I've used Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol as inspiration for this story. It's a little bit different, but I hope you like it. As always, the characters belong to Tony Grounds. I'll do my best to update it regularly. Please R&R! Thank you!
"Marley was dead, to begin with ... This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate."
Molly cowered behind the rock as shots began firing. The howl of the bullets flying so closely overhead was enough to send a shiver down her spine. The adrenaline of the situation was both thrilling and terrifying. Situations like this were what her career was based upon, yet they never got any easier.
She looked across to her fellow soldiers, all similarly hiding behind whatever was available in the wilderness that surrounded them. The insurgent wasn't going to give up easily and they all knew it. None of them wanted to be shot, but they knew better than to disobey orders. The corporal had instructed them to wait out, so that was precisely what they were doing.
She heard her corporal shout "Rapid fire!" and so she lifted her L85A2 assault rifle and aimed at the enemy. She tensed her body, bracing herself. This was a fight for survival.
"Get down!" The corporal shouted once more.
Molly ducked down, the rock becoming her safe haven from the next round of bullets. She couldn't understand the instructions that were being given. They weren't trained to hide, they were trained to fight. Yet they weren't being allowed the opportunity. Captain James' words entered her thoughts "I follow my orders and I trust those higher in the chain of command to see the bigger picture." She had to believe in it… she had to.
The others were all staring, wide-eyed. They were feeling the pressure too, waiting for the moment to react. Molly looked to her corporal, looking helplessly for a sign that would never come. Somebody needed to do something, or else they'd be there all day, hiding from the shots that would never end. Molly closed her eyes for the briefest second, fighting between right and wrong. She never was very good at obeying orders, but she needed to muster the courage to be the one would do something.
She moved herself up on her knees, just high enough to raise her weapon. The voice in the back of her mind was reminding her that she was only the medic and her orders were to wait out. But one final glance at her corporal's terrified face was all of the encouragement she needed. She had to do something, and fast. She lifted herself to her feet and aimed.
The sound of a gunshot enveloped the area that encircled them. It was deafening, unlike anything she'd known before. An odd stillness was suddenly created, causing Molly to become all too aware that perhaps all wasn't what it seemed. She patted herself down, feeling for an injury. She could move her fingers, wiggle her toes. Was this what death felt like?
The air turned cold, nothing alike the Afghan heat she'd become so accustomed too. It was bleak, biting. She held her arms to her body, hugging, squeezing herself in an attempt to hold in some warmth. Her lungs filled with the icy air with each breath she took.
"Molls," a familiar voice resonated behind her. She turned sharply, looking for the source. Her eyes scoured, hunting for figure of her best friend.
"Smurf?" she pleaded. She missed him so much. It had been two long years since he died, and not a day passed where he wasn't in her thoughts. If she could see him now, even for just a brief moment, it would bring her so much happiness. "Smurf?!"
"You muppet, what d'you think you're playing at?" Smurf appeared from nowhere, his voice cutting through the cold, to fill her heart with warmth. The air swirled around his feet in an almost magical way. He was walking with a long stride, seemingly confident. Molly found it comforting that he didn't seem at all worried by the situation.
"You Welsh wanker, I thought you were dead?" Molly shook her head as soon as the words left her lips. Of course he was. She was there when he collapsed and was taken to hospital. "Am I dead?"
"Merry Christmas, Moll," was Smurf's only response.
"You're kidding me, right? You choose this precise moment to wish me a merry fucking Christmas?"
"You chose this moment when you decided to break cover." Smurf's face was solemn, serious. The expression was all too familiar. He was on a mission, concentrating on the task at hand.
"Am I dead?" She asked again, but this time with more hesitation, a tremor in her voice.
"Not yet."
Molly stood in silence, her eyes flickering with the temptation to close. She didn't want to break contact though; part of her fearing that Smurf would be gone before she could re-open her eyes. The other part of her knew simply that tears would stream down her cheeks the second she allowed, and right now, that wasn't an option.
"Not…" she choked. "Yet?"
"I'm gonna take you on a little journey, Molls; through Christmases past and present, to the Christmases yet to come. I think it's important that you see this."
"Smurf, this is the middle of a bloody war zone. Whatever bullshit you're on about will have to wait, cos right now I need to shoot that insurgent before he kills all of us."
"You don't have a choice, Moll."
Smurf held his hand out, gesturing for Molly to take hold of it. Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear; she reached forward. Warmth emitted from the touch, before slowly stretching and spreading throughout her body.
She turned to look around but simply saw everything slowly fading away. She began following in Smurf's path with desperate curiosity, until exhaustion overwhelmed over. In an instant, Molly's eyes closed and sleep took hold of her.