The mud squelched under her combat boots as she bent to flip over the corpse. It wasn’t him. She let out a breath and moved on to the next corpse.
She couldn’t actually decide if she wanted to find him or not. Every time she approached the next corpse, she desperately wanted to find him, but she also desperately wanted to not find him.
If she found him, then that would be that. He was dead, and the grieving could start. She’d be able to take his body home, return it to his family, and make sure that he got the proper burial and memorial that he deserved. But then he would be dead, and there would be nothing else and she’d never be able to see him again.
If she didn’t find him, then there was still hope. He could still be breathing out there, fighting the good fight. But he could also be out there, too injured to continue, dying away from the battle, or worse, held prisoner and being tortured bit by bit until there was nothing left of him. And if she didn’t find him, she would never know the real answer, she could never be sure if she’d be able to see him again.
She wanted both. She wanted neither. She wanted to never be in this position in the first place. She never wanted to be in this position again.
She took a deep breath as she stepped up to the next corpse, sinking a bit in the mud as she knelt down to the body. One swift moment and the body was on its back. It wasn’t him.