The first shots cracked through the valley just after dawn.

Private First Class Daniel Reeves had been awake for hours already, staring at the pale strip of sky above the ridgeline. The air smelled of dust, diesel, and the faint, bitter scent of burned coffee from a canteen cup someone had left too long on the heater. It was supposed to be a routine patrol—sweep the valley road, check the abandoned houses, then head back before noon.

Nothing about that morning felt routine.

Reeves adjusted the strap of his helmet and glanced at the man walking just ahead of him—Specialist Mark Alvarez. They’d joined the unit only three weeks apart, back in Texas. Since then, they’d eaten together, trained together, and spent long nights talking about home while cleaning rifles under dim yellow lights.

Alvarez was talking again now, as he always did when he was nervous.

“First thing I’m doing when I get home,” he said, stepping over a broken stone wall, “is finding the biggest plate of tacos I can. Real ones. Not these MRE things that taste like cardboard.”

Reeves smirked. “You’ve said that every day for the last two months.”

“Because it’s true every day for the last two months.”

They both laughed quietly. The sound felt out of place in the stillness of the valley.

The squad moved in a staggered line, boots crunching on gravel. Their sergeant, Collins, raised a fist—halt. Everyone dropped into a crouch.

Reeves felt his heartbeat pick up. The silence wasn’t peaceful anymore. It felt… watchful.

Then it happened.

A single shot cracked from the ridge.

Alvarez jerked and fell backward into the dust.

“CONTACT RIGHT!” someone shouted.

The valley erupted. Gunfire hammered down from the slopes, bullets snapping through the air like angry insects. Reeves dove behind a low stone wall, heart slamming against his ribs.

“Alvarez!” he shouted, craning his neck.

Alvarez lay ten yards out in the open road, unmoving. His rifle was just beyond his reach.

“Stay down!” Sergeant Collins barked. “We’re pinned!”

Rounds slammed into the wall near Reeves’ shoulder, spraying stone chips into his face. He tasted grit and blood.

“Where is he hit?” Reeves asked.

“No idea,” Collins said, checking his radio. “We’ve got enemies on both sides. No one moves until we get support.”

Reeves peered over the wall again. Alvarez’s leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. A dark stain spread across his uniform. He was still alive—Reeves could see his chest rising and falling—but he wasn’t moving.

“He’s bleeding out,” Reeves said.

Collins grabbed his shoulder. “Reeves, look at me. You go out there, you’re dead. We’re calling for smoke and air support.”

“But he won’t make it that long.”

“That’s an order. Stay down.”

Another burst of gunfire forced them both back into cover.

Reeves pressed his helmet against the wall, breathing hard. The world felt narrow, reduced to the sound of bullets and the image of Alvarez lying alone in the road.

He remembered the night before.

They’d been sitting on ammo crates, passing around a small photo Alvarez kept in his pocket. It showed a little girl with curly hair and a missing front tooth.

“My daughter,” Alvarez had said proudly. “Sofia. She just turned six.”

Reeves had studied the picture. “She looks just like you.”

Alvarez laughed. “Poor kid.”

“You got a letter for her yet?” Reeves had asked.

Alvarez pulled a folded envelope from his pocket. “Writing it. I want it to be perfect. You know, in case…”

He hadn’t finished the sentence.

Now that same envelope was probably still in his pocket, soaking in blood.

A bullet smacked the wall inches from Reeves’ face.

“Reeves!” Collins snapped. “Stay down!”

But Reeves couldn’t stop looking at the road.

Ten yards. That was all.

Ten yards of open ground, covered by enemy rifles.

He swallowed hard.

“What if we throw smoke?” he asked.

“Wind’s wrong. It’ll blow right back on us.”

Reeves nodded slowly.

Another burst of fire. More shouting.

Alvarez’s hand twitched.

That was it.

Before he could think himself out of it, Reeves grabbed a smoke grenade from his vest.

“Reeves, don’t you—”

He pulled the pin.

The grenade hissed to life, spewing thick gray smoke. Reeves hurled it into the road and, without waiting, vaulted over the wall.

Gunfire roared instantly.

Bullets cracked past his ears. The sound was so loud it felt like the air itself was tearing apart. He sprinted low, boots pounding the dirt.

The smoke drifted unevenly, thin in places. He could feel rounds snapping past his back.

“Move, move, move…” he muttered under his breath.

He dropped to his knees beside Alvarez.

“Hey! Hey, you hear me?” Reeves shouted.

Alvarez’s eyes fluttered open. “Danny…?”

“I got you. Just stay with me.”

Blood soaked through his pant leg. A round had torn into his thigh. It wasn’t just bleeding—it was pouring.

Reeves yanked a tourniquet from his kit and tightened it above the wound.

Alvarez groaned. “Hurts…”

“I know. That means you’re still here.”

The smoke was thinning.

“Come on,” Reeves said, hooking his arms under Alvarez’s shoulders.

He lifted.

Alvarez cried out in pain, but Reeves dragged him across the dirt, inch by inch.

Gunfire intensified. A round struck the ground so close it sprayed dust into his eyes.

Halfway back.

His arms burned. His lungs felt like they were on fire.

“Almost there,” he whispered.

A sudden impact slammed into his shoulder. He stumbled, nearly dropping Alvarez.

Pain exploded through his arm, but he forced himself to keep moving.

The wall was just ahead.

Hands reached over the stones.

“Grab him!” Collins shouted.

Two soldiers hauled Alvarez over the wall. Reeves collapsed beside them, gasping.

“Medic!” someone yelled.

The medic slid in, working fast. “Tourniquet’s good. He’s got a chance.”

Reeves leaned back against the wall, staring at the sky. His shoulder throbbed, warm blood seeping under his sleeve.

Collins crouched beside him. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

Reeves swallowed. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Collins looked at Alvarez, then back at Reeves.

“Good thing you did.”

The fight continued for another hour. Air support finally arrived, forcing the enemy to retreat. Dust and smoke drifted across the valley like a fading storm.

When the medevac helicopter landed, the sound of its blades was the sweetest noise Reeves had ever heard.

They loaded Alvarez onto the stretcher.

As the medic checked his straps, Alvarez reached out weakly. “Danny…”

Reeves stepped closer.

“Letter,” Alvarez whispered. “Pocket… give it to her… if I don’t…”

“You’ll give it to her yourself,” Reeves said firmly.

Alvarez managed a faint smile. “Yeah… tacos first.”

The helicopter lifted off, carrying him away.

Weeks later, back at base, Reeves sat on a wooden bench outside the infirmary. His shoulder was bandaged, but he’d been cleared for light duty.

The door opened, and a nurse stepped out.

“You can go in,” she said.

Reeves stood and walked inside.

Alvarez sat upright in the bed, his leg in a cast. He looked thinner, paler—but alive.

“You look terrible,” Reeves said.

Alvarez grinned. “You should see the other guy.”

They both laughed.

After a moment, Alvarez reached into the drawer beside his bed and pulled out the folded envelope.

“Didn’t have to send it,” he said softly.

Reeves nodded. “Good.”

Alvarez looked at him. “Why’d you do it?”

Reeves shrugged. “You still owed me tacos.”

Alvarez’s eyes grew serious. “No. I mean it.”

Reeves thought for a moment.

“Because no one deserves to die alone in the dirt,” he said. “Not if I can help it.”

Alvarez swallowed hard. “My daughter… she’s going to know your name.”

Reeves shook his head. “Just make it home to her. That’s enough.”

Outside, the sun dipped low over the base, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. The war wasn’t over. There would be more patrols, more valleys, more mornings that didn’t feel routine.

But in that small hospital room, two soldiers sat quietly, alive—because, in the thick hail of bullets, one of them hadn’t stepped back.