“Reece!” 

The voice echoed through his head, mingling with the muffled noises of muddy footsteps and falling dirt. The smell of gunpowder struck his nostrils, and he opened his eyes, his vision blurred and swimming. A shape formed in the centre of his field of vision, flailing wildly, leaning in close to his face and shaking him against the wall. He tried to protest, but his body wouldn’t obey. 

He held something in his right hand, something long, and metal. The vague knowledge that it was his gun, his lifeline, floated through his mind, and just feeling it in his hand made his pounding heart slow ever so slightly. He gripped it harder, mumbling for the creature to stop shaking him. 

“Get up, Reece! We need to go!” 

The voice came out much clearer this time. He knew that voice. He frowned, shaking his head, and the helmet he seemed to be wearing shook along with it, striking his temples. The creature in front of him crouched down, grabbed his helmet and steadied it, and snapped the clips shut beneath his chin. He saw now that this was no creature, but a person. Like him. He heaved Reece off his feet, his right arm draped across his back, still gripping the metal tightly. He screwed his eyes shut, raising his one free hand to block his left ear, trying to cut off the yelling and screaming around him. 

Though, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t block out the sounds. He opened his eyes again, looking down at his left arm. His forearm was gone, covered with strips of fabric that would have been white, were it not for the ugly red stains coating them. He frowned, trying to take his arm off the man’s shoulder to remove the fabric strips and free his hand, but the man kept his arm there, locking it into place. His legs dragged and his feet stumbled along the ground as he tried to keep pace. 

“Slow down,” he muttered, raising his left arm to his mouth to tear off the fabric. His teeth couldn’t find their mark, the movement making his arm jolt around far too much. “I need my hand.” 

A searing heat struck him full in the chest as a magnificent burst of light and sound erupted some way down the track, and he was thrown backwards with the man, landing hard on his back. The screams became much quieter, replaced by an incessant ringing in his ears. He coughed, clenching his right fist, his mind calming when he found his gun still firmly grasped in it. He sat up, using two fingers to start prying the fabric from his arm. Red liquid gushed from underneath it, and he pushed the fabric back down hastily, wiping his arm free of the muddy redness. 

“The hell are you doing?” A raspy voice said, and when Reece turned, he found that the face of the man who was carrying him was much clearer now. 

“Charles?” He asked, in a voice that wasn’t his own. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Getting you the hell out of here,” Charles responded, stumbling to his feet and pulling Reece back up. 

“Why?” Reece didn’t help at all, remaining mostly limp while Charles hoisted him upright, his arm around his shoulders once again. “I want to rest.” 

“I don’t think your family wants you to!” Charles grunted, practically dragging Reece along the muddy trail, away from the aftermath of the explosion of light. 

“Family?” 

“Shit, get a hold of yourself Reece!” Footsteps sounded from in front of them and Charles stopped in his tracks, dropping Reece to the ground once more. He raised his rifle, and a series of ear-splitting bangs assaulted Reece’s ears as Charles fired into a small squad of three men who had just rounded the bend of the trench. All three fell one by one, their guns and helmets dropping into the mud, the barrels smoking. He looked up at Charles, and saw that he had lowered his gun, his hand clutching his chest where a river of blood was flowing. 

“Hey…” Reece muttered, control of his legs slowly returning as he got onto his knees. “Charles. You got hurt. What happened?” 

“Beats me!” Charles groaned, sticking the barrel of his gun into the mud and using it like a cane. “You can walk now? Finally?” 

Reece blinked and tried to stand. His legs struggled to cooperate, but he forced them to, taking his first step. He felt like a child, learning to walk for the first time. “I’m going to take you to a doctor. They’ll be able to help.” 

“No,” Charles objected, shaking his head. “You go. I’ll be fine.” 

“It looks pretty bad.” Reece examined the wound further, the blood leaving a stain on the breast of his shirt which was only getting bigger. “I don’t think you should go by yourself.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Reece,” Charles yelled, gazing down the trench. More footsteps were pummelling the ground ahead of them, getting closer each second. “Go! I’ll be damned if I’m the reason your family doesn’t see you again!” 

“But… What about your family?” 

“I don’t have one, Reece! You know I don’t! Now fuck off, go back home! They’re waiting for you.” 

The footsteps got closer, and Reece grit his teeth, raising his rifle with his one good arm. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Charles yelled, but the men had already rounded the corner. Reece opened fire, shots finding their marks in the new squad that had engaged them. Man after man fell, their guns and gear dropping into the mud, joining the cacophony of souls that this war had claimed.  

Panting heavily, Reece dropped his rifle and fell to his knees once again, his vision growing dark. He put his hand to his stomach, and when he took it away, it was coated in crimson. He swallowed hard, looking over to where Charles was slumped against the wall, eyes closed, blood oozing from the many new bullet wounds in his body. His breath rattling in his lungs, he pulled himself over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Get up, Charles,” he muttered, struggling to keep his eyes open. “We need to go.”