Battlefield Vow

They told Jake it was just another mission. In, secure the target, out. No different from the dozen before it. But as he crouched in the ruins of a half-bombed village, the heat of gunfire pressing in from all sides, he knew better.

They were cut off. No reinforcements. No exit. Just him and Logan—his closest friend, his brother in everything but blood—pinned in an alley, backs against the crumbling stone.

Logan winced as he pressed a shaking hand to his side, blood slick between his fingers. “Ain’t gonna make it,” he muttered.

Jake clenched his jaw. “Shut up.”

“Jake—”

“I said shut up.” His hands worked fast, tying a field dressing, ignoring the way Logan’s breath hitched. “You’re not dying here.”

Logan let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Don’t get sentimental on me now.”

Jake grabbed him by the collar, forcing their eyes to meet. “You listen to me,” he growled. “We get out of this. Together.”

Logan’s expression softened—not in surrender, but in something deeper. Trust.

Jake exhaled sharply. “I need you, man.” His voice was rough, raw. “I can’t do this without you.”

Something flickered in Logan’s tired eyes. Strength.

“You won’t have to,” he rasped.

Gunfire ripped through the air, closer now. Jake didn’t hesitate. He threw Logan’s arm over his shoulder, hefting his weight. “On three,” he muttered.

Logan nodded, his grip tightening.

They moved as one.

Bullets screamed past, but they ran anyway. Through fire, through pain, through the thin line between life and death.

Because they had made a vow—unspoken, but understood.

Whatever happened, neither would leave the other behind.

Not here. Not ever.

By the time they reached the extraction point, Logan was barely conscious, his breath coming in ragged pulls. Jake lowered him onto the steel ramp of the evac chopper, barking orders at the medic.

As hands reached to take Logan, he grabbed Jake’s wrist, his grip weak but insistent.

“Pray,” he rasped.

Jake froze. Logan had never asked for that before. Never even talked much about God beyond half-hearted curses and offhand remarks.

But now, in the space between life and death, it was the only thing that mattered.

Jake pressed a hand over Logan’s and bowed his head.

“Lord,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t take him. Not yet.”

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening. “And if You do… then You’d better let me go with him.”

The medic shouted something, pushing Jake back as the chopper lifted off.

Jake stood there, breath ragged, watching his brother disappear into the sky.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would hold. But he knew this—if God let Logan stay, they wouldn’t waste another minute.

They had made it through hell together. And if they got another shot at life, they’d live it the only way that mattered.

As brothers. In faith. In covenant.

No matter what came next.