He heard the machines starting. Sighing he looked out of the window. He saw the desert. The white – golden sand and the hot air standing above it like small waves. When he had first seen it, he had felt a sense of adventure, a sense of freedom. By now this very desert would be forever tainted with destruction and blood.

Suddenly Will felt so much older than he was. He was barely a quarter century old and had already seen more screaming pain and struggling hurt than anybody should. Once more he asked for the sense behind it all. Was it still right for him to do what he did everyday? Was their still a higher meaning behind it all?

Will closed the eyes and laid his head against the cold window. He waited for a moment, but although he could the tiredness aching within his bones he was sensing that he wasn't getting any sleep. By now sleeping seemed like such a privilege. He hadn't really slept that faithful day. Hadn't really gotten a night of good, resting sleep in two months. When he started this journey, he had been a 22-year-old, full of life. His eyes had shown this wonderful amount of naivety and playful youth. By now there were bags underneath them, and they just seemed not to lose that look of depression and resignation. And really that was what he felt. Resignation towards everything. He dreaded this journey, knowing what he has to do.

Will sighed and opened the eyes again. He looked out of the small window by his side. He saw the wing of the plane and the ocean beneath them. For a moment he wondered about that sight. How long had he been lost in his thoughts, chasing sleep, chasing justification? His head started to spin and Will could feel himself looking intentionally towards the front of the plane. What was it with him and heights? He had yet to get used to it. Sadly, he knew there was no other way to get home for him. I mean they could've gotten a ship but being on the ocean for several weeks? No way.
He breathed in and out and turned his head around. He saw the others sleeping, playing on their phones or just relaxing in their seats. For a fraction of a second Will smiled. All of them had earned to get home. All of them had earned to be reunited with their wives, husbands, children and friends. Thinking about this gave him heartache.

For him, coming home meant the total opposite from what it sounded like. Will had lost his home so many years ago, and the substitute he had found; he had lost just a few weeks prior. For him 'going home' meant a constant struggle with the person he was and had buried deep under all those careful constructed masks and walls. It meant facing why he had left and not being able to change a single thing about it. For him 'going home' meant seeing demons and having no idea how to flee from them. And most of all and dreaded of all he had learned to connect 'home' with 'hell' and 'anger', if not 'rage'.

The reality for his friends and comrades would look so happy. They would be welcomed, they would eat, they would celebrate, would visit fairs, parks, zoos. They would go out, be happy, live life. The reality for him would look different. He would arrive in his apartment, lie in bed, exercise occasionally and essentially wait for the next call, the next assignment. Maybe it was this particular emptiness he dreaded more than anything else.

Back here, he knew what he was to do any given day. He had structure, tasks and something resembling to a functional life.

If it had been his choice, he would have chosen not to leave, not to 'go home'. But this choice wasn't his. Had never been his. In the beginning it had always been his and now it had been theirs, saying he would benefit from it, heal. They had called it 'reconnecting with his issues. Reconnecting with himself and the person he was before.' He chuckled darkly. Didn't they know anything?

He felt the plane going down and he instantly pressed his arms against the armrests, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.

"Can I help you with anything, Sir?"

Will smiled, though not opening is eyes. He heard the voice behind him and knew who had asked that question.

"No, thank you, Mason." He laughed a little. "By now you should know how I think of flying."
Behind him he heard Mason laugh a little, too. He liked Mason. He was a good kid. Whereas 'kid' was actually kind of a wrong word for him - being only 6 years younger.

"Yeah, Sir. I know that. It will be over soon."

"It's not that I don't know that … but still. Even people like us are allowed to have fears, aren't we?"
Mason didn't answer. Will took it that he for once had made enough friendly smalltalk and for second maybe disagreed with Will's opinion. But Will knew that Mason would change his mind over the years.

Six years ago, Will had been so excited to fly with all these other people. He had looked at the private jet and for a moment he had forgotten his fear of heights. That was also partly due to him. He just had this vibe of joy around him that was so contagious. Actually that was what Will missed the most. He had been so free of fear, sadness. So different from him right now. And from him back then as well, to be truthful. Will felt a tear rolling over his cheek thinking back to his dark hair, his smile and the way he just could make him forget his worries.

Will shook the head to get these thoughts of him. What was it with those emotions? Wasn't his mask work anymore. He pulled out his phone and looked onto the black screen. He saw the tear, wiped it from his a cheek and put the mask on again. He stared at his reflection until he was sure that no emotion shimmered through.

He couldn't use those emotions. What would they do anyway? Bring him back to life? Go back in time? Take away his pain? This emptiness, this longing? This feeling of being broken beyond repair?

They would not do that. Emotions were personal. Definitely too personal for him to share in this plane with those people. He had never shared his personal life with them, in fear of being judged, hated or worse ignored. And blabbing about those feeling would maybe give the wrong impression and start the hurtful accusations, he felt he wouldn't be able to deny. So Will had stopped feeling, he had shaped up and lived on. He was supposed to be the strong one anyway, their leader.

Finally, he felt the little jump when the wheels touched the ground. He felt the relief in him and in the atmosphere. He felt the drift from careful anticipation to actual, raw joy, the happiness. For them the wheels hitting the ground meant seeing all their loved ones.

For him it just meant this flight was over. When he realized that he suddenly felt pathetic. When the plane stopped, he stood up, looking to the others, saw the gestures of respect they made, mouthing goodbye and he turned around, stepping into the bright, non-natural light caused by neon lights on the ceiling.

He was finally out of the plane. And back in his head he heard the nagging voice, telling him that he should not even begin to think he had left his personal ghosts overseas.

As he made his way through the airport, he heard the screams of joy. He saw a bunch of families, children. Through the corner of his eye he saw his friends and adoptive family hugging their families with smiles plastered all over their faces.

And was reminded once again, how maybe different choices in his life, would have lead to him having a family waiting for him. He felt people looking at him, probably asking himself why he was on his own. And it painful to think that if they'd ask him, he would just shrug. Cause Will didn't know it either.

After the baggage claim, he went straight to the exit. There he stopped turning around to look at the big screen over the door. He looked for the next trains to Salem. He knew there were taxis waiting for him but right now he didn't want to alone. He felt like he needed people around him, needed to hear scraps of conversations, needed to see people that were behaving in a total normal manner, without acting all respectful and obeisant.

Right now it seemed he got lucky. The train was scheduled to leave in exactly 10 minutes. Grabbing his bag and throwing in carelessly over his shoulder he started running towards the station. He had to fasten up; as the station was quite a way away. But he knew he could make it.

"Excuse me. Sorry. I'm sorry."

Because he was running with that big bag over his shoulder he regularly bumped into people, causing him to apologize to various others.

People would normally have the chance to clear his way and they did that without complaining or without him asking for it. His appearance called for respect. That was another thing he didn't believe all those years ago when he was first told that.

"Chicks will love it. Think about the amount of respect, dude. What the uniform would signal them. And the titles we will get to put in front of our names. The medals, the awards. The chicks."

"You said chicks twice in there."

"I know. But with you having no interest, I will get double the amount, won't I?"

Anyway, with him running as quickly as he did and his massive bag falling and jumping from left to right, up and down. People simply weren't quick enough to get out of the way. And that's why he apologized.

Actions and feelings like those reminded him again, how weird the life was he had chosen. People so sensitive, so painfully kind should not be confronted with heights, the total darkness, the blood and death.

As he reached the station the train just rolled in. Lucky, to have made it here on time Will got in. He wanted to sit down on the first free seat he spotted, but as he moved to sit down, putting his bag underneath the seat, he saw a pregnant woman entering. Immediately he got up.

Will smiled and pointed to his seat, knowing by now the others in the cabin were all occupied.

"Here take my place."

She smiled back at him. It was a thankful, warm smile, supported by her eyes. Her eyes were wonderful green, Will noticed.

"Thank you."

She sat down, waving to a little boy standing some feet away. The boy shyly came and was pulled onto her laps.

"Do you mind my bag under your seat?"

Will said, as he was looking to this perfect little image the woman and the boy provided.

"No, no not at all."

Will reached to the pocket at his calve, pulling out a worn out book. It was actually just half of a book, the real deal being to big and to heavy to carry around, so will had ripped the book apart. He knew his book choice was unusual. But for him it made sense. And others couldn't recognize it anymore anyway. So relaxing a little he opened started reading Tolstoy's Anna Karenina.

"Is he an army soldier?"

Will didn't look around to place the voice. That high-pitched incredibly loud whisper clearly belonged to the boy who was sitting on his mother's lap.

"I don't know honey. He is definitely in military service but where exactly, I don't know."

Her whisper was actually one, but Will, now intrigued by the conversation had concentrated and understood every word.

He let his glance wander for a second, taking in the unimpressed face of the little boy. He was clearly not satisfied with his mother's answer. In a moment of bravery, he climbed from her lap and ran over to Will. Tugging at his leg, he required Will's undivided attention.

Looking down at his leg, onto the boy. He saw the bravery slower wither from his face, but Will had to smile lightly, still seeing the determination in his eyes. Slowing sinking down, getting face to face with the boy, Will held his hand out.

"Hi." He feels his face growing to a wider smile, being suddenly reminded of his younger brother Johnny. Back when Will left Salem, Johnny had been three. This boy just seemed to be around that age.

"I am Will." And to make the boy happy and to confirm that he was indeed a soldier, he added as a whisper: "Staff Sergeant William Horton. But don't tell people. It's a secret."

The boy smiled towards him, all worries disappearing from his face, being replaced with a proud expression, clearly glad to have been trusted with a secret.

"I am Paul."

Will mustered the boy, his strawberry blond hair, his greenish eyes, that expression of childhood and unconditional curiosity.

"So you are army?"

Will nodded.

"That's why my uniform is grey. The Air forces, so the people that fly are wearing green and the people on sea wear blue. Makes sense doesn't it?"

Paul nodded eagerly. By now his mother had made her way over, probably with any intention of relieving Will of her son.

"Paul. Come on. Leave the nice man be. I told you not to bother people."

Paul whined a little, before turning towards his mother. Will stood up again, finding his way back to his straight posture.

"Have you ever seen someone dead?"

Bang! Will's head spins around. He knows that sound too well, for him to be calm right now. Or rephrasing that: He knows that sound too well, to let someone see he's freaking out right now. Any way, this isn't just the sound of a single shot. This is the sound of a bullet meeting flesh, causing the person wearing this flesh to groan, to stumble and finally to fall. This is the sound of a shot having an impact. Probably having an impact on someone near him. Once again he curses his decision to come in the first place.

"Will, come one!" His friend shouts, calling him back to the present. But Will doesn't move. Instead of walking towards his friend, he walks back in the direction he just came from. He knows better than to shout, so he just stays quiet, frantically searching for the person who fell down. He has trouble seeing anything. The bullets and munitions meet the sand, stirring it up, creating clouds of sand grains, essentially creating little sand storms over and over again. And that in a desert by dawn. He knows the chances of finding his fallen comrade are slim, but he feels like he has to try.

Suddenly he falls over. Searching for the cause he feels something soft. Beneath the skin of his fingers is something horribly similar to the texture of his own uniform. Will wants to stay something. But actually he has no idea what to say. Nothing prepares you for this situation. And Will is almost sure that no training actually can. So he whispers quickly, as quiet as humanly possible: "Stay strong I am here. We will get out of here. Hold on."

And to his ears he sounds almost like in a movie. One of those where everything goes right, no one dies and everyone goes home safely. And Will is painfully aware; that everything he just whispered is a lie. He has no clue to which of his comrades he is talking to, how to get out of here and how badly wounded the person next to him really is. Actually he has no idea at all. The decision to come out here was a spur of the moment – kind of – decision, so Will fears that as soon as the adrenalin wears off, he is going to freak out. And because he has no clue whatsoever, he decides to stay right here next to the wounded and talk about everything and nothing. Will suddenly starts to talk without pause and in the hours that follow he thinks he is talking more than he ever said in his 21 years on earth.

As the sun comes out, the firing stops and silence settles around him. And for the first time Will stops talking. He looks over to his comrade and realisation hits him. The person he talked to about everything and nothing is the one person he couldn't stand. Daniel Winters. Will laughs out loud. It is a laugh that doesn't wear happy emotions. It is a laugh that is full of relief, and tension wearing off. But he only laughs for mere seconds before gathering his calm.

He grabs the shoulder of Daniel and shakes the body roughly.

"Dan."

But Dan doesn't react. Will feels the fear creeping up in him.

"Dan!"

He whispers once more, this time with more strength and determination. After another non-reaction by Dan, Will rolls Dan over, so he lies on his back. And that's when Will sees it. He sees a blood stained uniform, blood drained sand. Will has no medical training but even he knows that no one could survive losing that much blood. Wills throat is closing up and he swallows hard.

Will eyes wander to the face, and what he sees makes him despair a little less. Dan's face is somewhat calm. His eyes are closed and he wears this expression of relieve. And that makes seeing the blood and the death almost bearable. Almost. Will turns to his other side and vomits.

That's how they find them. Will completely exhausted from the heat, the sun, the long talk, the corpse next to him and the experience of seeing someone he knew dead.

He is being lectured that evening back at base. But somehow the words don't reach Will's mind. It is almost as everything is occupied with that face, that uniform.

"Sir?"

The inquiring voice of that little boy ripped him away from the thoughts. Scared like a deer in headlights, Will locked eyes with that young mother and he knew she understood his panicking look. He didn't know what to say to that boy. So he looked down once more and said something along the lines of: "That is a secret. Don't think I can tell you that."

He knew that that would leave the boy unsatisfied. But the truth wasn't something Will would be able to say. He leaned back against the door when the little boy turned around once more and whispered again too loudly: "When I am older I want to be like you."

Will couldn't breath. He felt his throat closing up and heating up. That was something he had always been afraid of. Gladly he is saved from answering the boy or his mother, when the speaker announces that the next Station is going to be Salem. He grabbed his back from under the seat, nodded towards the mother, as part of an apology and a goodbye and jumps out of the train.