Lost

Chapter One

Afghanistan. 18th October 2015. 01:30.

All had been peaceful. Silent. Another action-packed day had passed, and everyone had been getting their much needed sleep. That was all until shouting could be heard from where the CO's sleeping quarters were.

"Elvis... what are you doing...?!"
That wasn't even the worst flashback he had. The Elvis in question was dead. Charles had lost his best friend only a few years ago, but the emotional pain was still going strong. It was as though Charles was reliving the past, but the worst was yet to come.

For several nights in a row, Charles would start screaming and yelling in his sleep as he relived those damned moments. At first, nothing much was thought of it, but now even the squadron's medic was thinking that these night terrors were something more sinister, and if he didn't go home to talk to a professional, then things would get even more out of hand.
"Molly... Molly..." Charles called out. His tone was desperate, but he was still asleep. The tall man squirmed a little on the bed, just another sign of the nightmare that he was experiencing.

In the morning, well... a few hours later more like, shortly before Charles was due to brief the aims of that day, the squadron's medic called him into the medic tent. Wondering what the problem was, Charles followed them in.
"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" Charles asked putting on a convincing act, for those who didn't know his situation, that he was okay.
"Sit down, Charlie. I think the real question is: are you okay?" The slightly younger male asked, looking at his captain. "For the last several nights, you've been waking us all up from your sleep shouting. And, from what we can hear, it doesn't sound as though you're having particularly great dreams at the moment... in my opinion, I don't think that it's wise of you to go on anymore missions for a while. Perhaps it would do you good to spend some time at home. And, talk to someone about these dreams you're having..."
The seemingly calm and collected expression that Charles had worn on his face quickly changed to one of anger. How dare anyone tell him that he wasn't fit to do his job. He had been in the army for longer than them. How were they to know? "I am fine. I am good to go on for much more time. I know when I'm not able to go on," he spat, angrily. Before the medic could say another word, Charles stormed out of the tent and went to continue getting himself ready for that day's mission.

Despite having his doubts about his captain's mental health, the medic gave Charles one more chance to not fuck up on another mission...

Just as their target was in reach, and it was Charles' cue to step in, he was just in his own world. He had seemingly zoned out of the mission - a very dangerous thing to do.
"Captain... what are you doing...?!" The screaming was muffled to his ears, and it wasn't bringing him out of the daze he was in.

BANG!

Pain shot through the captain's abdomen area where a bullet had been fired into the side of him. He had let out a pained yell before crumpling to the ground, a lot of warm, ruby red blood oozing out of him.

"Ah, fuck!" The medic yelled out in frustration, having to bark out orders to the rest of the squadron to keep guard of them, and to go after the target, all whilst Captain James was being tended to.

When Charles next opened his eyes, everything appeared as a blur. He could only just make out a smokey background, and the silhouette of one of his men looking over him to make sure he was stabilised until a helicopter was able to take him to the hospital. The edges of Charles vision darkened, until all went black.