Why am I bleeding in my, bleeding on my soul... Who: Achilles [Narrative] chink_in_armor What: The day rings in independence for the country, but memories for Achilles. PTSD rears its ugly head. Where: Achilles' apartment When: Sunday, the 4th of July Warnings: Some implications of violence and blood.
Achilles tried to drown out those sounds. Bursting fireworks in the air, perhaps meant independence for the Americans, but for him it sounded like sounds of war. Of cannons, gunshots. Sounds that he had grown accustomed to during the latter years of his life as a soldier. With his mind slipping in and out of night terrors again, the effort was slight in drawing him into that realm.
He flipped through the television, most channels showing no interest to him. The giant doberman barked loudly as the crackling sound spiraled up before an explosive in the sky. Flashes of red, white and other various colors bounced against that blanket of night.
“Maximus,” Achilles roared loudly, the dog listening on command and crawling back into the room that Kismine slept. Achilles huffed, flicking off the television and heading towards his own room. It wasn’t long before his restlessness turned to sleep, but even in sleep his mind drifted back to the war that plagued him now.
Stephen Bennett was only eighteen years old when he drafted himself into the war. It seemed like the patriotic thing to do, he just wasn’t aware of what he was throwing himself into by booking a ticket to Vietnam. To him he was stepping up, taking a stand and doing something his old man would be proud of. He was just a child in that mindset as it had opened the door to things he couldn’t understand. Politics, bloodshed, his innocence was lost.
It was a side Achilles had seen of men before, many times. He had been thrown into war since he was fifteen, born and bred in a time where boys were made into warriors at a young age. These times were different, and men were not ready, they were only boys. In the line of fire, scared and suddenly without any direction, he had seen them piss themselves at the sight of blood or cry uncontrollably.
He was still their general and he would bring them up as men, guide them to be fierce, because Achilles would accept nothing less. He was used to fighting alongside hungry, blood-lusting soldiers, and this was a step into another realm. The weapons were different, the times, the mindset. This war was as equally senseless, and he knew it. The connection he had to these soldiers however, was always going to be a marking point in who he was. These boys would return (if they returned) out of this war with memories that they could associate to him. Since the times of Alexander, when he’d held a position alongside him, Achilles was in the hearts of all these men. Their loneliness, their break from social understanding, their stress, their frustration, their hate.
In this day out, something was about to go dreadfully wrong, and an ambush that would leave most of his platoon dead. Bennett, the youngest, at the moment of terror, froze. He stood there, holding his gun and had no idea what to do even when Achilles (then Leon Kalivas) demanded he get down. The voice was unheard through the whiz of bullets. Friends, comrades to this boy had fallen. Guts and limbs blown away to pieces, and they wrapped around him like a wall. A wall that he couldn’t break from, and he was helpless. He was weak, he was a child. Yet, for a moment Achilles felt a sense of sympathy run through his system. Like a man that had lost the opportunity to save a friend before. He could yell at the boy all he wanted, right now it was a matter of getting him to safety so that his family had someone to write to.
Dashing out into the kaleidoscope of bullets, he pushed Bennett down, face first into the the ground. “Stay down,” he ordered in a whisper, though there was a dark and heavy tone in his voice. In the snipe within his words, Bennett swallowed heavily and did as he was instructed.
"Your going to back out slowly when I say. Keep your head down and your belly to the ground until you are out of range, then you run. You understand me?” Achilles demanded. All the boy could do was nod his head vigorously.
A few minutes passed before the general gave his order, and the boy did as he was told. Achilles was right behind him, and when the boy jumped up to run, Achilles was on his feet. There was an immediate rush to his ankle, and he felt that swell of blood swimming around in his boot. The pain was sharp, and as intense as any arrow that Paris had shot from the high walls above. It was a nauseating feeling, but as strong as ever he pulled through to join Bennett and the rest of the platoon that had scooted to safety.
His heel would always be his weakness.
In time Bennett would learn the secret behind Leon Kalivas’ identity.