Sergeant Baker was leaning against a tree, staring up into a boundless sky of cool, dark oblivion. The calm breeze caressed his cheeks as his mind drifted off to Pieter—the precious son of their Dutch ally Nicolas, and the boy whom he'd failed to protect.
The view of the city slowly morphed into the bloodied face of Pieter. Matt Baker shut his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried to fend off that vision, it still stubbornly stayed there. It was haunting him.
Matt clenched his fists tightly, eyes still shut. As if by magic, the figure of Nicolas appeared in front of him. He took his time to approach the distraught Sergeant, kneeling down as he took off his hat.
His cold eyes stared straight ahead. "Why…couldn't you save my son?" he asked.
Though seeming somewhat nonchalant, Matt could read the sorrow in his voice perfectly. It was his duty to bring Pieter to safety no matter what the cost, but this time he couldn't fulfill it.
"I'm sorry, Nicolas…," was all he managed to utter to the father of Pieter.
Nicolas sneered at the poor response. "Ask yourself this, Sergeant. How could a man like you…who couldn't save one little boy, become the leader of thirteen men?"
Matt gnashed his teeth, his brows furrowing in irritation. He knew it well enough himself. He didn't need someone else to remind him of his 'incapability'.
"I didn't fucking ask for this, Nick!" he snapped, and without thinking, struck the bark of the tree with a fist.
"—What the hell was that for?" the familiar voice sent Matt bolting upright, as if he'd just awoken from a deep sleep. He looked up only to see Private Mike Dawson walking to him from the rest of the squad.
"I wasn't doing anything," he answered calmly, trying to regain his consciousness.
"Then explain what 'I didn't fucking ask for this, Nick!' was about!" said Dawson in vexation, his arms waving around wildly. Matt had noticed his emphasis on the name 'Nick'.
He looked away, feeling exasperated. He was in no mood for another argument with Dawson. But then again, when did he ever had the mood to even talk with him?
Matt sighed heavily in annoyance. "Yeah, alright, you heard that. It's a big fucking deal, isn't it?"
Dawson was pretty much of an outcast and this made him even more aware of his surroundings, and it clearly meant that Matt wouldn't be able to slip past his eyes easily.
Now that his condition was beginning to worsen, even a blind person would catch Matt in this state.
Dawson settled down on the grass next to the Sergeant. "It's obvious something's not right with you, Matthew." He glanced at Matt. "You can't deny it."
Matt's lips quirked slightly. Dawson's behaviour had never failed to amuse him. They were probably on the brink of another battle, and the last thing he needed was this British soldier telling him he was 'mentally unstable'.
He gripped his M1 and stood up, glaring at Dawson. "Maybe you're the one denying it, because I'm fine."
Then he turned around and headed back to the squad, leaving Dawson by himself.
The Private knew very well that this leader was hiding something. Something about the deaths of other soldiers who had died holding the pistol with the words 'For Matthew' engraved on it. It was undoubtedly an uncanny matter, but the superstitious Dawson had his own thoughts to it: that it had been cursed.