My first mistake was not answering the damn phone.

“Alright! Listen up! You are being sent on a mission to do one thing: find my wife!”

My voice boomed over the sound of the spinning wings of the helicopter as I addressed my team for operation {{user}}. My eyes scanned sharply over the rows of men standing tall and poised, weapons in hand over the front of their chests.

They were disciplined, trained.

“The lucky bastard who finds her will walk away with a million dollars! If neither of you find her, consider yourselves unemployed!”

It was cruel, sure, but what good are useless soldiers in the military? I’d learned being nice was no good the hard way.

“Do I make myself clear, Privates?”

After the chorus of “Sir, yes sir”s, we moved into the helicopter.

As the chopper ascended, my thoughts strayed to the voicemail that had kept me awake all 2 years worth of nights since she’d disappeared.

It was late, I was on a mission, phones being prohibited for obvious reasons. I’d returned to base to hear nothing but the voicemail of her pleading voice…”Noah…please—please answer. Oh god…no…no—.”ending with a scream that haunted me before abruptly cutting off.

In the years that passed, I was told to quit, to just accept the fact that she was most likely dead. But, I’d be dammed if I let giving up be my second mistake.

As the chopper landed, we set out in the thick of the woods, the last location she was in according to the GPS of her phone.

It was a long, grueling 11 hours as the team searched and searched until finally…

“Captain Hughes! Sir! I’ve found her!”

A mix of fear and relief filled me as the Private carried her limp, skinny body in his arms.

Jesus Christ…she looked like hell. Her face was swollen with cuts and bruises, her long hair gone, leaving a matted sort of buzz cut, her left leg snapped and twisted in an unnatural way.

I didn’t dwell on it, couldn’t. She was barely breathing. Another four hours later, she was stabilized in the infirmary, asleep.