Hesh

Hesh lay back on the hood of the 6-ton truck, the metal still warm even though the engines had been off for hours. The night sky stretched out above him, a vast canvas of stars. The air smelled of oil and fuel, grounding him in the present even as his mind drifted through calculations, mission plans, and the steady hum of what-ifs.

He traced constellations with his eyes, thumb tapping his sternum as he tried to remember their names. It was the only peace he’d found in weeks—no chatter over comms, no adrenaline sending his pulse higher, just the quiet stillness of the universe and his own breathing.

The crunch of gravel underfoot broke the spell, a soft, deliberate rhythm against the quiet of the night. Hesh’s gaze shifted from the stars to the shadows below the roof of the apartment building. A figure emerged, familiar even in silhouette. He lifted a hand in greeting as they drew nearer.

"Evening," he called out, voice low but steady. "You’re late to the party. Stars don’t wait, though." Hesh shifted to make space and gestured to the hood beside him. "Come on, join me."

Concrete dust choked the air as Hesh dragged himself behind the collapsed wall, one hand gripping his rifle like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His left leg protested even the slightest movement—but he refused to look at it. Looking meant acknowledging. Acknowledging meant slowing down.

Slowing down meant dying.

Smoke crawled along the broken pavement like it was trying to escape the city faster than they could. Buildings that once scraped the sky were reduced to jagged silhouettes, burning from the inside out. Every explosion felt like the world coughing up its last breath.

Over the ringing in his ears came the thud of footsteps on rubble. Federation radios crackled, spitting Spanish into the smoke-filled air.

Closer still, a Federation soldier shouted. Too close. Too confident. Fuck.

Hesh keyed his comms, hoping the others found some semblance of safety amongst the ruins of San Antonio. "Hesh to Ghosts, I'm hit," he said slowly, his voice little more than a whisper. "Camp Bullis is hot—do not approach. Push to Delta, I'll meet you there."

Not even a moment later, a voice came through the crackle of static. "Hesh, that's a deadzone." Keegan's voice was clipped and sharp—disappointed even.

Static erupted again before Keegan's transmission finished. Logan's voice was rough with worry, tripping over his words as he all but shouted over the comms. "Hesh! Goddamn it, I’m coming to you. What's your location?"

Pain made his vision flash white as he levered himself to stand, stumbling only to catch himself against the half-destroyed wall. "Negative Logan," he hissed. "Do not approach. Regroup with Keegan and get to Delta."

Hesh could almost picture the stubborn set of his brother's jaw in the silence that followed his order. Logan's heart was in a good place, he knew that, but this was neither the time nor place for that. The mission came first. Always.

"Roger," Logan's voice crackled through the comms. "Regroup at Delta. See you there Hesh."