The rites of passage

This is a work inprogress. About a high ranking commander in the remenant milatry force who refuses to send his men to die in a war which humanity has no hope of winning.

The ground shook, the walls fell inside of the cavern that was once called a home. They came in maruaded, plunded and looted everything they got thier grubby little fingers on. That was the way it worked.

"Jack?" A voice cried out it was dark, the cavern was empty with just the remains of broken furniture. "Jack?" the voice was allmost a plead for him to get up. "it's no use" another voice said. "Take him"

there was a brief silence in the camp at Malachor. For there was silence for the remenant forces mourning the loss of thier friends, their comrades, thier brothers, the fallen. The loudspeaker sounded from the corner. Giving instructions to get their boots, thier equipment. For they were at war with an enemy which they had no intention of winning.

Rickard and a surperiour officer were in his office. talking about things such as manuvers, patrols, war storys. But this time the general is serious he thought

"rickard?" "yeaht?" his long dark hair flickered in the wind of Malachor as the twin suns were setting "your a good general, you've led men into battle on countless occasions. But you seem to be resistant this time. The question is" at this moment Rickard's seperiour officer seemed to be  questioning the authority he had on previous occasions. he looked into a desk, and handed a big panflet with the words. Top Secret embolded onto the top of the page.

"Sir?, your giving me details on the mission? isnt it ment to be top secret, the men have been speculating for the past fourteen cycles"

"i will give you them, In time. But first you tell me why you wont lead your men to there doom."





The End

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