"Move it, faster, faster!" said the person leading in front.
The dawn's light was faint, a weak promise of hope breaking through the thick morning mist. After a night spent evading enemy patrols, crossing treacherous mountains, icy rivers, and dense forests, a group of ragtag soldiers found themselves in the desolate expanse of no man's land. The war zone stretched out before them, a barren wasteland marked by the scars of countless battles. The ground littered with craters and the remnants of past skirmishes.
Grey, the squad leader, led his men with a mixture of determination and desperation. They were relatively young, barely reaching a quarter of their lives, but the war had aged them all. Faces smeared with dirt and exhaustion, they pressed on towards the distant reach, sharing the same goal in mind even without talking to each other.
'We need to reach that treeline'
"Keep your heads down and stay close," Grey ordered, his voice hoarse from fatigue and the constant need for silence.
The squad moved as one, a tight-knit group bound by survival.
Dima scanned their surroundings. Each step felt like a gamble, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a prelude to an attack.
They soon stumbled upon a network of trenches, remnants of an old front line, which marked the edge of the treeline. Navigating through the maze of earth and wood, they reached a dugout, a temporary respite from the open. At this point, they're only a few hundred meters away from the treeline, yet it felt infinitely far.
"Over here!" Jackson called out.
They rushed to the shelter, only to be met with the haunting sight of fallen soldiers. The air was thick with the scent of decay and gunpowder, a grim reminder of the war's toll.
Farya, always the optimist, tried to lighten the mood.
"Looks like they've already saved us a spot, huh?"
His laugh was hollow, masking his terror.
Dima knelt beside Farya, his best friend. Farya had been hit during their initial mission to infiltrate the enemy's base. A bullet had torn through his upper left torso, and two more had shattered his thighs. He couldn't walk, his bandage has all turned dark red and the pain was no longer bearable.
"Dima..."
Farya's voice was a strained whisper.
"Maybe... I won't make it... haha.."
Dima's heart clenched. He knew what is coming, but the reality was a bitter pill to swallow.
With trembling hands, he said, "Stay with me, okay. "
All the while applying pressure to the wound.
"You'll be fine. We'll get you out of here."
But Farya's eyes were glazing over, his breaths shallow.
He reached out, grabbing Dima's hand. "Tell my mom... I'm sorry..."
With a final shuddering breath, his grip slackened.
Dima's heart shattered, "Rest well buddy."
Grey placed a firm hand on Dima's shoulder.
"We have to keep moving. He wouldn't want us to die here."
Then suddenly.
BOOM!
An explosion nearby shattered the moment.
The ground shook as enemy mortars were zeroing in on their position. The soldiers ducked instinctively, shielding themselves from the flying debris.
"Move! We need to move now!" said Grey.
The squad scrambled out of the dugout, facing a critical decision. The treeline was within reach, but the paths to get there were perilous.
"Straight ahead... " Grey said, weighing their options.
'We'll be exposed to sniper fire. Left, and we risk the mortars. Right, through the tunnel, but we might get ambushed.'
'We have to take the tunnel,' Dima thought to himself.
'The enemy is far behind. Drones can't locate us easily in there,' Dima's mind raced.
Both of them hesitated, the weight of their lives pressing down on their shoulders.
Grey said, "We will have to take the—"
Dima said, "I think we need to take the tun—"
Before the two could finish, Jenkins bolted straight for the treeline.
"To hell with this, I'm outta here!" shouted Jenkins, as panic overtook his reason.
The sharp crack of a sniper rifle echoed, and Jenkins fell.
Their position is now revealed.
"Damn it!" Grey cursed.
"Run! Everyone, run!" he shouted, but the squad was already moving, driven by sheer terror.
Dima and Jackson each grabbed one of the wounded soldiers. Dima dragged Leeroy, whose leg was a mangled mess, while Jackson hefted Adam, who had a shrapnel wound in his side.
The sound of enemy drones filled the air. Guided bombs would soon follow.
Dima's heart pounded as he sprinted towards the treeline. The ground erupted around him as the drones began their deadly work.
"Keep going! Don't stop!" Jackson yelled, his muscles straining under the weight.
They sprinted, the world a blur around them. The ground erupted beneath their feet, and they were thrown into the air.
Dima saw his comrades fall one by one, caught in the blasts or struck by shrapnel. The explosions turned the ground into a bowl of death, filled with the bodies of those who had run before him.
BOOM!
Leeroy was hit, Dima stumbled, his leg caught by a fragment. He fell, his body racked with pain. The world around him blurred as he lay on the ground, the treeline just out of reach.
Pain wracked his body, but he forced himself to his knees. Around him, his comrades lay still, their escape cut brutally short. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't obey.
With a strangled cry, he collapsed back into the mud. "Is this how I die?" he whispered, the weight of his losses pressing down on him.
All his regrets comes flooding, most of them were moments where he was unable to take control over the decision of his life: The entrance test of his dream university where he had to work full-time instead of studying to provide for his elderly grandparents who had raised him since childhood. The moment when his girl left him because he chose to enlist in the military. The moment when his rank should have been promoted but instead taken over by an official's son who did virtually nothing during a mission. He could as well have been assigned as the squad leader on this mission and made the right decision that could have saved their lives. But what can he do? He was just a low rank soldier who had to follow orders.
'Ah, come to think of it, I really should've fought for it, what's the harm in causing a little trouble, right?'
His vision dimmed, the sounds of battle faded as darkness took him, the morning sun continuing to rise over the wasteland.