Two days before present Marcus Langetio had been a retired military commander, as he had been for nearly thirty years. He had fought in the late end of the Barbarian War and since his first job had been very supportive money-wise, he had been able to retire very young and had lived comfortably for awhile. But eventually he fell into debt from gambling and, although surprising, excessive baseball card collecting. So much so, he agreed when his Government asked him to lead a small army into a battle that would help them gain a sizable quantity of land, and had ended his happy retirement to again be Commander in Chief on the battlefield.
.
And now he stood, facing a whitewashed door that, according to his predecessors, led to a man who could bring upon him fear enough to end all his happy days (or at least have a good wetting of his pants). This man was Mr. Beldew, his new boss.
“You may come in,” someone called from inside, even though he had not yet announced his presence.
Brushing off his robes and straightening his hat, the Commander entered the room. Inside was quite plain, other than a few expensive-looking paintings and one stray chair that could easily pass for a throne, the room was empty.
Not empty enough though, because sitting on top of the chair a haggardly man sat stiffly with his back straight and hands placed neatly on his lap in such a proud manner, radiating such power, that you would know he was Mr. Beldew, Man of the house, even if you knew not how he should look.
“I heard you should bring me good news?” the man asked in a brittle tone.
“I-I, y-yes,” the Commander sputtered.
“Make this quick, boy, I do not have all the time in the world,” Mr. Beldew interrupted.
“Yessir!” The Commander exclaimed, starting now more rapidly in fear, (plus annoyance, he had not been called a boy since he was a small foolish child by his mother),

“Sir, despite the careful planning, the battle was not as successful as you had hoped. Your men secured most of the land but-” He paused, “The other side won’t surrender the land where the town lies, and your supplies are weakening.””

Mr. Beldew now looked even more aggravated, so much that, if he were in a comic book, steam would’ve been spouting out his ears. He took several seconds to calm himself before speaking in a calm voice that did not match the blazing madness in his eyes.
“I have tried for many months to end that ruggish excuse of a town. If I cannot rid the Earth of them I will be a laughingstock. This is your final chance. Do not fail.”

And with that, the Commander knew he was dismissed.

The next day he led the soldiers into battle. He and a few others rode on strong legged horses in the front while the troopers ran behind on foot, guns and knives in hand. Their faces bore anger but mostly fear and as they came upon the other side a sea of chaos descended. The Commander could not tell which men were His or Theirs through the sticky mist. Blood spattered the grassy plain and groans rang out. Suddenly another horse ran into his and he was thrown onto the rough ground. Soldiers stampeded over him as he tried to regain his footing.

“Help me!” he called, but no one could hear him over the ringing of battle.
The Commander took a couple shots then jumped onto another horse who, being spooked from all the loud noises, had already swung their own rider to the ground. It took some effort to calm them, but after stroking its mane a few times he could easily grab the reins. He kicked the side of the horse a little harder than intended and it sped like the lightning bolt of Zeus, chasing after his army which was already closing in on the town. Although their opponents were doing their best to fend them off, compared to the Commander’s formidable group they were miniscule, and after a few slow seeming seconds the Commander reached his troops and easily led them inside the village boundaries. He could hear startled townspeople gasping and reaching for their children as the invaders stormed into their land.
“Do you have it?” He asked a soldier he had learned to call Orlando.
Orlando nodded and pointed to the knapsack he had tied to his horse.
“Start it and then we must flee.”
Orlando galloped ahead and prepared the explosives.

It was then the Commander remembered a memory from so long ago it had been well forgotten.

Little seven-year-old Commander was playing with his trucks when two people in military uniforms busted down his door. He did not think to tell his parents, for he did not know they were a threat. They were only inside for a couple of minutes, but the second they left an explosion rocked the entire house. The walls collapsed, but by some miracle he was not crushed. His parents were.

He didn’t know it then but now he assumed they had used dynamite. What he was about to use now.

“Wait-” He called to Orlando but it was too late.

The string was lit and fire was crawling up toward the explosives at an alarming rate. Both soldiers and townspeople tried to flee, though it was no use. An enormous shockwave sliced through the air. Everyone was knocked to their feet, but the blast continued on, hitting the cliff that surrounded one side of the city. Dirt and shards of rock fell over everyone alike. The Commander watched as children and adults tried to hide from the oncoming rock, but failed. Desperate screams tore through the air.

And then he could see it, clear as day.

War is not the answer.

It does not solve problems.

It only separates us.

And then his vision blacked.