Death Riders

Chapter 26. My grandfather

"He was an honored man. The only general I knew who would risk his life for his soldiers." Deckard stood tall and commanding as if he was the one who controlled the thunderstorm outside.

I stayed quiet, eager to know more about the only man I terribly miss. Oh grandpa, the only one I knew who would place himself in a less worthy position than those he saw had potential. A part of me wants to shake him senseless because of his unprecedented humility but a bigger part of me was proud. That's why he's my role model in everything. And if Deckard was worth sacrificing for, he saw something in him that I never did. 

"He wasn't scared to die." It made my heart warm, hearing that. "He believe he has lived his life well."

"Did the pestilence get him?" It was time for me to gain closure and he was the right man for it.

"No. A bullet in his arm took his life slowly." He walked back behind his desk to take a seat.

Moisture pricked the corners of my eyes. "How close were you with him?"

"He was my direct superior officer. We fought side by side in the battlefield."

"When did that old man kick the bucket?" I tried my best to seem cheerful, that I wasn't taken aback by this information but my lips just wouldn't heed my commands.

"Halfway through the hundred day offensive." He said and something clung to the back of his tongue, as if he was reminded of a burden and it held him back. "Without him, we would've starved to death."

I chuckled. "That man loved to share his food." Then a thought appeared. "Why didn't he return if he was injured?" He didn't even inform me in his letter that he was hurt. He only told me he was sick and it was in correspondence with the telegram stating the cause of death was pestilence.

He was silent but he didn't intend for the words to come out of his mouth. It was his eyes that stated it, for he didn't have the heart to explicitly tell a granddaughter that her grandfather wouldn't have survived the journey home.

"Oh." My voice involuntarily shook and I sucked in a long breath to hide it. "Was he helpful in the war?"

"He entered the battlefield himself and he was an expert marksman. In his dying days, he still made sure rations were evenly spread out." It almost sounded like he was mourning.

"What did you eat after?" Pain struck through my chest. A general would definitely obtain all the royalties; healthcare, food and a comfortable bed to sleep. Soldiers, due to their mere rank, were less fortunate.

His eyes darkened under a lifeless shadow. "Ms. Marsedon," His hand reached out and lit a cigarette between his mouth. It was the first I saw him smoke today. "I tell you that I could uncover the injustice done to your grandfather's death but you're worried about us?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm finding out the injustice done in the battlefield."

"There are no laws in the battlefield." I recognized the uneasiness that rested in his eyes whenever he spoke about the war.

As long as he was real and intact in front of me, I realized I didn't need to know how. Same goes with grandpa. It was enough for me to know that he went down as a hero and an inspiration. "I knew the pestilence couldn't even get close to that old man." A soft smile crept on my lips.

Pulling out a piece of paper from his desk, he laid it in front of me. "You were the only thing that kept him fighting, Ms. Marsedon."

In front of me was a torn piece of paper, another half of a letter. I recognized it immediately. This was the other half I found on the attic. My hands shook as I touched the last piece of writing my grandfather left but my eyes were inquisitive. I just had to read it.