A Letter Away from Insanity

Thick dust tears across Sam’s face like an unforgiving whip, eye-stinging sand swirling beneath the waning light of a late afternoon sun. Sitting wearily upon the cracked concrete slab of his barracks, he rummages through the pack at his side, fingers trembling as they graze over familiar shapes: crumpled uniforms, a dented canteen, and then—there, a worn envelope.

A smile twitches at the corners of his lips, the mere brush of paper allowing him to imagine delicate fingers penning lines upon a kitchen table. Lean hands and determined hazel eyes fill his vision. I miss you so much, the letter had said. Your courage inspires me, Elena had written.

He could feel the weight of it, of light parchment and cascading words—the sweetest and weariest of words. He knew them as well as he knew the grooves of his gun, its trigger, and the ringing that follows each shot. I will make it home, he promises for the thousandth time.

The radio crackles to life then, shattering his frail illusion of peace.

“Raptor Two, this is Highroad, over.”

He sighs, releasing the envelope to white-knuckle the device and lift it to his mouth. “Highroad, this is Raptor Two, send your traffic, over.”

“Raptor Two, be advised, multiple enemy patrols reported moving toward civilian sector three-zero. Exercise caution and report any contact. Over.”

His heart stutters for a moment, and, closing his eyes, he inhales deeply. Elena is fine. Taunting him is the memory of her laughter mingled with the stench of burnt rubber and smoke.

“Highroad, Raptor Two copies all. We’ll shift patrol pattern to cover sector three-zero. Will advise if contact is made. Over.”

“Raptor Two, roger. Highroad out.”

The worry is quick to begin its clawing.

↞ ↞ ⚬ ↠ ↠

The night arrives as aggressively as ever, bringing only anger and hopelessness with it. Dark thoughts unwind as the shadows do, tightening both fear and breath. Doubt is a relentless thing, while pulses of adrenaline are like betrayals. Like reminders that he had chosen this life; chosen the uniform, rifle, and distant promises of victory.

Pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes is a weak attempt to seal himself into the crypt that is sleep. He could already tell that the hours ahead would drag, each minute a reminder of how far he had taken himself from his beautifully vulnerable Elena.

“Sam, you good?” A voice cuts while its body slips into into the barracks.

“Fine, Jameson.” Forcing an eyeroll, he lifts his head from the pillow, raising a brow. “Got a message from command.”

Leaning against the wall, his 2IC crosses his arms across his chest. “More patrols?”

Sam gives a noncommittal hum, picking his envelope off of the floorboards once more to trace its edges. “Enemy activity near civilian sectors.”

“Let’s keep our eyes open then,” his companion intones, drifting away.

The slip of paper carried in Sam’s hands seems fragile, yet it’s powerful in its ability to both shred and heal his heart. He finds himself constantly vacillating between the warmth they bring and the chill of reality, the contrast between her messages and the world outside twisting something bitter inside him.

I miss you so much.

Her lavender scent still lingers, too, so if he brings the letter close enough to his face, tilting his head just so, he can image he’s in her arms again, breathing in her all-consuming presence. He just wants to touch her once more, hold her in his embrace. It’s almost too much to handle, and only during this singular moment of desperation does he let his tongue dart out to make contact with ink.

The flavor is metallic and slightly chemical, but it satiates him in a euphoric way nothing else can. He’s willing to do anything to keep his memories of her alive. Even taste her in whatever form he’s able.

I miss you so, so much.

↞ ↞ ⚬ ↠ ↠

“Raptor Two, this is Highroad. Repeat. Reports indicate hostile movement near sector three-zero. Advise taking immediate defensive measures. Civilians unaccounted for. Over.”

Panic spikes, coiling around Sam. Elena could be unaccounted for. The thought whirrs in his mind like a mechanical chant as he replies, “Highroad, Raptor Two. Copy last. Engaging defensive patrols. Over.”

“Raptor Two, roger. Highroad out.”

They must move.

Urgency settles over him like iron, dragging him down even as he springs to his feet. The barracks feel claustrophobic, the walls closing in with the crushing strength of dread. He can’t think. He just needs to find her. He needs to ensure her safety.

“Gather the squad!” Sam calls, stirring the other men who respond to the command instinctively. This is what they always do—move, engage, and defend. But this is different. This is personal. This is Elena.

“Once we’re outside, I want two on the flank, one watching rear,” he continues. “Jameson is with me in the lead. Everyone else maintains radio silence.”

The air is cool, yet there’s no soothing sense of purpose seeping into his veins. He may once have been a soldier first, but after Elena, he has become her lover first. Nothing stands before that.

I will get you home.

Rocks jut up like teeth, sparse trees dotting the area like skeletal hands. An aching longing pulses in time with his heartbeat—he needs to reach her.

As they approach the civilian sector, the crimson glow of fires bleeds into the atmosphere, illuminating utter chaos. Cries and shouts hollowly reverberate through his skull, but he’s become frenzied in his search for the only thing that matters.

“Stay low,” he whispers, watching as civilians huddle together, shrinking from dark figures that move through the streets barking orders, rifles glinting ominously in the firelight. A chasm of terror opens up inside of him, threatening to suck him down.

“With all due respect, we can’t take this head-on,” Jameson hisses, back against a ragged wall. “We’ll require a lot more manpower and a damn good plan to succeed in anything.”

But Sam can barely hear him. All he can process is the one face in the world that can make everything fade away.

“Elena!”

A slap hurtles his vision halfway across the landscape. “The hell!?”

I can’t see her anymore. Where is she—where isshe—whereisshe.

“Are you out of your mind?” The fury radiating off of Jameson is enough for Sam to pocket enough lucidity to realize he’d revealed their position.

Your courage inspires me.

He has to get closer.

“Follow me.” Sam says, then slips ahead, ignoring first the sounds of protest, then of violence. Drums pound in his ears, drowning out the gunshots, until suddenly, there she is.

Standing terrified amidst the crowd, her eyes are wide as they scan the scene. Her hair, wild and glowing in the flickering flames, has him stumbling, thrown off-kilter by the sight of her. Time warps. Everything narrows.

“Sam!” Elena cries, breaking through his thoughts.

“I’m here! We need to get out.” He wraps himself around her as an increasingly grim picture closes in on them. His instincts are screaming at him as he guides her through the tangled mass of civilians, enemy soldiers littering the streets.

Panic thrums beneath his skin as they weave through the crowd. He can sense the intensity of the bond between himself and the unit he has led, forged in fire as they fought beside one another. But tonight, nothing—not even the men who trust him enough to follow him into any danger—matter more than Elena’s safety.

“Sam, we can’t leave them!” she protests as they rush past a mother and her crying child, but he merely rests a finger on her lips.

“Not now, darling,” he mutters, ushering her toward another narrow alley.

Suddenly, his forward motion is halted by Jameson’s hand, gripping his shoulder and pulling him back. “We have to regroup; this is too risky.”

And in that flash of confusion, Sam realizes what he must do. The choice coercively burns at the back of his mind, breathing life into something dark and desperate. “Cover us.”

Determination spills from Sam like a torrential wave. “You hold them off while I get her out.”

Jameson’s brows furrow, disbelief blending with fear. “We can’t hold this position! You—”

“I don’t care! Follow your orders, soldier.” The reprimand erupts from him with an intensity he’s never experienced. “Cover us.”

As they move, that voracious need grabs hold of him again, twisting in ways he never anticipated. He can’t think about the squad, about the consequences of his choices. Everything must bend to protect Elena.

“Trust me,” he insists as the anger registers in her eyes.

“Sam, no!” her voice trembles as she glances back. “Please don’t do this!”

With every ounce of resolve, he pushes her towards safety, a suffocating closeness to danger hanging over him.

“Sam! We’re losing ground!”

He ignores the words, turning his back on the plume of smoke that erupts, sending shrapnel flying.

And in that moment, he knows very well what he has done: he has chosen Elena over everything—over comrades, over duty.

He clutches her to him.

Please don’t hate me. I did it for you.