Never Coming Home

“We’re going to war tomorrow.”

Those words had never seemed as final as they were until they had formed on the tip of his tongue. He had blurted the sentence out without thinking, without even considering the impact they would have on the small group of soldiers that were leaning across the bar in varying states of soberness. His mind had been at odds with itself all night, however but the correct time to bring the mood from elation to depression hadn’t been evident until that very second.

To tell the truth, Mikey Way hadn’t expected his last hours of freedom to be spent in his dress greens with nothing to quash the fear other than a bitter glass of whiskey and a few half-hearted words of reassurance aimed his way by his older brother. Heck, he didn’t even like whiskey. It was a vile drink with a despicable aftertaste and it only made the queasiness in his stomach worse with every sip. However, Gerard had bought it for him – he had said something about celebrating his little brother finally becoming a proper man amidst giggles and snide comments about how the youngster couldn’t even grow a beard yet – and he had been too polite to refuse it at the time. Now he was stuck with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and a glass of what he considered to be pure evil staring at him from his own hand.

The bar trip was supposed to have been a fun event, a chance for all of the guys to get together for one last night. Provided that everyone stayed sober enough for deployment the following morning, they had been allowed a few hours away from the military barracks to get suitably drunk and have one last final fling. It almost went without saying that this would be the last time that some of them would see the inside of a bar. Every man was made well aware of what happened on the battlefield. Lives were lost and people were mauled beyond repair. Some people came home in coffins, others came home in matchboxes; their remains too small to warrant a proper and just method of transportation. And it was on this that Mikey continued to dwell, not on the fun and games.

The crowd had reduced in number since they had arrived. A few men, including the squadron’s commander and his right-hand man had called it a night earlier than the rest, simply to ensure they were as fresh as possible for the landing the following morning. Just under half-a-dozen men remained, all friends. There had been animated conversation and then some people had left, followed by more conversation. The more alcohol people seemed to consume, the more demure it seemed to get and the more the people surrounding Mikey seemed to merge into the same emotional low he had been in since the military ball had finished that afternoon.

As soon as he had opened his mouth, Mikey regretted saying anything. There was an ongoing joke at the barracks that whenever Mikey spoke – which wasn’t all that often when he thought about it – it was either to say something incredibly profound or something incredibly depressing. What he had expected was for Frank Iero – over a year Mikey’s junior and the joker of the small group – to make a comment, or for Gerard to shrug it off and tell him to cheer up like he had been doing all week. What he didn’t expect was for the silence to fall so quickly and so absolutely. All eyes were on him, from the unusually silent Bob Bryar to the ever-serious eyes of medic Ray Toro. It was evident that they were waiting on him saying something else, but Mikey didn’t want to say anything else. He had no words to describe the panic he was now feeling – panic that was manifesting itself in the nauseous feeling that seemed to have gripped his entire body the very second those fated words had left his mouth.

Mikey looked down at his glass again, contemplating just throwing the entire lot back. It was out of character and he almost winced at the thought of the liquid burning its way down his trachea, but he was almost positive it would help. At the very least, it would distract him from the reality that ticked closer with every jarred movement of the second hand on the clock above the bar. If he thought about it long enough, he would tear himself apart from the inside-out and that was the last thing that he wanted to do. If he did that, he’d be in an even worse place than he already was.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up, a quick jerk towards the side that almost caused his glasses to slide from his nose. Gerard was looking down at him, a tight smile on his face.

“We’ll be fine though,” he said in an attempt to sound reassuring. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was faking confidence. Not one person believed that they’d make it out completely unscathed. If the bullets didn’t get you, the scenes they would have to live through would. Mikey hadn’t met a single person that had come back from the battlefield with the same twinkle in his eye. Whether physically or spiritually, a part of you was laid to rest on the battlefield and Mikey knew that Gerard knew that just as well as he did. Still, Mikey knew that Gerard felt responsible for Mikey’s enrolment and his wellbeing. He had heard his older brother promise his parents that he would bring Mikey back unscathed. He was going to play the role of the protective big brother and that much had been startlingly evident from the very second he had scraped some of his own rationed food onto Mikey’s plate in the mess hall on the first night that they had joined the squadron. Before they had left, they had been equals. Mikey and Gee, Gee and Mikey. It had been them versus the world and there had been no one more protective of the other. It was unusual and uncomfortable, ranking right up there with being called 'Michael' or 'Way' by his superiors and the glass of whiskey that he held between shaking fingers.

When Gerard made his attempt at being comforting, there had been a few scattered nods of agreement. Everyone desperately wanted to think that they would come back whole but the alternate reality was hidden behind the eyelids of every single man left in the bar, especially when the lights went out. When the lights disappeared – even though few of them would truly admit it – the nightmares paid a visit. Mikey had lost count of the amount of times he had awoken in a pool of his own sweat, terrified that the Germans with their guns and coarse shouts were still coming to get him. The unwritten code of the soldier meant that no one ever talked about it, but the nightmares hit everyone at some point.

“We’ll all be fine,” Gerard muttered again, almost as if he were reassuring himself of that fact more than anyone else in earshot. He had vacated his seat, his glass lying empty on the bar next to several others. He had consumed more than the others. Mikey wondered if this was due to the promise he had made. Gerard had been shielding him more than usual, especially in the past week and the younger brother was worried that he’d continue to do the same on the battlefield. He couldn’t – he wouldn’t – have the death of his brother on his conscience.

Frank had stood as well, joining Gerard as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his bar stool lazily. He was almost too calm in a sense, but that was just Frank. He had been calm from the second he had arrived, leading Mikey to think that confidence and cool were what his shield was, just as silence was Mikey’s. Whenever the going got tough, Frank had a snarky comment at hand to make everyone relax but even he seemed void of those remarks as he wordlessly slid his arms into his jacket.

“Good idea. We all need our sleep,” Ray said slowly, quickly drawing the rest of his drink from the glass. Mikey followed suit, throwing his head backwards and emptying everything into his mouth. It stung and burned, but it was almost therapeutic in a way. A couple of half-smiles were cracked as the shudder of disgust that Mikey couldn’t quash, but they were quickly subdued by the reality of what was about to happen. After they left the bar, there would be no more hiding from it. They were all going to war tomorrow, and it was highly likely that not all of them would return.

The nightmares would fall thick and fast when the lights went out that night.