"Well said, Marine." We shake hands, and he leaves. Two more men and a woman approach and shake my hand.
The people begin to drift away, talking quietly, while the two immediate family members remain. I stay with them, wanting to do what little I can to help, even knowing there's nothing that can really be said. They hug, and I turn away to give them some privacy. I notice the rose bushes lining one wall, the source of the subtle scent has been tickling my nose since I entered the graveyard.
Whenever I leave the battlefield, I notice things I never did before. Right now, I'm mentally measuring how symmetrical the different hued flowers are and am fascinated by how something as delicate as a petal can survive in a world like ours. Things are so green here, it almost doesn't seem real. Like a dream. One I would give anything to wake up from and feel whole again.
Behind the façade that earned me the nickname Ice Commander, Iceman, Captain Icee and others from my men, I'm raw, like a severe rope burn has cut straight through my soul. My first mission as a newly minted commander, and I lose four men.
The opposite of the twins, I'm not one to talk much. Even if I knew how to express my thoughts, the emotions run too deep for me to name. So I breathe in the scent of roses and let myself stay in that one, peaceful moment in the garden, knowing it'll be gone soon enough.
"Captain Mathis." It's the voice of Ms. Khavalov, the sister of the Khav brothers. There's an edge to it, one I recognize too well from other funerals.
I'd rather deal with insurgents than grieving families. It's a cold thought stemming from trying to keep myself numb this week. I'm here for the family members as well as my fallen men, but I never thought it'd be so hard.
I turn to face her.
The stinging slap she lands across one cheek is a definite first. It's enough to jar me but not enough to knock me out of my stance at attention. I can take a blow pretty well after a lifetime filled with them.
"You were supposed to bring them both back alive!" she says in a choked voice.
"I am sorry for your loss, ma'am," I say calmly.
She pushes up her veil, and I stare.
The twins look like their father, and I can only assume their sister resembles their mother. She's stunning, from the light hazel eyes to her chiseled features and the delicate, quivering chin. In her twenties, she's got the determined set of her jaw that I know from the twins and a gleam in her eyes that tells me she's just as smart.