Pray For War

Reminiscence

You want to hear my side?

You need to drown to know

———

There was foreboding darkness about being back in uniform. The military had it flown over to base on an express flight. It wasn't the original, that ensemble was riddled with bullets. This was a new set of the old design. The RRTS unit one uniform. Something sentimental and dust-covered. I guess they had been preparing to use me for a while.

The last time I placed my crow embossed vest over that dark long-sleeved under armour I was twenty-six. I was the commander of a military unit.
I remembered that morning well, waking up in the cover of night. I remember Brian wide awake and talking in that booming voice he had in the space of a small helicopter cabin. A smile curled my lips as I set eyes on that insignia of a crow perched on top of a skull, it was inspired by one of the band logo's Brian had liked. Anything creepy Brian liked. He was a creature of the night.

Any memory that related to Brian usually came back to the same moment in time. I sniffled away the tightness that consumed my chest at the thought, trying so hard to forget the gaping bullet hole in his chest and the blue tinge of his skin as he set me down in that helicopter. I wanted to cloister myself away Into a dark corner at the feeling. I wanted to never touch another gun for as long as I lived. But that wasn't going to happen.

Perhaps Commander Valkyrie Syn had been muted into the shell of a person I was now. Someone afraid. So afraid when the sound of a bullet rattled through the air. Someone who had vomited relentlessly after Christian Copeland's brain had oozed onto the floor.

I held my breath deep in my chest, releasing it slowly until the beating of my heart eased. This was it. One last mission and I was done.

So I harnessed my dark hair into a swift braid. One last look in the mirror showed me my unrecognisable reflection. After It this mission I feared I'd lose yet another part of myself and that visible dissonance behind my blue eyes would become a gaping hole.

I longed for the innocence and childish humour that died with Brian. Now I was just alone and unbelievably bitter. I needed this.

A sigh came from deep within my chest and I stepped out into the empty hall, tightening the utility belt on my cargo pants that fit much more snugly than before.

The weight of my heavy boots padded thunderously against the ground as I caught up to Sarge and the rest of the team heading toward the upper tarmac.

"Great vacation, damn they go quick" Duke retorted.

"Almost like we'd never been away" Destroyer added.

I fell in next to Ghost or 'Goat' as he was now called. He gave me a warm smile before focusing back toward the front. Sarge was in the lead with Duke and Destroyer not too far behind. Portman and the kid took the rear. The Kid walked on his toes, watching anything that moved. That edge never really wore off. I pitied that he'd have to find that out the hard way.

I looked around the tarmac and found no sight of John, perhaps he'd taken Sarge's recommendation. I sucked the air between my teeth and entered the black chopper that was parked on the helipad but had come to life as the pilot pushed a few buttons. Finding my seat next to 'Goat'. I had barely touched the fabric of the seat before Sarge handed me a large black case that covered my lap.

"Special delivery" He retorted as he placed it in my hands. I flicked the latch and opened the lid of the case, Sitting on a bed of red silky fabric was my Desert Eagle and Glock 34 with light attachment.

I winced at the sight of my old weapons but attached them to either side of my hips. They reminded me exactly why I had opted to remain dead. Though they were polished and primed for this mission deep scratches and dents still rolled off the red overhead light.
I never wanted to see them again. Never wanted to feel the soft cushioning of the grips in my hands. They were meant to be retired. They should have been.