DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

02| Anger

Above General Shepherd, the ceiling fan spun slowly, the agonising sound of it somehow managed to drown out his painful American twinge whilst Lieutenant Bradford sat to my right. I knew I should have been focused on the conversation; the debrief of the worst mission I had led, but I couldn't bring myself to look the General head on. The way he'd spoken back to me earlier rotted in my mind and pissed me off. So, no, I didn't want to look into his beady blue eyes whilst he continued to patronise me for the fatalities amassed during the mission.

Instead of Shepherd, my team were in the forefront of my mind. Milk's lifeless stare whilst he laid in a pool of his own blood dominated any other memory I had of him. I couldn't remember the first time I had met his family, the way his eyes had lit up whilst an infant played with him, I couldn't recall the way he had watched me as I hugged his mother for the first time. The only other thing I could remember of Milk, was the official Army portrait which had been seared into my mind after I carried his coffin off the C-17 Plane I'd boarded.

Funnily enough, none of us had planned for what would happen in the case of a death. We were immortal, always planned ahead of time for the things we would do and what we would see.

I thought of my Fiancé, wherever he ended up after being declared as Killed In Action following a year long deployment in Urzikstan. Knowing I had just been close enough to the place he had last been seen alive was enough to cause bile to rise in my throat and bubble in my stomach. I never knew what happened to him. He was declared as Missing in Action, and nine months later was declared as killed in action. I truly was the last soldier still standing.

"Sergeant Thompson, are you listening to a God-Damned word I'm saying?" he asked, and splayed his hands out on the table between us. The wedding band sat in a stark contrast to his skin, and I was surprised he'd ever found someone who would put up with him. The stripe of gold reflected and distorted version of my face, along with Vinnie's. Our eyes were black holes of nothingness.

I cleared the lump from my throat, mouth dried, "No. I'm not ignoring you, sir." I replied, and felt Vinnie stiffen beside me. That wasn't the answer Shepherd wanted. He wanted me to admit I'd zoned out so he could chew me up and spit me out, make a point of why I was no longer suited for this career. He'd been itching at the chance since Azerbaijan.

SLAM.

His balled up fists banged into the surface of the desk, an almighty sound that startled myself and Vinnie, "For Christ'ssake, Sergeant!" he bellowed. A tendril of spit launched itself from his mouth and hit my cheekbone. What a piss-take. I wiped the spit and stared at him, my fists clenched along my thighs.

I could feel my body as it reacted to the perceived threat, the way my breaths increased and my heartbeat became intolerably loud in my eardrums. It drowned out any other sound around me, deadened the voice of the General. "Lower your fucking tone when you speak to me, sir." I retaliated. In hindsight, not the best thing to say to a General, or anyone who was the direct chain of command above you. Yet, it didn't warrant his tone of voice.

For a moment, he was stunned at my words, I bet no one in the Army had dared to speak to him in such way before, with such blatant disregard to him. "What did you just say?" he asked calmly before he stood taller than me. His eyes darkened, "Need I remind you both; I am your Superior Officer!" he yelled. I felt Vinnie flinch next to me whilst my heart-rate quickened and the adrenaline coursed through my veins. General Shepherd could not make me care about what it was he wanted me to, I wouldn't care about a single word that man said, and I wouldn't hide the fact either.

"I don't work for you Yanks." I calmly stated, my hands shook whilst balled into fists, "And, in no way are you Superior to me or any of my soldiers. Even if they're dead and rotting in a mortuary somewhere!" I yelled. Finally, I stood up from my seat, sick of this man and every false hope he represented. He'd whisper false promises into the ear of his soldiers, lead them to death for the sake of his own image. The Americans only ever got involved when it somehow benefited them, or when they got caught out for making deals with fucking terrorists.