Behind Enemy Lines

The night was a constant roar.

Sergeant Edward "Eddie" Wells could feel it in his bones—how the ground shook underfoot, how the air smelled of smoke and burning metal. The bombs had stopped falling for a brief moment, but the sound of sirens was still ringing in his ears. He was no longer sure if they were real or if his mind had simply become attuned to them. The city of London had become a battlefield, every inch of it marked by the scars of war.

Edward squatted in the rubble, his back against the half-destroyed stone wall of a once-beautiful townhouse, now reduced to a jagged skeleton of its former self. His uniform was caked in dust, and his face was smeared with dirt and blood, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him awake. He’d lost track of time since the first wave of Luftwaffe bombers had come over the city, their engines a dark thunderhead in the sky. But there was one thing he knew for sure: this night would be like no other.

He pulled out a crumpled letter from his breast pocket. The paper was faded and worn, its edges torn from being carried around so often. He hadn’t read it since before the war began, but tonight, he needed to.

"Dear Edward," the letter began, her handwriting delicate, as if she knew he would read it a thousand times over in the years to come.

"I miss you terribly. I miss your laugh, your touch, the way you make everything feel like it’ll be alright. The bombs are getting worse here, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that we’ll be okay. I’m trying to stay strong, but there are days when the weight of it all crushes me. If you’re reading this, then I hope it’s because you’ve come home. I need you more than ever."

Her name was Eleanor. She was the love of his life, the one who had promised him she would wait—no matter what. But Eddie knew the truth: waiting wasn’t something you could ask of someone during a war. It had been months since he last held her, since he kissed her goodbye at the train station, the sound of air raid sirens echoing in the distance.

Eddie folded the letter carefully and tucked it back into his pocket. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. The war was real, and his duty was to survive, to fight.

A movement caught his eye. The silhouette of a young woman, standing in the street beyond the rubble. She was too still, too quiet for someone caught in the middle of a bombing raid. Eddie’s instincts flared. He stepped forward cautiously, his boots crunching the broken glass beneath him.

"Hey!" he called out, but she didn’t move. She was looking up at the sky, her face illuminated by the glow of distant fires. It wasn’t until she turned to him that he saw the tears on her face.

"Are you lost?" he asked, his voice softer now.

The woman shook her head slowly, as if not entirely aware of where she was. Her eyes were glazed over, vacant. She was no older than twenty, probably a civilian caught in the crossfire. Eddie couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for not having done more, for not having been able to stop this war from swallowing innocent lives.

"I don’t have anywhere to go," she whispered, her voice fragile, like the world was pressing down on her chest. "My family... they’re gone. I don’t even know if I’m alive anymore."

Eddie’s heart clenched. He had heard stories like hers before, but hearing them firsthand always hit harder.

"You’re not alone," he said, walking toward her. "Come with me. We’ll find shelter."

She didn’t resist as he gently led her through the rubble. They moved with careful steps, avoiding the broken glass and jagged edges of brick. Eddie knew London like the back of his hand, even in the chaos of war. But tonight, every street felt unfamiliar, like the city itself had been turned into a ghost of its former self.

As they made their way through the darkened alleyways, Eddie could feel the weight of the letter in his pocket again. Eleanor’s words were haunting him now, and for a moment, he wondered if he would ever see her again. The war had stolen so much from him already, and it seemed it was poised to take even more.

But then, as they reached the shelter—an abandoned underground station—it hit him like a jolt. The sky had been fire. The whole world had been fire. Yet, even now, in this moment of despair, he wasn’t truly alone. There were still people like this woman, like Eleanor, waiting for hope, even when everything else was reduced to ash.

“Thank you,” the woman said quietly as she took a seat on the cold, stone floor of the station. She didn’t look up at him again, her eyes locked on the distant, burning sky.

Eddie took a deep breath, his fingers brushing the letter in his pocket one last time. The sky was fire, yes. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for redemption in the ashes.