Jake moved with practiced efficiency, carefully packing his tactical backpack with clothes and essentials. His apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the overhead fan, a stark contrast to the war that loomed beyond these walls. The deployment notice had arrived in his inbox just yesterday, but he had been expecting it. Ever since World War III erupted last month, it was only a matter of time before he was called into action.
His fingers tightened around the fabric of his uniform as he folded it neatly. He wasn't nervous—no, that wasn't the right word. He had been trained for this, shaped by years of discipline and rigorous military education. A graduate of the US Military Academy at West Point, class of 2025, Jake had left the academy not just as a soldier, but as one of its best. He had finished at the top of his class, earning both the Sylvanus Thayer Award and the Distinguished Graduate Award, living by the institution's sacred motto: Duty, Honor, Country.
His parents had been immensely proud, as they always were. Coming from a long line of military men, Jake had never considered another path. The weight of his family's legacy had never felt like a burden, only an expectation he was more than willing to meet.
Six years had passed since his graduation. Five of those were spent in the Middle East, a region that had been a hotbed of rising terrorist factions and ceaseless conflicts. It had been a brutal assignment, but one that had shaped him into the man he was today. He had started as a fresh second lieutenant, commissioned straight out of West Point, and had clawed his way up to the rank of captain through commendable service. Now, he was being sent somewhere new.
As he zipped up his bag, his phone rang, the familiar ringtone cutting through the silence. He glanced at the screen: Mom.
"Hey, Mom," he answered, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
"Jake, we just got word about your deployment. You're being sent to the Philippines?" Her voice was laced with concern.
"Yeah, I got the official notice yesterday. I'm heading out later tonight," he confirmed.
A pause. Then, with quiet emotion, she said, "Be safe, son. Be safe always. We're so proud of you."
I felt my chest tighten slightly. No matter how many deployments I had under my belt, no matter how many times I had walked into war zones, I could never get used to hearing that. Because deep down, I knew what she really meant.
Come back alive.
Jake exhaled, leaning against the counter. "I know, Mom. I will."
For the next few minutes, they talked—about his brothers, who had also been deployed, and about how his parents would be spending the duration of the war. His mother tried to keep her tone light, but he could hear the worry beneath it. He reassured her the best he could, but they both knew that war made no promises.
As the call ended, Jake stood still for a moment, staring at the packed bags by his door.
This was it. Another battlefield. Another mission.
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The moment my boots touched the tarmac of Clark Airbase, the weight of the war settled heavily on my shoulders. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the scent of jet fuel and rain-soaked earth. Even in the dead of night, the base was alive with movement—soldiers loading supplies onto trucks, engineers maintaining aircraft, and medics tending to the wounded flown in from the front lines.
A young soldier approached, his uniform crisp despite the long hours he had likely endured. He snapped a salute. "Sir, Colonel Williams would like to meet you."
I returned the salute, my voice steady. "Lead the way, soldier."
As we weaved through the maze of activity, I took in my surroundings—American and Filipino troops working side by side, unloading provisions from the cargo planes that had just landed. Some faces were hardened with experience, others carried the weight of exhaustion. Yet, there was a shared determination in their eyes.
The soldier led me to a tent marked as the command post. He stopped outside and gestured toward the entrance. "Sir, he's waiting for you inside."
I stepped in, immediately bringing my hand up in a salute. "Captain Jake Anderson, reporting as ordered, sir."
The man before me barely looked up from the map sprawled across the table. "At ease, Jake."
I dropped my salute, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. When I finally took in his face, recognition hit me like a truck. "I wasn't informed that you were assigned to the Pacific Theater, Lieutenant Colonel—" I paused, noticing the insignia on his uniform, "—or should I say, Colonel."
Frank Davis. A familiar face from my years in the Middle East. He had been my commanding officer during my first deployment and a man my father had spoken highly of. A capable man, my father had once said. One you can trust.
Davis leaned back, crossing his arms. "Got promoted last month, just before the war broke out."
I wasted no time. "Sir, what's the situation with the Chinese?"
His face darkened. "Bad." He gestured at the map. "Taiwan fell in a matter of days—overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And now, with their militarization of the West Philippine Sea, we believe they'll use it as a staging point to invade Palawan." He exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Meanwhile, in Europe, the Russians have pushed into the Baltic states. It's a two-front war, and we're stretched thin."
I studied the map, my jaw clenching. "When do I move out?"
"Early morning. Get some rest. You'll need it."
I nodded. "Yes, sir."
With that, I left the tent, making my way to my assigned quarters. The weight of what was to come sat heavily on my chest. Tomorrow, I would be on the front lines.
Two Months Later
The rain poured relentlessly, turning the battlefield into a muddy hellscape. My uniform clung to my skin, soaked and heavy, but I barely noticed. The sounds of war surrounded me—artillery fire, the screams of the wounded, the distant hum of aircraft circling above.
We had been holding the line for days, but the Chinese forces were relentless, using their superior numbers to their advantage. Again and again, they came at us, waves of soldiers crashing against our defenses like an unending tide.
I crouched in the trench, gripping my rifle tightly. The mud squelched beneath my boots. A young soldier beside me, barely out of his teens, was shaking. His hands fumbled as he reloaded his weapon. I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Steady yourself, soldier. Reinforcements are on the way."
"Sir!" Another soldier called out from further down the trench. "The Chinese are closing in!"
I gritted my teeth. "We hold our ground. We cannot let them pass!"
Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours. The battlefield was a cacophony of gunfire and desperate cries for help. The stench of blood and cordite filled the air.
Then, the inevitable happened. The enemy breached the trench.
They poured in like a flood, rifles raised. I fired. One enemy dropped. Another. Then another. My hands moved on instinct, muscle memory guiding every action. A bullet whizzed past my ear. Another struck the soldier beside me, and he crumpled with a gasp.
I kept firing—until pain bloomed in my chest.
I staggered, the force of the bullet knocking me back. My vision blurred as the world tilted around me. My body felt like lead.
Through the haze, I saw a Chinese soldier approaching, rifle raised, ready to finish the job.
So this is how it ends?
The thought barely had time to settle before a sharp crack split the air. The soldier's head snapped back, a clean bullet hole between his eyes. He collapsed lifelessly.
A familiar voice rang out. "Sir, reinforcements have arrived! Hold on—medic's here!"
I tried to respond, but my lips wouldn't move. My body felt cold, the sounds around me growing distant.
My vision darkened.
Then, nothing.