Chapter 14: Willpower

Zlat

I hadn't actually thought that battle had been particularly difficult or long. Now I knew why. My brother had led the swift charge, and was STILL in the operating room for it, and it had already been a day since the battle. I hadn't seen him myself, but I'd heard the story. Chucked a grenade, and bum-rushed the enemy position. Dumbass got shot multiple times, but no one told me how many. Rumors had already started spreading. They ranged from him simply tripping into the trench and being impaled on a bayonet, to fighting dead. The craziest, was that he'd been shot through and through by a .50 caliber machine gun several times, got a leg and an arm shot off, as well as half his head blown away. Seeing as how I WASN'T an idiot, and Wolfgang was still alive (barely), my guess was that he had been shot in the lungs or something.

Now, I was waiting for ANY good news. The Changelings were handling most of the prisoner management crap, and our forces were trying to gain our weight back. And we had a lot of ground to cover. The average weight between us all was a measly 115 pounds. Even though Wolfgang was an outlier at 145 pounds, he was still almost six feet tall.

So me, and his unit were all waiting outside of the makeshift hospital that we'd pitched up in the open. Hell, we must've been one weird-ass sight. A Red Fox anthro, 9 multi-colored ponies and a baby dragon pacing in circles outside a medical tent? I think my point stands. Seven of them were from his squad, but there was an extra three. Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Twilight Sparkle.

Now, we were a depressed looking bunch, but there were some serious "verge of a panic" vibes from some of these ponies. Spike and Fluttershy were chewing their hoof/claw like now tomorrow, Pinkie was straight haired, dull shaded, and looked to be nearing a cry session (which honestly scared the ever-loving s**t out of me), RD and AJ looked stunned like a deer caught in headlights, Rarity was going all drama queen (which I have the feeling she does a lot), Twilight is muttering to herself and had literally paced SO MUCH she left a rut in the dirt, and the others had this dark look on their faces. They looked like they'd completely disconnected from reality, their eyes glazing over as they stared into the far distance.

Besides the nail biting and Twilight's muttering, we were actually pretty quite. Barely a sound between us. That is, until Spike broke it.

"So you think he'll be ok?" This snapped everyone out of it. First to recover though, was Rainbow Dash.

"You kidding? He endured a gas attack for nearly two full minutes, FULLY EXPOSED! I think he can handle a few bullet wounds." Rainbow trailed off, and finally shuddered. Thankfully, it was only me who seemed to notice.

"Yeah!" Applejack continued, "You remember how much of my cider he guzzled? That could've killed an elephant, and he hardly had a hangover!"

"Not to mention when he first got here. He dislocated his ankle twice, and broke his arm, but hardly even noticed." Added Fluttershy, though quite meekly.

I sighed, remembering all the other times something like this had happened, "And unfortunately, this isn't the first time this has happened. He's had the crap beaten out of him before the war started."

"YEAH! Wait, what?" The question they asked hanged in the air. I didn't know how much Wolfgang wanted people to know, since he never talked about them, but I think that we all needed some confidence boosters.

"Yeah, this isn't the first time. He's been shot and stabbed quite a few times. Wouldn't surprise me if he kicked this too."

Many hours later

The field was empty of wounded and dead alike. The wounded had been taken inside of the field hospital for treatment, and cycled through to the recovery rooms, while the dead had all been trucked off somewhere's else. And still, no word on Wolfgang. His fate remained a mystery. Hours later, and we were still waiting for news outside of the operating tent.

That's when it hit me, "Ah, hell. I'm such an idiot!"

We hadn't spoken for nearly an hour, so my sudden outburst startled everybody.

Hesitantly, Spike asked, "What?"

"We're waiting in the wrong place. If we're to find him anywhere, then he'd be in the recovery units. Come on!" I take off running to the recovery units, which was on the other side of the main hospital tents. They had been built just in case one of the patients happened to have an emergency and need another surgery, they wouldn't have to go far to get them into surgery.

Footsteps pounded behind me, desperately trying to keep up with me. Oh brother, please be alright. I rounded the corner to see the entrance, a few thin, filthy men leaving it. They looked dead inside, as if taken by grief. I slowed down just enough that the nurses inside wouldn't force me to leave once I entered. I brushed by the flimsy "doors", and entered.

And the smell. My goodness, the smell. Piss, blood, crap, puss, and death. Those were just the smells that humans could smell. Being of part canine decent, I could smell emotions too, and what I smelled didn't smell good either. It reeked of pain, misery, sadness, hopelessness, and despair. Men were moaning in pain, with not enough pain medication to take them out of their misery, but enough to where they weren't feeling all of it.

I scanned the three rows of beds, two being put up against the wall and the third being two beds put head to head in the middle of the room, for my brother. Some men were too bandaged up to identify, but most you could see their faces at least. There was even a pony on one of the beds, having somehow found sleep even though he/she had been bound heavily in bloody bandages.

I couldn't find him purely off of looking at these guys, so the only way we were going to find out if he was here would be by reading the charts and finding his name that way, "Spread out, and look at the clipboards for his name. If you find him, call us over." And we went at it.

Hatfield, Morris, Jackson, Henderson, Bundy, Weisland, Wendle, Anderson, Zi-Xen, another Henderson, Enfield, Sorlo, Tequil, Golli, McMarra, and more and more and more. But no Wolfgang Piatek. We all combed over the room several times, looking for his name and trying to stay out of the nurses' way. However well I may, or may not since I can't see my own face, have hid my emotions, but after each and every failure to find my brother, my frustration built up more and more until it started to boil. WHERE IS HE!??!

"Can I help you?" The sudden, soft voice, was so unexpected, that my frustration was swept under the rug in exchange for wondering who it was that had asked me a question. I turned to face the voice, and was met with an older human woman. She had fine, dark brown skin, curly black hair, and piercing black eyes. Her face was quite pretty, slender and full of a caring drive.

"Eh, yes ma'am. I'm looking for my brother. Sergeant Wolfgang Piatek. He doesn't appear to be here. Would you happen to have any information about him?" I was trying keep my tone even, and calm. That was proving to be difficult, as the moment I mentioned his first name, the nurses' face fell from the soft, kind expression, to one I could only describe as horror.

"M-May I ask your relationship to Sergeant Piatek?" Her voice was more high pitched now, worry laced in every word.

I didn't like where this was going. I took in a breath, and as calmly as I could, answered, "I'm his brother." Whenever a doctor asks you what your relationship is with a patient, especially in a situation like this, they're inadvertently hinting that the situation was really bad.

My heart suddenly seemed to be beating fast and hard, like it wanted to claw it's way out of my chest, as I waited for her to come up with a way to tell me the situation, "I'm sorry sir, but he's been in surgery for hours. In fact he was one of the first patients admitted. The doctors have been fighting with him nonstop, and the doctors have had to switch out at least twice last I checked."

"How bad is it?" My voice was starting to get infected with worry, a little shaky even.

She hesitated, obviously not sure if she really should tell me, "He's fought this long, I think he'll live." She said, trying to sound reassuring.

"How bad is it?" I repeated, sounding more anxious, even borderlining panic.

She sighed, and I could see that she didn't want to tell me, "Very."

Very. Very bad shape. This betrayed her statement of him thinking he'd make it, but showed how she didn't want me to worry, didn't want me to start breaking. Even as my heart fell, I knew she'd tried to do well by me. My shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world was dropped on them. I came to my own realization. He probably isn't going to make it.

The doors on the other side of the room opened up, and in came a wheeled stretcher and a few nurses. On the stretcher was a single humanoid lump. Not moving, and how could he? His three remaining limbs were covered in plaster, and the rest of his body, including most of his face, were hidden underneath bloody bandages. Then there were all the tubes and injections going into him, performing unknown purposes and connected to unknown machines. However, I did know the purpose of one, which fed directly down his throat and nose. An artificial lung forcefully feeding his body air. By far, he looked far worse than anyone else in here.

*GULP*

That was the nurse. A feeling of dread and relief battled each other. I hoped beyond hope that this meant Wolfgang was alive. But I also hoped against hope that this wasn't him. This man was just so... broken.

All sound died, as I walked towards the bound man as he was gently transferred onto the bed. The way the nurses were being so gentle and slow, you would've figured that they were afraid that even a breeze would kill him. My heart slowed from dread. Please don't be him. Please don't be him. The nurses attached a clipboard to the metal frame that hanged at chest height from a hook, and left in a hurry to get back into operating room.

I stared at the man. He looked to be the right size for Wolfgang, the right height, and a sniff brought dread and horror to my soul, confirming that he indeed smelled like Wolfgang. No, he just smells like Wolf. I must be mistaken. The clipboard will say it's someone else! Right? My shaky hand lifted the clipboard to my face, and found the name, and what was wrong with him.

Name: Piatek, Wolfgang~~~~~~~Age: 18~~~~~~~Blood Type: H(Human)O+~~~~~~~Gender: Male

Race: Human~~~~~~Height: 6'2"~~~~~~~Eye Color: Brown~~~~~~~Hair Color: Black~~~~~~~Weight: 145 lbs.

Afflictions: Mild dehydration, severe malnutrition, signs of dysentery, body lice, signs of rat bites (full effects to be determined)and early signs of bacterial infection of the foot (Trench Foot).

Injuries: Severe lacerations on arms, hands, chest and face; mild concussion (source unknown); three GSWs* to the stomach affecting both large and small intestines, four GSWs to upper torso (both lungs are punctured, left lung threatening to collapse), minor GSW to left arm, major GSW to left thigh (damage to the Femoral Artery), severe damage to lower left leg (amputated just below the knee), and a stab wound to his right side, underneath the ribs (intestinal punctures).

I'd finally come to the end of the page, where the doctors notes resides, and immediately, my eyes zone in on one partial sentence, "it would be a miracle if he manages to survive, much less have a fulfilling and productive life."

"A miracle? Pff, Wolfgang is a miracle himself!" A raspy voice startled me out of my reading.

"Wha? Rainbow, what do you mean he's a miracle?" I stared into her magenta eyes. Those big, confident eyes.

"Didn't you see him? He ran headlong into the enemy trenches after he got shot. He could've just laid on the ground and wait for someone to help him. Heck, today, I've seen weaker people and ponies break down and moan. Not him. Not Wolfgang. He wiped out entire positions of machine guns, and opened a path for the rest of us to get in. When we found him, he was literally torn apart, and STILL wrestling with one of their soldiers. He may be... like this, but there is NO WAY that he's going to roll over and give up!"

From what little I knew about Rainbow, she didn't strike me as one for uplifting speeches, but she still managed to make me feel better about this. She was right, Wolfgang would never let himself die from something like this. He was too stubborn and thick headed for that. No, he'd live just to laugh at the world for making a fuss over him.

I just hoped he would live to see another day.

After a few days, Wolfgang finally woke up. Initially, he panicked when he discovered the breathing tube going down his throat. But once we got him to relax, he REALLY relaxed. I mean, he barely managed to keep his eyes cracked open, just enough for him to see us. The doctors themselves were surprised, but after their own reevaluations, they became flabbergasted. Wolfgang was making a recovery, fast enough to be noticeable, but too slow to do us any real good. His lung were still incredibly weak, and needed the assistance of the artificial lung, but he was able to stay conscious, and even write responses to our questions.

But it wasn't to last. He was being shipped back Stateside to continue healing and go through a therapy program, and the militia was moving out to relieve the Equestrian forces in Canterlot.

"Don't worry man, I'll write to you, keep you some company." Wolfgang is in an ambulance that was just about ready to leave. Even though he still can't talk, he does smile at me, and grasps my shoulder in his stony grip. He gives me a firm shake, looking dead into my eyes. The meaning is clear.

"I love you brother, stay safe."

"I love you too man, get well soon." The driver brushes past me, separates us gently, and closes the doors. And the ambulance takes off, kicking up mud as it goes. This war was going to be long, but I knew in my heart that I'd be fine. Wolfgang was my brother, and if he could do it, then so can I.

Watch out world, here we come.

Author's Note

And that's it for book one! Hope you enjoyed it.
I'll be getting to work on the next one right away.