but the pain won’t let me smile. I sure as hell would come back for him. It’s what we do. Josh and I formed a brotherhood in this hell on earth.
And then another round of shots ring, this time closer to where we are. I can almost hear the rest of our squad urging us to hurry, to take a few more steps and we’ll be in the safety of the formation.
“Come on!” someone is shouting at us, but my head is leaden and slumped forward.
I feel the shot in my leg, and I hit the ground again. Dust everywhere. My arm hurts. I yelp in pain, the burn coursing through me.
“Wyatt . . .” I can hear Josh’s voice trailing off, and he falls to the ground beside me. I can’t keep my eyes open. He slaps me a couple times until I finally tilt my head toward him. There’s already blood oozing from his vest. He’s been shot. He came back for me, and now he’s hurt.
“Josh . . .” I struggle, the pain of my wounds making it harder for me to get the words out.
I drag myself on my side to where he lies coughing and taking in deep breaths of dust. I attempt to tear open his vest with great difficulty. He’s losing consciousness. We were never going to make it.
He grips my arm. “Stop!” he croaks. “I’m . . . I’m not going to make it.”
“Yes, you are, dammit. Let go of my hand. Let me help.”
“Get out of here, Wyatt.”
“I will not leave you behind!”
My words are final, and with that, I find the strength to lift the man who's saved my ass more times than I can remember and drag his stubborn ass to safety.
“You’re a fool,” he coughs when we’re lying side by side on gurneys.
“That makes the both of us then.”
I turn my head toward Josh and a small smile forms on his face
“Thank you,” he croaks.
“Anytime.”
On the battlefield, you have nothing without a comrade. They’re the only ones behind you, before you, and around you. You learn to trust each other, and you realize you would lay down your life for a man who risked his to save yours.
I close my eyes as we are loaded into the back of the medical truck, hooked up to drips and probed and stitched.
We survived today; who knows about tomorrow.
I pull out my envelope. Every deployment to a new combat zone I took one with me. And now, as I read her words, I smile. I’ll come back to you, Hay.
