Carter's Army - 25. Chapter 25

March 20th, 2004

It was a cold and damp day in Halisham England; the rain had started sometime early in the morning, and the grey sky seemed to match the feelings the day shared with the people clustered around the freshly-turned earth. It wasn't a day for celebration; it was a day for mourning. Not to mourn that which had been lost, but to mourn instead that which never was.

Time had done little to heal most wounds, and the two halves of a shattered family stood on opposite sides of the simple stone. The rain came down more steadily now. Unity through sorrow; for William Carter, it was just another bitter regret of a past he could never reconcile.

There had never been a chance for that, and as the rain plastered the hair to his head he stared down at the earth and wondered if there had been any more that he could have done. But after ten years, there really had been nothing. He had tried, and every time that hand had been extended it had been slapped away.

He should have been bitter, but there was no room inside for that. There was only the sadness of understanding why the man under that fresh sod could never accept him for who he was. There was no room in the Major's army for him.

Andrew stood beside him, a constant presence in his life; they had their rough patches -- all relationships went through them -- but his knight had stood beside him through the past ten years, sheltering and protecting him, and showering him with the love he had never been able to get from his family.

Ordinarily in a moment like that he would let Andrew comfort him, draw strength from the rock in his life; but right there and then it was the final time he would face the Major, and he had to do it standing alone. Andrew, as always, respected his stubborn need to be independent.

His eyes travelled up to his sister, a vibrant young woman now nearly fourteen, wearing a beautiful black dress. She looked at her mother whose eyes narrowed at him. Some bitterness never died. But Lucy wasn't about to let that poison her love for her brother, as she slipped from her mother's side and went round to him.

He pulled her against him, staring down at the stone, feeling her drawing strength from him. Two survivors of their own war, but there had been casualties along the way; pride and confidence had fallen early in the struggle. But there was no doubt now; they were both free.

Major David Carter had died a hero to his country, leading his men into Basra to liberate it from a dictator's grasp. There was so much debate over the right to do so, that people had over looked the individual acts of heroism that brought the best out in people. The Major had died a hero, saving his men from an ambush; fighting for another country to gain the freedoms he had dedicated his life to protecting.

The irony wasn't lost on William Carter, his son. Even though the stubborn old man would never have admitted it, those freedoms of equality had had fought to bring to other people extended to his own family. In a way, in death, he was the hero he had never been in life.

William finally turned away, as Andrew came forward to embrace him, and the tears Will had steadfastly refused to cry finally came forth at that point. Holding onto the two people that loved him unconditionally, returning that love to them.