Never Coming Home

For the first time in his life, Mikey was grateful he didn't have a weak stomach. Seasickness wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now.

No one really talked as they crossed the Atlantic ocean; No one had anything to say. I mean, what did you say right before you entered enemy territories to engage in a bloody war?

There really isn't much.

Mikey looked around and saw people praying and kissing the crosses that hung from their necks. There was one thing that was in common among the many men of different religions–they all prayed to god. Whatever god it may be, they prayed for their lives, family and country.

Mikey didn't bother. Even if his mother drug him to church every Sunday, he had learned from first hand experience that praying in wartime often leads to disappointment in the long run.

He was, at least, surrounded by comfortable people. Frank sat beside him, ringing his hands in a nervous way; Ray, his friend from school, was sitting behind him, praying to a god he claimed he didn't believe in; Gerard sat in front of him, staring off into the horizon, waiting. Waiting for the land to become visible.

Mikey swallow a lump in his throat. "Gerard," he said, in a low tone.

"Yes?"

"If I die, tell Marie that you love me when you go back for the funeral, alright?"

Gerard turned around and stared at his brother. The blank look on his face was ignored when you saw the anger and sadness in his eyes. "Mikey, you're not going to die. Do you understand me?"

Mikey nodded once. "I didn't promise her I'd come back alive. I couldn't tell her something I didn't know was a fact."

"You can make it out alive, Mikey," Frank said, quietly. "Please do. I don't feel like getting married to your fiancée."

Even that joke wasn't funny at that point in time. Gerard didn't reply to him. He turned around, before saying, "I'll tell her if you tell her I love her if I die."

"I will. Thank you, Gerard."

"Alright, here's how it's going to go," one of the sergeants said, from the front of the boat. "This is the first attempt to free the French army from Germany's grasp. We aren't stopping at base camp, we're heading straight for Brest. That's our first point of invasion. In a week, another part of the army is invading at Normandy. Are we all understood?"

No one said anything, unless you counted curse words as a response. Mikey just stared out into the ocean, wondering why he had really made the choice to join the army. The only thing he could remember on it was that the first thoughts of it were maybe it would impress Marie.

Now, he feels that's a stupid reason, considering when he told her, she wasn't so impressed. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he was scared. It was one of those 'Head vs. Heart' type of moment. He jokingly thought that maybe he should've just went to Oz and asked the Wizard for courage, like the Lion did. He'd probably just get a smart-ass answer from the Wizard, stating that he made it there, so he had courage.

Mikey rolled his eyes. Please, please don't let me die.



Gun fire. Shots. Screams. Blood. Death.

"Move, move, move!"

"Shot them, shot them in the forehead!"

"Shit, man down! Man down!"

Mikey wanted to curl up and cover his ears. He felt like a frightened child, wanting to go home and curl up in his bed during a thunderstorm. The only difference was that the thunder here could kill you.

He waited for a hand signal to move further, towards the trenches. Fuck trench warfare, he thought, bitterly in his mind. Even better, fuck Hitler for starting this shit.

He moved forward, only about ten feet closer to the trenches. Once he was there, he'd be safe and able to shoot. Sadly, he wasn't the greatest shot, but he could hit the target. Maybe, not dead on, but he could hit them, at least. He looked back, counted three more blockers before he hit the trenches.

How hard could that be? he asked himself, with a hopeful thought or two.

Another hand signal, and he ran for it. He tried counting the gunshots, but couldn't; They all blended in together. Three more. He was getting close. But, how close is close enough?

One more signal, another blocker he rested behind, now fearing for his life. The closer he got, the more he wanted to be under his covers, in the form of a seven-year-old. He wouldn’t deny it, and he would trade the world to be in a different position, in a different country. The world.

Except Marie. He wouldn't trade anything for her. He smiled, thinking of her.

Yet another hand signal, and he thought happily, one more! Trenches meant a safe-guard. Once he was there, half of his worry would be gone. Vanished. It was almost a Get Out of Jail Free card.

The almost-last hand signal. Mikey was almost afraid to move. He didn't want to get up from that spot; The gun shots were too loud, too close.

"Way, let's go!" another solider yelled, from the blocker across from his. He got up slowly, and ran for it.

He never made it.

He felt nothing, just numbness. As he fell, he silently wondered why his legs stopped moving. His hands went up to his stomach, instinctively, and all he could feel is warm, wet blood. Blood. Blood.

The word swirled around his head, and then someone was hovering over him. He smiled, "Hey Ray."

"Mikey, hang in there," Ray said, in a rushed, pained voice.

The gunshots were now just a buzzing noise in his head. What was louder was the blood rushing through his ears.

He moved his hands and slowly pulled off the ring. "Ray, Ray, listen to me. Give this to Gerard. Tell him to give it to Marie." His voice was forced, slowing fading.

"No, come on, Mikey, stay with me."

"Ray, just take the damned ring."

Ray stared at his friend, before taking the ring his bloody fingers and shoving it in his pocket. "I will, Mikey, I will." The tears in Ray's eyes were unmistakably there, just ready to pour down his face. This was a kid that he's known his entire life, dying before him. "I will, don't worry."

That's when Mikey felt the pain. The unbearable pain emitting from his stomach. He didn't know the source of the pain, he just knew it was there, slowly killing him. Slowly wasn't fast enough.

He was suffering, crying, cursing at god and the damned Germans and everyone else they had pulled into an unnecessary war.

And, then he thought of Marie. Marie. In his final thoughts, he saw the girl that he loved, cherished and wished he'd spent more time with. He cursed himself for that.

The last thing he had heard over the blood rushing through his ears was his brother, screaming his name.

I'm sorry.