A Good Soldier By Shawen A. Greer Summary: A Skinner reflective piece set during Within. Rated: G Classification: V Feedback graciously accepted at shawen@altavista.com You will find my other stories and poems at The Hall of X http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Quasar/8840 Special thanks to the wonderfully talented Susan Frankovich for her insight to this story. ************************ The naked trees stretch to the gray sky above as if they reach for him, outstretched and beckoning him home. They spread their branches across the great expanse of this lonely and silent field as if to catch him if he falls before he joins the white markers below. I find myself here in the presence of the fallen, fellow soldiers that time has forgotten. The visitors come to see the rows of white stone that stretch as far over the hills as their eyes can see, but they are recognized as only part of the whole, as a singular piece of the awesome scene that this place truly is. But what of those men beneath the chiseled names? Weren't they sons and fathers alike? Did they feel the sting of love and loss only later to taste the sweetness of passion? And what of those they left behind? Were they empty as we are without him? I make my way down this narrow Crook Walk that I have traveled many times of late, listening to the voice of the wind as it talks to the branches above me, waiting for it to whisper its secrets. Waiting for it to tell me where I can find him, selfishly for myself, but mostly to complete her. For though she insists that she is fine, I see the distant look in her eyes as she thinks of him. I can hear the subtle catch in her voice when she speaks of him in a whisper as if uttering the name of an angel. The trees seem to part as I approach and the awesome white marble rises up before me. The dull thud of my heels on this cold stone path resembles the deadened beats of my heart as day after day I carry on, searching. The sting of failure and loss is only greater when she is at my side, with her pregnancy the constant reminder of what is at stake if I should fail them again. She believed in me and I failed her, like so many times before. Her trust was something that I had to earn, and I had repaid that trust with failure. I had lost him! Leadership carried with it a heavy burden, the misfortune to carry on as those under your command fell. So it had been in my days in Vietnam and so it continued even now as time and time again it seemed that fate dealt me the guilty hand of leadership and of loss. The echo seems deafening as I slowly ascend the steps and wander the hallowed hallway to the Tomb until I drift silently to the balcony overlooking the honored sarcophagus. I turn and begin my descent of the wide staircase and take my place before the tomb as I sit and observe the methodical pace of the sentinel. I am alone but for a young father that stands at the rail with a redheaded little boy, who at his father's direction has removed his baseball cap. His eyes are full of youth and wonder as he watches the steady march before him, subconsciously clicking his heels just seconds behind the formal turn of the guard. The sight of this father and son brings forbidden tears to my weary eyes for it is evident in their reaction to one another that they are indeed a family, and again I feel the loss for the baby that she carries. I force myself to recognize the reality of this place, for those that lie beneath the terrace paving were brought home. Though unsure of their names or their lives, they were brought home, for a good soldier never leaves a man behind. The chilling sound of taps plays in the distance followed shortly by fire shots that resonate in the heavy air surrounding this place, and I jump for a second in surprise. But the sentinel before me never flinches, for a good soldier is always prepared and always stays true to his duty. It is here in this place in the presence of this young man, unknown to me as always though influential in the rekindling, that I stoke my own eternal flame. For I will not fail them this time. For a good soldier never retreats. It is through fire that iron is made strong and I will endure whatever heat is necessary to bring him home to the empty loved ones that wait for him. I will not allow him to become a marker in the grand scheme of this world to be forgotten. He has a story and the end is yet unwritten. She and I together will find him because we have to. She has to for the sake of her child, but I must for her. My demons are once again as silent as the air around me. I take my leave of the unknowing sentinel and utter a silent prayer for the boy enclosed by his father's strong arm. We leave for Arizona in an hour, and somehow, I will bring this soldier home.