The Weight of Silence

Chapter Four: The Weight of Survival

~~~~

Lance, Red, Chang... and John.

   She closed her eyes, but the darkness brought no comfort. It only sharpened the images of her fallen comrades. Their laughter, their camaraderie, the quiet moments they shared in the lulls between missions—they replayed in her mind like cruel memories. Helena could still hear John's voice, the soft way he called her name, the warmth in his eyes even in the darkest moments. But now those moments were forever out of reach, snatched away in an instant.

She remained there, motionless, her knees pressed into the dirt beside John's body long after the firefight had ended. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning debris, but Helena couldn't move. The weight of her gear felt like an anchor, pinning her to the earth as if the ground beneath her was trying to swallow her whole.

For hours, or maybe it was just minutes—time had lost all meaning—she remained there, cradling John's lifeless body. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint sounds of reinforcements approaching, helicopters cutting through the sky, but it was all a blur.

When they found her, she didn't fight as they pulled her away from John. She had no strength left to fight. They spoke to her, asked her questions—"What happened?" "Are you hurt?"—but she couldn't find her voice. The words didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

They called it a rescue. Helena didn't feel rescued. She felt lost.

~~~~

   Back at base, everything moved with mechanical efficiency. Medics treated her wounds, though Helena barely felt them. Her body was battered and bruised, her ribs wrapped tight in bandages, but none of the physical pain compared to the hollowness that consumed her. Her debriefing was cold and clinical—military officials sat across from her, their faces impassive as they asked her to recount the mission. They wanted details. Numbers. Reports.

"What went wrong, Captain Swan?"

Helena stared at them, her throat dry, her mind struggling to form coherent thoughts.

 What went wrong? Everything. The mission had been doomed from the start, but no one in the room could understand that. They hadn't been there. They hadn't watched their friends fall one by one, hadn't held the body of the person they loved in their arms as the life drained from their eyes.

"They're dead," she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Captain, we need more than that. We need specifics."

Helena's hands trembled as she tried to speak, but the words tangled in her throat. They wanted her to explain, to justify, but how could she? How could she put into words the horror of watching her team, her family, die right in front of her? How could she describe the deafening silence that had followed, the crushing weight of failure that now defined her existence?

Bravo Echo 6 was gone. That was all that mattered.

They sent her back to her quarters with a promise that someone would "follow up." But Helena knew better. The military didn't have time for grief, not when the next mission was already being planned. There were no condolences, no real recognition of the sacrifice that had been made. There was only protocol, orders, and the relentless march forward.

   Days passed, though Helena couldn't recall how many. She moved through the base like a ghost, barely acknowledging the world around her. The other soldiers gave her a wide berth, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and unease. She was the survivor of a mission gone wrong, a walking reminder of their own fragility. No one wanted to get too close.

She attended the memorial service for her team, though it felt more like a formality than a tribute. Their names were read aloud, medals were awarded posthumously, but the words felt hollow in the vast emptiness that had taken root inside her. Helena stood in the back, her body stiff and unfeeling as the ceremony unfolded. She didn't cry. She couldn't. Her tears had dried up in that valley, left behind with the bodies of her fallen comrades.

After the service, she was summoned to a meeting with the higher-ups. It was time to discuss her future, they said. Her next steps. But Helena didn't care about the next steps. She didn't care about anything anymore.

"Captain Swan, we've reviewed the mission. It's a tragedy, but these things happen in the field," the commanding officer said, his tone measured, almost rehearsed. "You did everything you could."

Helena clenched her fists under the table, her nails digging into her palms. Did everything she could? Was that supposed to be comforting? Was it supposed to absolve her of the crushing guilt that gnawed at her every second of every day?

"We'd like to offer you some time off, a leave of absence," he continued. "And when you're ready, there will always be a place for you here."

A place for her? Helena felt a surge of bitterness rise in her throat. There was no place for her here. Not anymore. The military had been her life, her purpose. It had given her structure, discipline, a sense of belonging. But now, it was a reminder of everything she had lost.

"I'm done," Helena said, her voice cold, final.

The officer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Captain, I understand that you're grieving, but—"

"I said I'm done," she repeated, her eyes locking onto his with a steely resolve. "I'm resigning. Effective immediately."

There was a beat of silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the room. The officer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but he didn't argue. He knew there was no point.

"Very well, Captain," he said quietly. "We'll process your resignation. Take care of yourself."

Helena didn't respond. She rose from her chair, the sound of her boots echoing in the sterile room as she walked out without looking back.

The paperwork was filed quickly. It was a relief to them, she realized. Another loose end tied up. Another soldier quietly exiting the battlefield, her usefulness expired. Helena packed up her belongings with robotic efficiency. She didn't have much—just a duffel bag filled with a few personal items and her old uniform, now just a reminder of a life she no longer recognized.

As she boarded the plane to leave the base for the last time, Helena stared out the window, watching the tarmac recede beneath her. The world outside moved on, indifferent to her pain, to the lives lost. She was leaving it behind, but the weight of it would follow her. She knew that much.

Her destination was Forks, Washington. A place she hadn't thought about in years, a place she never expected to return to. But her mother was dying, and Helena had promised she'd be there.

It was time to go home.