Exhausted
Dick Winters had always been a man set aside from the others in his company, for reasons that sometimes he didn't even understand. He was a leader. A fine man and one of the best soldiers the world had ever known. He was supposed to keep his men safe. He was supposed to bring every man home so that they would live to see their friends and families once again. At least that's what he believed. He had an obligation to each man and each family who was waiting for the war to end and their son to come home.
How could he go on when he'd failed so many families. So many mothers and fathers just like his own. How would he write all those letters home?
I hate failing, he thought as he heaved a sigh of utter exhaustion. It was the kind of fatigue that settled in a man's bones and made him feel as old as the beginning of the Earth and as fragile as a leaf shed in late Autumn. Looking in the distance, he watched the flickering flames of the day dying right in front of his eyes. And in the span of a single second, the life was snuffed from those fading embers. He felt his heart being chipped away at by the realization that one single second was all that lay between himself and death.
He almost felt like he deserved to die. So many men had died because he hadn't been fast enough, brave enough, to save them all.
But then Dick Winters thought of all the men who had made it. If he really focused, he could still hear the laughter of the men who were sitting in the back of a military truck cooking food and passing around a bottle of stolen French wine. Yes, even though he had failed so many men already, he could still save some of them. There was still a sliver of hope lying contentedly in his chest. Even though D-Day had been the worst day of his young life, that was what he had to hold onto. That was what would get him through days like this one.
Sinking to his knees, Winters had a sudden vision of a looming farm house set amidst emerald green hills. The stretch of land he found himself standing on went on for miles and miles as far as he could see. In that moment, he felt the most liberating, most comforting, sense of peace. He knew then that if he made it through the war that that was what was waiting for him back home. He thanked God for letting him live through that first day of Hell. And most of all he thanked God for letting his men live through this. They were the backbone of this war. The ones who took the brunt of the slaughter and for that Dick Winters would never forget the men who died that day.
So in light of this being the 66th Anniversary of D-Day, I was inspired to write this. I hope I didn't completely botch it. Thank you so much to fiona1987, captain ty, and H.J. Bender to reviewing on my last one-shot. I'm kind of new at this so I really hope everyone likes them that have read them. I'd appreciate some feedback to tell me if I am going in the right direction.
Disclaimer: I love the men of Easy Company. Not just for the heroism, but for their unswerving loyalty to each other. They inspire me every day to be better than I am because they were larger than life men doing what they thought was right. So, in conclusion, I mean no disrespect to any of them and I hope this short story stays true to that. :)