He would return | BANDERA FELLA

icon

The wounded Ukrainian warrior gritted his teeth, clutching his side where a fresh bullet wound bled profusely. This was not his first time taking a bullet, but this one felt different, more ominous. The quadrocycle roared beneath him, bouncing along the rugged trail as he was evacuated from the battlefield.

His mind was awash with the chaos he had just left behind. Explosions echoed in his ears, the cries of fallen men haunted his thoughts, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on his lips. The battle had been fierce, a violence, a bravery.

Blood mingled with rain, staining his clothes a dark and forbidding red. He felt it, wet and cold against his skin. The wound throbbed, pain lancing through him with every jolt of the quadrocycle, but it was the memories that hurt more.

The beautiful Ukrainian landscape was but a faint backdrop to his inner turmoil. The vibrant green of the forest was a stark contrast to the crimson stains spreading across his clothes, a painful reminder of the violence that had erupted in this once-peaceful land.

His thoughts drifted to those he had left behind, still fighting, still believing. The weight of responsibility weighed heavy on him, the guilt of leaving them gnawing at his soul. But he knew that this fight was not over; it was merely a chapter in a neverending struggle.

Time seemed to stretch and warp, the journey both an eternity and a fleeting moment. The quadrocycle carried him away from the battlefield, but the battle never left him. It was there in his heart, in his soul, a part of him that would never heal.

As he was carried away, he looked back one last time, his eyes lingering on the horizon where he knew his brothers were still fighting. A vow settled within him, a promise forged in blood and honor.

He would return, and he would fight. For Ukraine. For freedom. For those who had given everything.

He would return.