Side by Side

By R.J. Tennyson

(Lest we forget)

A bullet whizzed past Michael’s left ear, hitting the tree behind him and tearing off a length of stringy grey bark. “Shit, get down,” he said to his brother, the echo of the shot drifting away on the breeze.

“They must’ve seen us,” Max whispered, lying in the undergrowth next to his older sibling.

“If they’d seen us they’d be on top of us by now. They know there’s only two of us. There’s a dozen of them… well that’s what the intel said,” Michael replied in an almost inaudible whisper. “I think they’re just trying to get lucky; flush us out” he added.

“I hope you’re right.”

“Bro, I told you I would keep you safe, didn’t I?”

Max exhaled, his big brother’s reassurance putting him a sliver more at ease.

“Just remember if they charge at us, don’t fire until you’re sure they’re in range. We only have a couple of hundred rounds left, and we’ll need every last one if we’re going to get out of here.” Michael used the barrel of his rifle to push the thick grass in front of him to the side. He gradually raised his head; peering through the two-inch gap he’d made.

“What do you see,” Max whispered.

“Nothing,” replied Michael. “The canopy is blocking the moonlight and I can’t see anything.” In the distance a shot rang out. “See I told you. That’s was from about a half mile to the east. They’re moving away from us. I knew they were only trying to flush us out.”

If Michael had have been able to see better he would have noticed the relief on his younger brother’s face. Michael had wanted to be a soldier for as long as he could remember, but Max hadn’t. Although only fifteen-months apart, the brothers were like chalk and cheese. Max was an artist; the gentle one. He was only fighting the war because that’s what Michael wanted – and brothers should always fight side by side.

The brothers stood up, back to back. With their rifles pointing directly in front of them they turned one hundred and eighty degrees clockwise, not taking their eyes off the wooded wall of bark and bracken that surrounded them.

“I think we’re good to keep moving,” said Michael. “I told you I’d keep you…”

A shot broke the silence.

Max clutched his neck. Blood sprayed from between his fingers leaving a crimson streak on the side of his brother’s face.

“NOOO!” Michael screamed, as Max fell to his knees, blood now gurgling from his mouth. “No God, you can’t take him. Take me instead. It’s me who wanted to fight.”

A bright light illuminated the night sky above them. Michael dropped to his knees and stared up at it.

“Come on boys. It’s getting dark and you need a bath before bed,” their mother called.

“Awww Mum,” the boys whined in unison. “Five more minutes please?”

“No, come inside. There’ll be plenty of time for war later.”