3I heard the last word that he said as he slipped from my hands, my own knife glistening from his raw blood whereas his own held the barest droplets:
"Annie..."
And then he was gone with his dead wide eyes staring at me. The deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. They inquired and accused. I felt the heat of the now cold body radiating threw my knife as his flowing red life ebbed out of him and I cast it to the ground with a sharp fling.
I staggered backwards as if expecting him to attack me, those blue eyes to singe me with the guilt of my crime. Where now was those glorious, luring dreams of heroism and valour? I couldn't remember for the life of me. Glorious? Ha! This was awful. Killing, bloodshed and pain all around. In my weeks in the army I had gone through the most rigorous training in my life and seen more dead people than when we went see my grandfather's body in the morgue.
My dreams shattered before my eyes and I rose above those childish musings into the real world. My face and eyes burned as I had been travelling around with my eyes wide shut and now they were open. Searingly open.
I watched upon the battlefield and saw my comrades fighting against others. Man versus man, brother versus brother. We were all the same. Fighting for what we believed in, both thinking their own side was correct. We all had families. Mothers, Fathers, some with siblings and wives and children of their own.
It made me sick just thinking about all of this and I was so wrapped up in my little reverie that I didn't notice Colonel Timmons yelling to pull back until a hand grasped my shoulder.
I spun around at the touch, eyes wild with grief and came face to face with Casey.
"Oy Dillon!" Casey said, ignoring the stream of red run down the side of his face, "The battle is over. We won this one."
I blinked at his grin and looked around at the bodies strewn on the hard welcoming Earth.
"We won?" I asked in disbelief. Casey nodded. "We may have won, but at what cost?"
Casey gave me a confused look and patted my shoulder awkwardly, "C'mon, we're pulling out."
Nodding I followed him and counted the people rising up from bended knee to join as we passed by. Lt Gerrigan... General Scott...
Just at the edge of the hill, I recognized Davis leaning over a body. His shoulders were shaking and he looked broken. More broken that I ever imagined he could be. In my own opinion, I don't think Davis should have been here. His heart was too good, his eyes just a little too wide and his mind just a little too open. This scene made me wish I was the one killed by that man.
I struggled to see who it was that Davis was crying over and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of Andrew Marcus.
It frightened me seeing the tough and bulky Major, who I had been on the receiving end all my time here, lying there on the ground with his hard steel eyes locked onto my own. His eyes were harder than ever, holding a lack of hope and I felt as though I see into his very soul.
"Dillon," Marcus' voice thrashed out at me, "Looks like you made it."
"Uhm..." Well what was I supposed to say? yeh, too bad for you? See you in the next life? So I didn't say anything, I just kind of stood there staring at those tiny black dots bathed in seas of ash.
"I'll be dogged!" Marcus sputtered a half-laugh finishing up with a tad choking, "The great and mouthy Private Dillon at a loss for words! I thought I'd die before the day!" On another day, I would have almost laughed at the irony in his thick statement. "Well," he continued, "We better get a move on! I don't wanna be around when them darned Yanks start getting up." He cast a heavy look between myself and Davis, "Help me up boys, I don't think my legs will work."
Davis and I exchanged a glance and bent to lift Marcus' arms over our shoulders. Once standing with him propped between us, we divvied the weight until we were as comfortable as we could get and we followed Timmons' lead.
As we approached base camp, the other soldiers stopped for a few seconds to shake their heads sadly at us.
"Don't worry Major," Davis said to Marcus, "We're at basecamp now so all we gotta do is find a doctor and he'll patch you right up."
Lt. Gerrigan approached us, wringing his barae in his hands studying his boots with downcast green eyes, "Pardon Davis, Dillon," he said in a small voice.
"Yes Garrigan?" I asked, inclining my head as I grunted slightly under Marcus' weight.
"Uhm," Garrigan looked nervous. Heaven knows why.
"Out with it Garrigan," I snapped, "We don't have all day! We gotta get Marcus here to a Doctor."
"I think you're a little too late for that Dillon." He swayed a hand between me and Davis, "Major Marcus didn't make it."
I looked down in unison with Davis and Garrigan was right. Marcus' skin was cold and I thought it was just the weather. How stupid of me.
"Oh my- oh my-" Davis stuttered out.
I relieved the body of Major Andrew Marcus to a nearby attendant and, the second the body was pulled away, Davis and I dropped like flies to the ground. Tears decorated our faces, his more than mine.
"Marcus..." Davis gasped between breaths, "He's dead... He's dead..." Davis looked up at me, his bangs plastered to his forehead via sweat, "Oh my Glory Dillon. He's dead."