Broken Soldier Novels & Stories

“I’m no good for you. I’m dangerous. I lose my shit and people get hurt.” “You won’t hurt me,” I counter. “How can you say that?” he scowls. “You don’t know half the shit I’ve done.” “I don’t need to. I know you’re a good person.” “No, I’m not,” Cal snaps. “I’ve hurt people. Killed with no remorse.” He scrubs a hand over his face, shaking his head. The turn-off for Norbury appears around the bend ahead, but he makes no move to start slowing down for it.

He then dropped the recorder on the dirty ground and stomped it with his boot until it was just a mess of broken parts on the floor. They stayed silent, Salvatore unsure if to ask Adler if he was going after a man like this. If Domenico were to hear of this, a lot of things were going to happen, and none of them was good. "We have a survivor!!" The announcement came from inside the tent, and the relief of the other soldiers held a tinge of disbelief, "He's wounded but breathing!" "Don't just stand around!" Salvatore roared, "Get him to the hospital,"

“Yes, sir.” “Bloody Picts, they ravaged and burnt it beyond our ability to recover.” Hands flipped the horizontal soldier over. “Yes, he’s breathing, sir. First one we’ve found in the territory.” The hoof beats stopped nearby, but the eyes of the soldier didn’t open. “By the gods, look at him, covered in blood and filth, his shield broken and no sword.” Many hands shook him. “Come on, soldier.” A voice commanded, “State your name and rank, soldier.”

My Grandma died some few years ago but not after telling me everything I have to know, not after leaving a great burden on my shoulders. It was after her death that I decided to relocate. Thea tried all her best to let me stay but I told her I had to leave for my own good. I know that it is bad and very coward of me to always relocate when I am betrayed. I know I should learn to face my demons but what can a broken person really do? What good can ever come out of a broken Pieces of heart? Thea even insisted to follow me here too but I immediately turned her down and explained things clearly to her and she eventually understood.

“I’m fine, I just…” Arsen wiped his cheek and forced a smile. “My father used to beat me, thinking I was the reason my mother and sister died. So I worked hard from a young age to escape him. But a week ago, he called to apologize.” Claire immediately approached Arsen and hugged him, causing his body to freeze instantly.

Flaming metallic scrapes rained down the sky and a pungent smell of burning flesh poisoned the air. The river flowing under the destroyed bridge was caught in red feiry blazes. The explosion had completely wiped out Blaine and his men's existence. It was an extremely distressing sight. Angela didn't dare to look over his shoulder and take in the massive destruction he had just unleashed. She knew it would haunt her forever if she did. She kept her gaze down not even meeting his eyes. Silent tears trickling down her cheeks.

My heart immediately began pounding. Footsteps began to approached and with how fast my heart was racing, I was surprised I hadn't passed out. Then the dining room door swung open. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. A familiar tall figure stepped inside. I looked towards the door and couldn't believe it was him. My spoon fell from my hand in shock. The same face I’d spent years trying to avoid. The same face that had slapped me in the bathroom less than a week ago. The same face that traumatized me. It was none other than my school bully, Ryan. It felt like I was in a terrible nightmare, Ryan was Jack's son.

Finally, they could get him; if not, he will die by himself eventually. Colonel Zakariah stood amidst the bustling chaos of the hospital, his eyes scanning the sea of wounded soldiers with a mixture of sorrow and simmering anger. Each face bore the scars of battle, a stark reminder of the relentless conflict that had consumed their lives and shattered their bodies. As he moved through the crowded wards, his mind churned with thoughts of vengeance and retribution, his heart heavy with the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.

His voice was low and quivering, thick with unshed tears. "Loss?" I repeated bitterly, forcing a laugh that rang hollow in the still air. "What do you mean? I haven’t lost Travis. He’s just… he’s just asleep, right?" I tried to sound lighthearted, desperate to cling to any illusion that might save me from this unbearable truth. The soldier’s eyes didn’t meet mine; he only lowered his gaze. "No, ma’am. He’s… he’s gone." His words, quiet and final, shattered the fragile hope I’d been clinging to.

It had only been ten days, not a month, not even three weeks, when the first veteran walked unassisted through the military barracks’ central corridor. Colonel Duane Xander, once known as the “Iron Fist of the Eastern Front,” had been bedridden for over two years. A devastating spinal injury had left him partially paralyzed, in constant pain, and prone to violent spasms. No doctor, eastern or western, had been able to stabilize his nerves without risking further damage.