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The low summer breeze caressed the weather stained faces of the soldiers as they marched on below the treetops. To say they marched would be wrong; it was more of a slow stroll, basking in the quietness of the wild. The moss and green grass was soft below their feet; it hugged their tired soles and embraced them like a blanket. The warm summer sun peeked out from between the branches, kissing the tinted skin of the men in the platoon.
Flowers covered the forest ground; wild berries of all sorts grew all around them. The trees stood close together, like a wall between them and what laid beyond. The leaves ruffled in the low wind, and the only sound that could be heard was the birds singing above them. The smallest of streams flowed on their right hand side, following the creak down below, far into the green.
Broken branches and the crushing of leaves sounded as their feet forced their way through the terrain. It was not clear to say what went through their minds as they fought one foot on front of the other. The smell of a warm summer day, the warm and soft grass swimming in sunlight and scent of wild flowers was calming on their nerves. Perhaps their thoughts travelled home; to the people they missed so dearly. Or the thought of the men they had to leave behind weighing them down with every step as their feet carried them further and further away.
All walked in a single line, making sure they had each other’s backs covered. Their green uniforms clanged to their sweaty, tired limbs. Even the smallest raise of a hill felt like a marathon. Panting and breathless they fought the urge to dive head first into the little stream. To feel the cold mountain water caress their hot skin, cool them down as they could finally breathe at a normal pace again.
They came to a halt about three clicks from their destination. A campsite appeared from beyond the trees, tucked below a large willow. A fire had been burning, the black coal and slightly burned grass proved so. The grass and branches on the forest floor was laid down flat, as if someone had stepped on them repeatedly. No one was in sight and no sound could be heard from anywhere.
The sergeant, who was leading the platoon, went ahead to check their surroundings. The remaining men had their guns up, locked and loaded in case of enemy contact. They stood waiting for word from their leader, who was still walking around, checking every crevice and every branch.
The quietness, as fair and welcomed as it may be, was alarming. Whoever was there first, were they long gone or close by? Lurking behind a tree? Their rifle pointed straight at the group? The men grew uneasy. This was their final mission before they could head home. Home to their families and friends. To the life they once left behind, when the war broke out.
Their mission was to locate and retrieve a small group of soldiers who were captured by the enemy. As the sun began to go down, they got closer and closer to the country boarder. It was a standard op, one that did not require backup.
Sergeant Barnes returned to his men with no news. Tired and sore they made the call to stay the night at the site. They took turns keeping watch, just in case the original inhabitants would emerge back. One by one, they drifted off to sleep, all but Barnes. The man they called Bucky, who they trusted with their life, could not afford a moment of shuteye. Memories and flashbacks of what happened at some point in the war haunted his mind. He could not close his eyes without the picture of his dying comrades clouding his thoughts.
Bucky set out with fifteen men, but he would only return with five. Most of them had said their dying words to his face as their bloody hands grasped his uniform, moments before their grip on him gave out. The sergeant was determined to get their final words and goodbyes home to their families. Those men, his men, deserved more than that. But it was the least he could do, and if he died trying, he would come back from the dead to haunt the living until those messages were heard and received.
Their words echoed in his mind at all times. Filled with sorrow, because they would be unable to say them for themselves. A hint of hate, mostly for the people responsible for the gruesomeness that defined the war and ended their life. And the worst, at least to Bucky’s ears, gratefulness. To hear how thankful they were for his duties as both sergeant and friend made his chest heavy with guilt. He was guilty because he was unsuccessful to save them. To bring them back alive to the people who loved them instead of in a wooden box.
The gore of war was forever etched on his brain. The horrors he had seen, the horrors and death, in which he played a massive part would always stay with him. He blamed himself for the lives lost and lives ruined because of what he was forced to do. Bucky never thought he’d have to shoot an innocent man at close range, but was left with no choice but to do just that. The look on the man’s face as the light in his eyes faded out was probably something he would never be able to leave behind.
Bucky would be bringing home a lot more than just his fallen soldiers. He would bring back all the horrors he had seen. All the death and misery, he would still have the same flashes and jump at every sound that seemed alarming. He was trained that way. To respond to every threat and act accordingly. But no matter how trained and prepared he was to go to war, there was nothing that could prepare him for coming home from it. There wasn’t a program in the world that could take the memories away or justify what he had done.
None of that, of the things he’d be bringing back was fair to you. You, his lovely and beautiful wife, waiting patiently for your man to return. Your brave soldier. Bucky was afraid he could never be more than that soldier ever again. What if he could never go back to being the husband you once knew? The man you married all those years before any of this started. What if that man died along with his fallen comrades?
The ‘what ifs’ drove him insane. He knew he shouldn’t be allowing them to cross his mind, but when you had seen what he had, lived through what he did, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Bucky heard stories of soldiers who returned unable to be the same person who left. He heard the stories of PTSD and how it ruined lives, how hard it was to deal with it. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What if? What if he got that?
He remembered the day he got home with the news. When he told you, he got enlisted. He remembered the sobs that escaped your beautiful lips when his words hit you. The tears that spilled as he held you close, promising that things would be okay. The look of worry as he got on the train, the teary eyes and sad smile broke his heart. Bucky left the comfort of your arms to participate in one of the worst events in history.
They were told that what they did would shape history and centuries to come.
Bucky’s eyes landed on the small fire in the middle of the campsite. The flames danced before his eyes, bringing back a horrifying image. It was early days, most of the men had just arrived and they were still on edge by having to leave their families. Out of nowhere, a bomb went off close to the base. Bucky and his men took cover in a trench just on the corner of the compound. Flames and smoke surrounded them, debris floated in the air and dead bodies covered the ground. Just when they thought the coast was clear, another bomb went off. Sergeant Barnes could only stand and watch as his men flew through the air, unable to catch them or help them.
The men awoke at first light. They had another three clicks to walk before they could bring the hostages back and go home. Bucky longed for you and your touch. Your sweet lips on his, your arms around his waist. He could picture you sitting there, listening to him rant about his service, his hat on top of your head.
A quick breakfast was cooked on the small fire that Bucky had managed to keep alive overnight. They sat and ate in peace, watching the sun once again shine through the treetops.
“Sergeant Barnes?” The voice of a man called Chapman rose over the cackling of the fire. Bucky rested his eyes on the dark, tall man, silently gesturing him to go on with his question. “What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get out of here?” The men all smiled to themselves as they thought of what they would do. Bucky offered the man a tight lip smile and sighed, poking around the fire with a stick.
“I’m gonna kiss my wife,” he said and looked back up at Chapman. “Like my life depended on it.” The men laughed and whistled at his response. Bucky grinned big as he turned his attention back to the fire.
“I’m gonna hug my boy, he turned five the other day.” Chapman reached inside his jacket and folded out a picture of a small boy. He had the same brown hair and brown eyes as his father. The boy smiled widely in the picture, embraced by his mother and father. “I miss him like crazy. Both of ‘em.”
Conversation faded out, and soon they were on the move again.
They reached what was said to be their destination, but nothing was in sight. They stepped carefully around, kept their eyes up and ears on guard. Bucky scratched his head in confusion. The enemy base and the hostages should have been right here. But his eyes reached nothing but forest. Tall trees, wild flowers and the sun shining like a beacon.
Behind them, on their left, on their right and dead center, men clad in black popped up. Bucky and his men were caught off guard, and did not manage to shoot back before it was too late.
One by one, they fell to the ground. High-pitched screams of pain burned in Bucky’s ears as he too fell on his back. A cold shiver run down his left arm, blood pooled all over and suddenly Bucky had no feeling in it what so ever.
If he turned his head to the right, he saw nothing but blank eyes staring right back at him. On his left, poor old Chapman coughed on his own blood.
“Tell-“ he began but coughed again. The green grass beneath him turned red. “Tell my boy…” He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tell h-h-him… I-“
Bucky searched his face in desperation for any sign of life. But there was not. A broken sob escaped his lips, but it was interrupted by a disturbingly cold laughter.
“Sergeant Barnes, is it?”
“Who are you?”
“Your future,” a man said and followed his remark with a menacing laughter. Other men clad in black, surrounded Bucky. One had a syringe in his hand; Bucky’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it. He squirmed under their strong grip on him, he tried to fight back, but it was no use. The syringe made contact with his skin, the unknown man laughed in success in front of him. After a few minutes his eyes grew heavy, his body numb.
“You getting tired there, son?”
Faintly he made out that he was being moved. Dragged off to somewhere. All words that were said faded out, his eyesight giving out. Bucky only had one thought on his mind, one regret that he could never make right.
He failed keeping his promise to you. Not everything was certainly going to be as okay as he thought. The image of you smiling faded out as everything turned black.