The Four Horsemen 2 - War (5 page)

Russell grimaced as sand irritated his skin under the collar of his T-shirt. He tried to brush it off, but the sweat trickling down from his head gave the sand something to stick to. He felt like he was taking a mud bath. The scar on his thigh itched as well, but he couldn’t reach that.

He looked up to see Jimmy, his closest buddy in the unit, standing next to where he was crouching.
“Not really, but since they didn’t give me an option, I guess I’m stuck.”
Jimmy snorted. “We’re all stuck in this godforsaken place until someone decides to get us out of here or we rotate home.”
“True.” He gestured to the sandy spot beside him. “Why don’t you take a load off for a little bit? You’re not on patrol or guard duty, are you?”
“Nope. Just got tired of sitting in one spot. Needed to move.”
Jimmy knelt next to him and settled his shoulder against the rock wall Russell was using to protect himself. His friend stared out over the terrain, trying to see if any enemy soldiers had crept up on them.
“What was it like?” Jimmy kept his question low, so none of the others around them could hear it.
“What? Getting shot?” Russell didn’t want to relive those moments after the initial hit.
“Yeah. I’ve been shot at. Hell, all of us have, but not many of us have been hit. Our unit’s been pretty lucky, all things considered.” Jimmy sighed. “Something’s telling me our luck is about to run out.”
As much as Russell wanted to say no, it isn’t, he couldn’t. The same impending doom was growing each day he watched the sun rise over the mountains. Something was going to happen and, no matter how hard he tried to, he couldn’t shake the worry.
“It hurts a lot, but not initially. I think I was in shock until after I’d landed on the ledge. Once I’d got my breath back, everything started to ache.”
He remembered the panic and fear of dying that had swirled inside him as his blood had dripped from his wound. How he’d discovered how much he missed his parents and the small town he’d lived in. He’d got a chance to talk to them while he was in the hospital. His mother had cried and he could tell his dad had got choked up as well, but his heart had been happy to hear their voices again.
“Were you scared? I feel bad, man. We didn’t realise you weren’t with us until after we’d moved out of the area. Insurgents were all around us and there wasn’t any way we could go back in to rescue you, especially since we didn’t know if you were even alive.”
Russell reached over and patted Jimmy’s shoulder. “No hard feelings, dude. The entire unit is more important than one man. I didn’t expect you to put yourselves in danger to save me. I was scared to death, mostly of dying alone more than the dying itself. I don’t think anyone wants to be by themselves when it’s time to leave their mortality behind.”
“Who knew you had such deep thoughts?” Jimmy teased.
Chuckling, Russell shrugged. “I didn’t have anything to do but think while I lay on that ledge. You start to look at things differently when you know you only have a few hours left to live.”
Thunder rolled, causing Jimmy to duck. Russell didn’t react. He’d grown used to the thunder and lightning rebounding through the mountains. Afghanistan didn’t have a rainy season or anything, and the locals had reported how unusual it was. He tensed because he’d noticed a pattern over the course of the weeks he’d been back with his unit.
“We should probably get ready. There’ll be an attack shortly.”
Jimmy shot him a glance. “How do you know that?”
“It’s something I’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks. Within an hour or so of the thunder, the insurgents usually launch an attack. Not sure why. It’s obviously not a signal or anything, but it’s happened too often for me not to notice it.” He looked over his shoulder and spotted his CO waving his arms to catch the attention of the entire unit. “Apparently, others have seen the pattern as well.”
“Great,” Jimmy muttered, unhappiness flashing over his face. “I’d hoped we could get through the rest of our tour without any major confrontation.”
“We still might. It might not be our position being attacked this time.”
The scepticism in Jimmy’s face mirrored how Russell felt.
“It was worth a try.”
They laughed while keeping their eyes peeled for any movement. A horse and rider appeared on the crest of the summit above them. Russell started to draw Jimmy’s attention to it, but the sun reflecting off the horse’s bright red coat froze him. Was it Red? Why would he be out there in the middle of a potential fight? Whose side was he on?
How had the man got from Afghanistan to Germany to visit Russell? Maybe he was part of a Special Forces team living off the land and in the local villages. It could explain why Red had been in the vicinity when Russell had been hurt.
As if Red knew Russell was down there staring up at him, Red raised his hand in acknowledgement before disappearing. Russell blinked and looked again. Yeah, Red had disappeared. Not moved back away from the edge of the summit so no one could see him— but gone like a puff of smoke into the air. Thunder shook the mountain and Russell almost stopped breathing.
Did Red have a connection with the thunder? Russell remembered hearing thunder as Red’s horse had jumped off the ledge they’d found him on. Now that he thought about it, there had been thunder the night Red had visited him in Germany.
“All right, men. Let’s get our asses in gear and get ready. The enemy should be staging an attack any minute now. We need to be prepared.” The CO’s orders rang out over the unit.
Russell checked his rifle and ammo, making sure he had everything he was going to need. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the rock formation him and Jimmy were hunkered behind. He took a few deep breaths to clear his mind and ease some of the tension inside him. The upcoming attack would be the first action he’d seen since returning to his unit.
You’ll be fine.
He jerked his head up and glanced around. Jimmy was staring out over the wall, peering into the hazy afternoon air. No one else was close enough to them to whisper those words in Russell’s ear.
Who are you?
He thought the words, hoping that whatever imaginary voice was playing in his head would hear it.
No one special. Just keep your head down and do your job. You’ll be fine.

Sound advice and Russell planned on taking it. It wasn’t like he was a glory hound or anything like that. He wasn’t even particularly brave, but he’d do his job and hope for the best.

Another flash of red caught his eye and he took aim just as the first bullets struck the dirt in front of his position. The fire fight was on and Russell lost track of time.
Bullets, grenades, and missiles flew from both sides, yet it wasn’t anything the mountains hadn’t seen before. Men died and blood spilled, soaking into the sand and dirt under their feet.
Jimmy went down, hit by a bullet. Russell called for a medic and kept shooting. When the unit medic dropped to the ground next to them and swore, he knew it wasn’t good. There wasn’t any screaming or any noise whatsoever from Jimmy, but Russell couldn’t take his eye off what was going on in front of him to look.
During a lull in the action, Russell knelt and turned to see the medic swipe his hand over Jimmy’s face, closing his eyes. Before Russell could say anything, a bullet whistled past his ear and suddenly Russell’s vision went red.
Yelling, he dropped his rifle and wiped his hands over his face, clearing away the warm liquid coating his eyes and cheeks. When his vision cleared, he stared at the blood staining his gloves.
Holy shit! The medic’s lifeless body lay with a bullet hole in his head. It was the medic’s blood Russell wore. Russell paid no more attention to the fighting going on around him. He grabbed hands full of sand and scrubbed at his face and arms, trying to get rid of the red.
As he struggled with the panic and revulsion welling in him, he realised the horrid colour was an exact match with Red’s hair. Why the hell did any man dye his hair the colour of blood? Of course, Red’s horse’s coat was the same as well. What did it mean? Did it mean anything?
“Heinz, you’re okay now. It’s gone.”
Russell didn’t listen to whoever was talking to him. He could still see spots of red dotting his hands and arms. He was sure they marred his face as well. Rough hands grabbed his and pinned them to his sides. He struggled and fought, wanting the mess off.
“Sergeant Heinz, stop. That’s an order.”
Two sides of Russell’s brain warred with each other. One side told him that the CO was right. The blood was off his skin, though it had stained his uniform. The other side told him that it would never be gone. No matter how hard he scrubbed or what he did, the blood would never go away.
His gaze landed on Jimmy and the medic, lying motionless in the dirt at his feet and his mind shut down. People were talking to him, yet all he saw were their lips moving slowly until he saw nothing but blood mixed with sand. Red and yellow swirls danced in front of his eyes. No one and nothing existed outside the circles of colour.
Russell stopped struggling. The only thing he continued to do was wring his hands like he was washing them. He didn’t acknowledge anyone talking to him or even moving him. His teammates loaded him on the ‘copter along with Jimmy and the medic to fly back to the main base.
All he remembered to do was breathe.

“What the fuck happened to him?” War shouted at Death while he gestured in Russell’s direction. “Last time I saw him, he was fucking fine.”
Death tilted his head, studying War with an intrigued expression. “You’ve become quite fond of modern swear words, haven’t you?”
War paused and glared at Death. “That has nothing to do with my question. What the hell happened to Russell?”
The Pale Horseman turned and examined the young soldier sitting in front of them, dressed in a set of pajamas. “It would seem he’s gone catatonic. I’ve seen this before in men who fought during World War One, though most of them would be what is known as shellshocked. It comes from being in the midst of battle; and something happens to snap their minds.”
Clenching his hands, War wanted nothing more than to punch Death in the nose and make him bleed. The smug bastard stood there, so calmly discussing the mental breakdown of the man War couldn’t forget.
When War had found that Russell had been sent stateside with an unidentified injury, he’d become determined to find him and see how he was. He’d popped into the hospital room, but the only thing Russell had done was flinch when the thunder had boomed outside. Other than that, he didn’t exist in whatever place Russell had gone in his mind.
After reading Russell’s charts, he knew Russell wasn’t blind, but was suffering some kind of mental breakdown. He’d called for Death when he’d figured out that he couldn’t reach Russell.
“How do we fix him?”
Death shot him an incredulous glance. “
We
?
Fix him
?”
He gritted his teeth as Death chuckled. War stalked over to Russell and crouched next to the chair where the man sat. Russell looked at him with an intent gaze, causing War’s heart to skip a beat. Maybe he’d remember War and come out from behind his protective wall. Smiling, he touched Russell’s knee.
“Do you remember me now, Russell?”
“Red,” Russell whispered.
Happiness jumped in him and he nodded. “That’s what you call me.”
“Red. Blood.”
Before War could move, Russell grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled hard.
“Ow! Hey man, let go.”
“So much blood. Everywhere. I can’t get it out. It won’t come off my skin. I feel it on my face.”
Russell started out whispering, yet by the end of the sentence he was screaming at the top of his lungs. War didn’t want to hurt him, but he could hear the nurses running down the hall in response to Russell’s yelling.
“Let go of him,” Death ordered.
Whether it was one of his powers or simply the tone of Death’s voice, it worked, and Russell dropped War’s hair as if it had burned him. War scrambled out of the way as Russell started wringing his hands and rubbing at his forearms.
“Yes, mental break with reality. Apparently, your young soldier there is like Lady Macbeth.”
“What?” War pushed to his feet and grabbed Death by the front of the man’s shirt. “For once in your miserable existence, stop speaking in riddles.”
“Lady Macbeth sleepwalks in the play, and, while she does, she mutters, ‘Out, damn’d spot!’ I think she wanted to get rid of the blood of someone she had killed. So she felt guilty, or something like that. I can’t really remember.” Death pursed his lips as he thought. “Maybe your soldier feels guilty about something. Or he could just be crazy. War does that to people.”
Snarling, War shook Death hard. “He’s not crazy. You don’t have a right to call him crazy. You like being a Horseman. You enjoy your job. I think that makes you insane.”
Death broke War’s grip on his shirt with ridiculous ease. War stumbled back as Death advanced on him. Rarely did the pale man show any emotion, so to see him trembling with anger shocked War. Death pinned him to the wall with his hand pressed tightly to War’s chest.
“You don’t get the right to call me crazy or to question anything I do. You don’t know anything about me and what I’ve done.” Death slammed his hand into War, causing him to flinch. “Never call me insane.”
“Sorry.” War held up his hands. “Shouldn’t we get out of here before someone sees us?”
Still vibrating with anger, Death waved his hand and a shimmering wall surrounded them, blocking them from the sight of the nurses rushing into the room.
“What set him off?” The big blond male nurse asked the petite brunette trailing him.
“I don’t know. I was down the hall with the patient in room three-forty.” She worked on getting Russell’s bed ready.
The blond stooped and swept Russell into his arms, carrying the struggling man to the bed. “He’s muttering about red again. I know we took anything with red on it or in it out of this room before he arrived.”
War winced as the man laid Russell on the mattress, and then held him down as the other nurse strapped restraints on him. What had happened to Russell to bring him to this point?
“Why are we putting restraints on this guy? Is he dangerous to himself or others?” She tucked the sheet around Russell and under his arms.
“Not to others. Mostly to himself. He wrings his hands and scrubs at his arms like he’s trying to clean something off. Background says he got injured several months ago, healed up, and they sent him back to his unit. His best friend in the unit was standing next to him when the soldier got shot. As he’s dealing with that, the medic takes a bullet to the head and this guy’s drenched in the man’s blood.”
“Oh, God.” War moaned as he listened to what had happened to Russell.
“The report said the minute he realised he was covered in the medic’s blood, he shut down. Even though he’s clean, he keeps trying to wipe it off. Most of the time, lately, he’s been relatively fine. He usually doesn’t react to us coming and going. His parents take turns sitting with him, but he doesn’t seem to recognise them.”
War groaned and turned away, not wanting to see Russell like this. He closed his eyes and transported himself to the courtyard outside the hospital. He stumbled and sat on the closest bench. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground under his feet. Death stood near him, but stayed silent.
“What happened to him, Death?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer, so it surprised him when the Horseman spoke.
“I told you something inside him snapped. You thought I was making fun of him, but I wasn’t. I have seen things like this happen to men who fight in wars. Sometimes, their minds reach a break point where they can’t take any more. It doesn’t mean they’re weak or cowards. It simply means they’ve done enough or too much and can’t face anything else.”
“I know.” War scrubbed his face with his hands. “How do we fix him?”
He looked up as Death rested his hand on his shoulder. “We don’t.”
“But—”
Death shook his head. “I’m sorry, comrade. There’s no way you can fix this. If it’s going to heal, it has to do so on its own. There are no medicines or surgeries to cure his problem. Most people get better on their own, but there are some that never do. I can’t predict which kind Russell will be.”
“There must be something I can do,” War muttered.
“Dye your hair would be my first suggestion if you plan on seeing him more.” Death shrugged at War’s incredulous stare. “Your hair is the colour of fresh blood. Every time he sees it, he’s going to freak.”
War snorted and pushed to his feet. “You know I can’t dye my hair. Nothing works.”
“You’ve tried to do it before? I was joking,” Death commented.
“I know you were, and yes, I’ve tried dying my hair. You say it looks like fresh blood, but, really, this isn’t a colour found in nature.” War tugged on a lock of his hair. “Except maybe in the Amazon on a species of poisonous frog.”
“It’s not like you wander around in a crowd of people, War. Why would you want a different hair colour? The Mongolians you run into don’t care what you look like.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “You would think they wouldn’t care. Yet I stand out. There aren’t a lot of red-haired Mongolians out there. When they gather for the yearly horse fair, I’m sure they talk about the strange man who wanders their steppes. Hell, for some of them I’m a legend, since they have stories handed down from their ancestors about me.”
War didn’t care about any of that, though. His mind stayed focused on the soldier up in the hospital room. Russell might not have any physical wounds any more, but his mental injuries were just as bad. In reality, they were even more terrifying than actual bullet wounds because they couldn’t be seen or treated with medicine. Only time could bring about healing for him.
“I’m going back up there.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea? If he sees you and freaks out again, they’ll sedate him.”
“What do you suggest I do? I put him there.” War pointed in the direction of Russell’s window.
Death frowned. “You didn’t put him there. You didn’t put any of the people in that hospital where they are.
You
didn’t pull triggers or declare war on other countries. You didn’t cause his mind to break.”
“No, all I did was stab my dagger into the flesh of a few people, and instead of killing them, their own greed, anger, or jealousy drives them to war.”
He froze when Death gripped his shoulders and shook him slightly. He couldn’t meet his knowing eyes.
“The dagger opens the festering areas of their souls, and forces them to do what they’ve always wanted to do. You merely weld the weapon, but remember your guilt got you into this situation. Until you forgive yourself, you will never move on from where you are now. Understand that. Don’t continue to punish yourself for something caused by someone else’s greed.”
He made sense, but War knew it wasn’t as easy as forgiving himself when he could still see all the bodies of the dead lying in front of him like sacrifices to an angry god. He still saw the hatred in the face of the young boy who had killed him, and he accepted it as his fault.
Death sighed and stepped back, letting go of him. “Go and look in on him. I’d suggest not letting him know you’re there. I have to go.”
Nodding, War stayed silent as Death disappeared. No clap of thunder or flash of lightning for the Pale Horseman. As was often the case, Death was silent as he came and went.
War closed his eyes and thought of Russell’s room. Within seconds, he opened them to find himself standing in the corner, staring at the man strapped to the bed. He longed to brush away the sweaty curls clinging to Russell’s forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered and Russell’s forehead creased as though the man had heard him.
Maybe under the drugs the nurses had given him, Russell could hear what War said. As long as Russell didn’t see him, it might be okay for War to talk to him. Staying in the shadows, he moved slightly closer.
“I’m told it’s not my fault you’re here, but I can’t help thinking it is. I’m the second Horseman. When war is needed to balance the world, I ride, plunging my dagger into the hearts of those who have the power to cause war, and try not to think of the innocents caught up in the middle of the mess. Most of the soldiers fighting are innocent.”
War coughed to cover the sob. Stupid to do so really. It wasn’t like Russell could see him or the tears welling in his eyes. Not like the dark-haired man was lucid enough to acknowledge War or his emotions. Hell, emotions were probably what Russell was running from and why he was hiding in his mind.
“You’ve got to come back from wherever you’ve gone, Russell. You can’t stay in there. There’s so much out here for you to do and see. It’s hard, though, isn’t it? Hard to take the first steps from fear into courage, but you’re strong. You can do it. I know you can, and there are people rooting for you.”
Russell rolled his head on the pillows and his hands twitched as though he wanted to move. War shook with the need to remove the restraints and hold Russell’s hands in his. He wanted to press his lips to Russell’s cheek and promise that nothing bad would ever happen to him again.
Shit!
What was it about this particular man that made War forget all the laws he should follow? Why did he want to wrap his arms around Russell and keep him safe from every bad thing in the world?
Panic danced in his heart for a second. It wasn’t because Russell was a guy. War might have only fucked women when he’d been alive, but after living for centuries he’d learned that it didn’t matter what sex the person was. It only mattered whether he wanted them or even loved them. As far as he was concerned, people got too caught up in each other’s lives.
Yet this was the first time he’d ever wanted to interfere in a mortal’s life, to take him away from all the problems and horrors haunting him and show him the beauty existing in the world. He’d sweep Russell up and take him to his tent in Mongolia if he could. He’d teach him how to ride and let him wander the steppes to absorb the solitary emptiness of that place. Maybe that’s what Russell needed.
“If I could, I’d take you away from all this. Too much noise and activity. I think you need quiet. A place no one will bother you for days, so you can work through whatever is going on in your mind.”
War kept talking, describing his tent and herd of horses. He spoke about the vastness of the plains he rode whenever he was home. He continued until his throat ached and the sun peeked through the blinds. The hospital began to come alive and grow busier. It was time for War to leave, yet he could barely bring himself to reach out and squeeze Russell’s hand.
“I’ll be back,” he promised.
Was it his imagination or had Russell tightened his fingers around War’s? Buoyed by the perceived reaction, War left with a lighter heart. Maybe things would be okay.