The rain had started before dawn, turning the dirt road into a ribbon of thick, sucking mud. By midmorning, the sky had turned the color of old steel, and the sound of distant artillery rolled like thunder across the valley.

Private First Class Ethan Cole wiped the rain from his eyes and adjusted the strap of his rifle. His boots were soaked, his uniform caked with mud, and his hands trembled—not from the cold, but from the tension that never seemed to leave his chest anymore.

They had been in this valley for three days. Three days of patrols, ambushes, and sleepless nights. The trees were dense, the ground uneven, and the enemy knew every inch of it.

“Cole,” Sergeant Ramirez called from ahead. “Stay close. This place is a maze.”

“Yes, Sarge.”

Ethan quickened his pace, catching up with the rest of the squad. There were eight of them in total, moving in a staggered line along the edge of the tree line. Rain dripped from the leaves, tapping softly against their helmets.

Beside him walked Specialist Marcus Hale, a tall, broad-shouldered man from Texas who never seemed to stop talking—except on days like this.

“You ever notice,” Marcus said quietly, “how rain makes everything feel worse out here?”

Ethan gave a small smile. “Back home, rain meant I didn’t have to mow the lawn.”

Marcus chuckled. “Man, I’d trade this jungle for a lawnmower any day.”

A sudden crack split the air.

Gunfire.

“Contact front!” Ramirez shouted.

The world exploded into noise. Bullets snapped through the trees, chewing into trunks and kicking up dirt. Ethan dropped to his knees, raising his rifle and firing toward the muzzle flashes ahead.

“Take cover!” someone yelled.

The squad scattered behind trees and rocks. The rain mixed with smoke, turning the air into a gray haze.

Ethan fired in short bursts, just like he’d been trained. Breathe. Aim. Squeeze. Repeat.

Then he heard it.

A scream.

He glanced to his right. Marcus had fallen, clutching his leg. Blood spread quickly across his pants, dark and thick in the rain.

“I’m hit!” Marcus shouted, his voice cracking.

Ethan’s stomach twisted.

“Stay down!” Ramirez yelled. “Cole, cover him!”

Ethan fired toward the enemy’s position, trying to keep their heads down. But Marcus was out in the open, barely ten yards ahead, with no real cover.

Another burst of gunfire tore through the air. Dirt kicked up around Marcus as he tried to crawl.

“Cole!” Marcus shouted. “I can’t move!”

Ethan looked at Ramirez.

The sergeant’s face was tight. “We’re pinned. Anyone goes out there, they’re dead.”

Ethan’s heart pounded in his ears. He looked back at Marcus. The man who had shared his rations. The man who had shown him pictures of his newborn son just two nights ago.

Marcus tried to crawl again, but his leg buckled. He fell flat in the mud.

“Please!” he yelled.

Ethan’s grip tightened on his rifle.

The rain poured harder now, drumming against his helmet. Everything seemed to slow down—the gunfire, the shouting, even his own breathing.

He thought of home. Of the quiet street where he grew up. Of his younger brother, who had cried the day Ethan shipped out.

“Come back in one piece,” his brother had said.

Ethan looked at Marcus again.

Then he made his decision.

“I’m going,” he said.

Ramirez grabbed his shoulder. “Cole, no! That’s an order!”

But Ethan was already moving.

He burst from behind the tree, sprinting into the open. Bullets tore through the air around him, snapping past his ears. Mud splashed up with every step.

“Cole!” Ramirez shouted.

Ethan dropped beside Marcus, sliding into the mud.

“Hey, big guy,” he said, trying to sound calm. “You’re not dying out here today.”

Marcus’s face was pale. “Told you… rain makes everything worse.”

Ethan almost laughed.

He grabbed Marcus under the arms. “Hold on to me.”

Another burst of gunfire struck the ground nearby. Dirt and water splashed over them.

Ethan began dragging Marcus backward, inch by inch. The weight was enormous. His boots slipped in the mud. His arms burned with effort.

“Come on… come on…” he muttered.

A bullet tore through his sleeve, grazing his arm. Heat flared across his skin, but he ignored it.

From behind the trees, the rest of the squad opened up with heavier fire, trying to cover them.

“Keep moving!” Ramirez shouted.

Ethan pulled harder. Marcus groaned in pain.

“You’re doing good,” Ethan said. “Almost there.”

The distance felt endless. Every second in the open felt like an hour.

Then, finally, hands grabbed them.

Two soldiers dragged Marcus the rest of the way behind the tree line. Ethan collapsed beside them, gasping for breath.

“You idiot,” Ramirez said, but there was relief in his voice. “You absolute idiot.”

Marcus looked at Ethan, eyes glassy. “You came back.”

Ethan shrugged. “Couldn’t let you hog all the attention.”

A medic rushed over, cutting open Marcus’s pant leg. “Through-and-through,” he said. “He’ll make it.”

Marcus let out a shaky laugh. “Hear that? I still owe you that beer back home.”

Ethan leaned against the tree, exhaustion washing over him. The gunfire had started to fade as the enemy pulled back.

The rain kept falling, steady and cold.

Hours later, after the firefight ended, a medevac helicopter landed in a nearby clearing. Its blades whipped the rain into a violent storm around them.

Marcus was strapped onto a stretcher. As the medics loaded him onto the helicopter, he reached out and grabbed Ethan’s hand.

“Don’t do that again,” he said. “My wife would kill me if I came home alone.”

Ethan smiled. “Just focus on getting better.”

The helicopter lifted off, disappearing into the gray sky.

Ramirez walked up beside Ethan. “You disobeyed a direct order today.”

Ethan nodded. “Yes, Sarge.”

The sergeant studied him for a moment. Then he sighed.

“But you saved a life. Sometimes… that’s what matters.”

Ethan looked out across the muddy field where the firefight had taken place. The rain had already begun to wash away the footprints, the blood, the marks of battle.

It was strange how quickly the world tried to forget.

“Why’d you do it?” Ramirez asked quietly.

Ethan thought for a moment.

“Because if it were me out there,” he said, “I’d want someone to come back for me.”

Ramirez nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

The rain continued to fall as the squad gathered their gear and prepared to move out again. Another patrol. Another day. Another fight waiting somewhere beyond the trees.

But one thing was certain.

In the rain of bullets, at least one man had refused to run.