Ghost of You

t e n

Seven years ago, my first year of training at McNair was coming to a close. We were doing mandatory unit drills and field assessments, worried about things like where we would be stationed or what we were going to have for dinner that night. I'd say that those drills and training exercises could never prepare anyone fully for what it was like to be in the middle of an actual war but that seems far too simplistic of a way of attempting to explain what it feels like to go from a soldier in training to a soldier in action. It doesn't seem possible that anyone could wrap up the realities of modern warfare and violence in gift paper, some ribbon and a pretty little bow. But my commanding officer said something that very same year that stuck with me throughout my training and in every combat requiring assignment I had been given since. 

He told me that there are no such things as moral victories when it comes to war. He said that even when you think you've won, even when your enemies have been defeated and the fighting is over, you've already lost. Because winning can't fix the families that are left one part less whole. Winning might prevent those who wish to do others harm from causing additional problems in the future, but it does nothing to repair the damage they've already caused. It does nothing to make up for the damage that will stay with those families who paid the ultimate price. Whether it was a soldier in action or a civilian who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, those families lost something that we would never be able to repay. We will always fight, we will fight until the war is over, but we will never win. Once there is the need to fight at all, we've already lost. 

I'm reminded of those words every time I reach for my gun. I'm reminded of those words every time I swing my fist. I'm reminded of those words as the ground I'm standing on is being ripped from the earth and drawn up towards the sky. I'm reminded of those words as I fight like hell to get every single person off of this broken and raised section of Sokovia and to the carriers that can bring them to safety. 

My arms are growing tired, my body aches and is covered in dirt and dust. My head is pounding so loudly and painfully in my own mind that it feels like I have my own personal woodpecker attached to my skull, using it's sharp beak to knock into me relentlessly. But I don't let any of this stop me.

I am standing somewhere in the ruins of Sokovia on the piece that Ultron's device was able to lift into the sky. My breaths were becoming shorter, the altitude making it more and more impossible to replenish the air in my lungs. 

The team is anywhere and everywhere. Bruce was able to rescue Nat from Ultron's custody and bring her back to fight on the ground. Thor and Vision were flying around the rock hunting down what remained of Ultron's legions. Tony and Rhodes were devising some plan to break the Earth we were standing on into pieces and prevent it from crashing down to the ground while multiple S.H.I.E.L.D helicarriers, led by Director Fury himself were being filled with whatever civilians were left on the floating rock. 

I was on my own, searching for any remaining civilians and trying to get them back to the helicarriers. It was a task made nearly impossible by Ultron's robot minions that seemed to pop up at every corner. I'd lost myself in the maze of the city ruins, the destruction and broken homes surrounding me brought tears to my eyes. Tears that had started what felt like hours ago and hadn't stopped since. As dehydrated as I was, it was shocking that I hadn't stopped yet, but I just kept searching, ignoring the water pooling in my eyes and trickling down my cheeks like a lazy river. 

I heard a noise from around the corner of one of the fallen buildings and I sprinted towards it, hoping it was coming from someone human who I'd be able to help. But it wasn't. Four droids were racing towards me, two in the air and two from the ground. My gun was firing at the airborne robots first, turning towards the others once the first two were on the ground. But my gun was out of ammunition, the others I had grabbed long lost in the messy heat of battle. I reached for the only weapon I have left, the daggers glinting in the sunlight. I ran at the closer of the two, jumping up and using my momentum to swing my legs around its neck so I was perched on its shoulders. Then I lodged the blade into its neck sending it crumpling to the ground, and me with it. By the time I stand up, the last remaining legion is foot away. It leaps at me, tackling me to the ground.