The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-14-

We spend the next hour celebrating our victory, parading through the woods, cheering into the late night and the early hours of the morning. At first Ray was freaking out, saying we should all go to bed and rest up for tomorrow's training, but after Sergeant Gioia found us and congratulated us on our victory--no insults this time!--he told us we'd merely do some light strength training tomorrow, just because he was that proud of us. I think we were all a bit shocked, to say the least, but no one complained.

This is the most fun we've had since Christmas.

Pete carries Frank around on his shoulders, hooting and hollering into the still night sky. It's a humorous sight, so humorous, in fact, that Jon can barely walk straight because he's laughing so hard. Everyone is high on triumph, and we never want to come back down.

I also learned that, aside from Frank's courageous and determined actions, a group of Foxtrot soldiers ambushed Ryan, Tyler, and Dallon. That's how they managed to steal our flag. Dallon tried to fight them off as best as he could, but he was outnumbered. Thankfully he and Tyler managed to get away with only a few cuts and bruises, but I haven't seen Ryan since the start of the game, and no one has mentioned him, either. I hope he's okay.

I still can't believe we won.  Not that it's the greatest thing in the world, of course--there are more pressing matters happening on the other side of the Atlantic--but hey, it's a victory in our book. We'll take what we can get. It lifts our morale, and that's all we can ask for at this point in training camp.

The sky begins to bleed pink with the rising sun by the time our celebration comes to an end. Our cries and cheers of triumph slowly but surely become nonexistent. Our elation simmers down to nothing but pure exhaustion, and I realize we've been up for nearly twenty-four hours. My body aches. I need sleep, because I think my brain is starting to shut down as we speak. I haven't pulled an all-nighter like this since high school, and I do not want to think about those dark times now. At least this all-nighter was enjoyable, I suppose. I'll take that over frantic studying.

As we make our way back to the barracks to get some rest, dragging our feet behind us, I spot someone sitting on the outskirts of the forest, on top of a jagged rock. It doesn't take me long to realize it's Ryan.

The guys won't notice if I slip away for a few minutes, will they?

I wait until the last person passes me and heads for the barracks before I step away to meet Ryan. He's slouched over on the rock, his head in his hands, but as I approach him, he glances up to see who it is; an inexplicable feeling stirs deep in my gut at the sight.

Blood is oozing out of his nose, and his left eye is beginning to turn black.

"Ryan, oh my God, what happened?" I ask. I can't hide the worry in my tone. I'm an older brother. It's my job.

Ryan doesn't answer me, just shakes his head and tries to hide his injuries from me. He looks like he could burst into tears at the drop of a hat. God, what happened to him? Was the Foxtrot ambush really that bad? Dallon and Tyler sure failed to mention that part.

I'm not letting him get away with not answering me, though. I slide up next to him on the rock, because I'm not leaving until he tells me what happened. Maybe I can help. I'll do whatever I can. He's only eighteen, for Christ's sake. He shouldn't even be here, getting his ass kicked and his nose busted up. It pisses me off. Which one of those Foxtrot assholes did this to him?

But I can't be angry with him. It's not his fault. "Talk to me, Ryan," I say gently. I don't want to upset him any more than he already is. "You can tell me what happened. I won't judge."