The Price of Honor

Outside, war raged.

Outside, bombs fell.

Outside, men died.

And he was away from it all. As far as he possibly could be.

"General, tell us - "

The walky-talky's voice turned into a garble of incomprehensible static as he turned the knob violently with a trembling hand. He waited, shaking at the anticipation of the frightened soldier's voice wafting through the air again.

More static.

His hand drew away, and dropped in his lap. The uniform was neatly kept, in good condition - it had never been stained by the grime of war, nor had it been soiled by the mire created by the rains.

The decorations felt heavy, useless. They were only a mark of guilt.

Endless guilt.

There was nothing more than guilt and lies.

General Forrester crouched low over his seat, his forehead nearly brushing his knees as he tired to hide.

Lee should have been decorated, not him.

Never him.

His jerky motions clicked the walky-talky into action again, and more eager questions, more hopeful cries resounded from the electronic device.

He reached over with the intent to throw the infernal thing at the wall - to shatter it and finally sever the connection between him and the men hanging by a thread.

A bomb exploded overhead, making the shelter shake in its tinny foundations. The General covered his hand with his heads and closed his eyes.

Outside, men died.

Inside, a coward lived.


The End

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