The End of War

Only the dead have seen the end of war – Homer

That morning in June was perfect. The skies were a clear, cloudless blue; the grass lawns crisp with morning due, shining a picturesque vivid green. Birds chirped in the trees, cheerful with the start of a new day. This was not the scene one year ago. One year ago, this place was a battlefield.

"30 seconds! We gotta' get to the roof now! Go, go, get to the roof!" Foley screamed over the sound of the gunfire, his voice echoing across the hallway. They'd been pinned down by heavy machine-gun and rifle fire for the past minute, and the airstrike wasn't slowing down either. Dunn popped his head out from behind the wall he was using for shelter, and fired a dozen rounds from his SCAR-H. The Russian's responded with a GP-25 grenade that exploded two metres away from the Ranger's position, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. Dunn turned to his sergeant.

"Sarge, we're pinned down, we need to take out that .50 cal, otherwise we're screwed!" He was on the verge of panic, fear evident in his eyes. All the Ranger's were scared, anyone who wasn't was a liar or fearless. Suddenly Ramirez, young, baby-faced Ramirez, piped up.

"I've got this Sarge, I'll take point." Then he reloaded his M4 and charged.

Dunn felt nervous. He'd woken in a pale sweat that morning, and hadn't eaten properly. His dress uniform was faultless, his shoes like mirrors, trousers ironed to perfection. The extra gold stripe on his shirt felt awkward, like being promoted to Sergeant was a massive burden. He'd seen how it had affected Foley, how it had caused him to make the mistakes he made. He couldn't blame him for what happened though, no matter how hard he tried.

"James!" Dunn shouted after his younger friend, and stood to his feet, ready to get Ramirez out of trouble, as he always did, before Foley pulled him back. "Sarge, I've got to help him. He's going to get himself killed!" He exasperated, the fear in his eyes turning to a steely determination not to let his friend down. But the sergeant refused to let go of his rifle sling. Ramirez's charge caught the Russian machine-gunner off-guard, allowing Ramirez to put a bullet in his head. The young private then turned round, catching two more Russians in his holographic sights.

They quickly followed their comrade's footsteps, each receiving two in the chest and one in the head. Ramirez whipped out his M9 sidearm, and emptied the 15 9mm rounds in the magazine into three more Russians. He switched back to his M4 and swept around the room, checking for more hostiles.

"All clear!" He shouted to the rest of his squad. "Time to move!"

There were ten of them there. Ten people, who were now called heroes by the nation they had fought so hard for. Five were family members, relatives of those who had made the ultimate sacrifice for their friends. The other five were soldiers that had fought so hard for so little in return. Three out of the five family members were that of a Delta team that had died saving the Russian president. One of the living was their teammate, the only one of his Metal Team to survive the war. He was very emotional, seeing his friend's family, standing where it should be them.

"Hey, you okay man?" Dunn asked him. The Delta man nodded silently. He wouldn't talk about what happened. None of them would.

The Rangers sprinted to the roof, time slowing down as they heard the distant roar of the fighter jets on their way. Dunn heard the pilots over the radio in his ear.

"Standby, target package Whiskey Hotel Zero-One has been authorised."

"Roger, standby." Ramirez was sprinting faster than everyone else, along with Aldermann.

"Use your flares!" Foley shouted to them. They popped out their green flares, and started waving them about frantically. The bright green light was blinding when compared to the rest of the dimly lit room. The jets were visible to the naked eye now,

"Countersign detected at Whiskey Hotel. Abort! Abort." Dunn heard over the radio as the pilots noticed their flares.

"We got a countersign, abort mission!" The pilot of the other jet sounded relieved. Who would want to blow up their nation's most famous building?" The roar of the jets was almost deafening as they flew above the White House. The Ranger's faces all changed from apprehensive fear to abstract relief. They'd done it; they'd saved the White House. The Rangers regrouped, as Ramirez and Aldermann dropped their flares and turned to face their squad. Foley nodded in respect to Ramirez.

"So when are we goin' to Moscow?" Jones asked, to no one in particular.

"Not soon enough man." Dunn answered his question. "But I know we're going to burn it down when we get there."

Dunn had been deadly serious when he had said it. The Russians had killed Americans indiscriminately, not caring if they were men, women or children. Someone else would argue it was because of the Zakhaev Airport massacre. Dunn didn't care. Whoever did that massacre didn't send a BTR-90 rolling down a main road, spraying high-explosive rounds everywhere, destroying schools, libraries, houses. The Russians did. And the Russians killed his best friend.

Foley sighed at his second-in-command's comment.

"When the time is right, Corporal. When the time is right." The Rangers could see green flares being lit all over the capitol. It was a moving sight. It showed that the war was turning, that they were pushing back the enemy; that for once in the war, they were winning.

"Someone should take a picture." Ramirez said. It summed up what everyone was thinking. Then Ramirez caught some movement out of the corner of his eye.

"CONTACT!" He screamed, as a lone Russian soldier cooked off a frag grenade. He was riddled with bullets from all the Rangers, but the grenade rolled to the floor. Its pin was missing. "Grenade!" Ramirez shouted.

"And now, the first out of these ten Medal's of Honor goes to Sergeant Jacob Dunn, 75th Ranger Battalion. Sgt Dunn, a Corporal at the time, was one of the first Ranger's into the White House, and stormed the building room by room, including the one we are in today." The commander of J-SOC read out Dunn's citation. "Before this, he was shot in the leg, yet carried on fighting. He saved his fellow Ranger's lives several times, by dragging wounded comrades out of the line of fire, and throwing back three grenades that would have killed up to four soldiers. For these actions, and many more, Sergeant Dunn deserves the first Medal of Honor of WWIII." The J-SOC commander finished speaking, and took a step backwards.

To Dunn, the whole thing was like a dream. He marched up to the stage, and was met by the President himself. He was wearing a bright smile, one that he meant. The President was being awarded the Medal of Freedom; the highest award a civilian can receive, for fighting off several Spetznaz units that were sent to capture him. It was one of many that were going to be awarded in a separate ceremony.

"Well done Sergeant. You earned this." The President said quietly.

"Thank you sir." Dunn said, not wanting to seem chatty or unprofessional.

"And I'm truly sorry about your friend. He must have been an excellent soldier." Dunn's commander in chief said, even quieter. Then Dunn saluted him, and marched back the way he came, his mind thinking back to one year ago.

Ramirez didn't think. That was his one flaw, in Dunn's mind. And he could only watch as his younger friend dived on the grenade.

It was as if the explosion that followed was real. He could still see Ramirez's face, as he realized what was going to happen.

"JAMES!" Dunn screamed, running to his best friend's side. There was a lot of blood, possibly too much already, and deep down Dunn knew that he and James wouldn't be laughing this one over later. "Don't worry James; it's going to be okay." He said comfortingly as he injected some morphine into Ramirez to deal with the pain. "Medic! We need a medic over here!" He shouted. He turned his friend over, and was faced with a massive ragged hole in Ramirez's chest. His first aid training abandoned him when he needed it most. He could vaguely hear Foley calling in for a medivac, but all his attention was focused on his friend. "Everything's going to be fine James, just keep breathing." He said soothingly.

"Jake, that you?" His friend asked. He was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Yeah, it's me man, just hang in there." He answered. "Where is that fucking medic?" He shouted to anyone who was listening. The rest of the Ranger's were simply watching their comrade's life slip away.

"Can you tell," Ramirez was gasping for air now. "My brother, that I fought hard." Blood was bubbling from his mouth, his voice a mere whisper. "That I was brave." Dunn was in near tears now.

"Yeah, I'll tell him James. But so will you." Dunn took his helmet off, running a hand through his hair.

"Thanks Jake. See you soon." And then Ramirez's eyes closed, and his shallow breathing stopped.

"James? James? James!" Dunn shouted. He started CPR. "Come on James, breath for me." It was clear to everyone apart from Dunn that it wasn't working. Dunn was full on crying now.

"Corporal…" Foley started. Dunn turned around, anger in his eyes.

"Don't you say it, Sarge! Don't you fucking say it!" He then continued with his CPR. Five minutes later, he stopped. He threw his helmet away, and burst out crying. He hadn't cried since he was five, but he was crying now.

"I'm sorry Jake. It was my fault. I should have cleared the room. I should have-" Foley started. Dunn silenced him.

"Shut up Foley. Just shut up, and don't give an order for once in your damn life." The flares in the other buildings had sparked out now, just like young Ramirez's life.

"They say only the dead have seen the end of war." Jones said, "So does that mean that he's in peace now?" The question was never answered.

It was after the ceremony now. James had been one of the other posthumous MOHs. His brother received the award. He held it in his right fist as he shook hands with the president. His face was ashen, like he was still grieving. It was a sentiment Dunn was all too familiar with. Dunn and the Delta guy, who had only identified himself as Frost, were standing on one of the private gardens of the White House, chatting quietly.

"Hang on a sec' Frost, I've got to do something." Dunn said to the Delta operator, before walking into a secluded section of the garden, following something out of the corner of his eye. In it was a young male, not old enough to be considered a man, and yet too old to be thought of as a boy. He had short black hair, and tanned skin. Dunn didn't get a good look at Ramirez's younger brother, but it was the big brown eyes that gave him away. "Mind if I have a word?" He asked politely. Ramirez's brother turned round. He looks just like him, Dunn thought, a pang of grief running through him.

"Uh, yeah, sure." He answered, shrugging his shoulders, and turning to face the way he was originally. Dunn stood alongside him.

"Your brother was a good man." He started. "I was with him when he died." Painful memories flooded back to him for the second time that day. "He asked me to tell you in person, that he fought hard, that he was brave." Dunn was choking up now. To the kid, it must seem strange; a tall, strong Ranger, crying. "It's going to be hard, growing up without James. People will tell you how great he was, how brave he was. That he died doing what he loved. To tell you the truth, he was scared when he died." Tears were rolling freely down Dunn's cheeks now, but he carried on. "No one else could notice, but I did. And it wasn't quick, it wasn't painless. It wasn't like it is in a movie. He died saving his friends, including me. People will say that, he left big shoes to fill. Don't listen to them. His shoes are his shoes, not yours. It's up to you what you do in life. But don't forget James, not ever. He was your big brother, the one you looked up to, the one who looked out for you in school, and now he's gone."

Dunn was finding it hard to find the right words now. "But you've got to pick yourself up. You have to stay strong. Your brother was a United States Army Ranger, be proud of that. Be proud every time you see someone in uniform. Because, it's like it is at school. When there's a bully, there's always someone that stops him. Your brother was that person. Be that person. And whatever happens, your brother was a hero. Remember him." He finished his little speech. Both he and the young brother were in tears. Dunn looked up at the sky, a bright, cloudless blue. "Your brother loved you, and don't ever forget that."

Dunn wasn't a philosophical person, but he thought he knew the answer to Jones's question.

FIN

A/N: This is dedicated to all those servicemen and women, from all nations, who have made the ultimate sacrifice, and to those people who's sacrifice is yet to come. Real life super-heroes exist. They are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. They are ordinary folk, who take up the call of duty and willingly lay down their lives so that others may live. You may see people disrespect these heroes, but those heroes defend their right to be disrespectful, just as their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents did. This is the average soldier. This is the definition of hero. Thank you for reading.