"The General" by Ariel Wilson

All week he received injuries- broken legs, a purple bruise on his left cheek, and small cuts that covered his arms from the many explosions. Late at night, when the fighting stopped, the young General sat down with a flask of water, pulled out some battle plans and went over the next moves. The fighting would continue the next week. He never stopped. Even when he was tired, he still fought, capturing hidden spies, his face flushed red from the heat and new bruises forming under his uniform. Fighting was becoming even less pleasant theses days, 6 deaths, instead of 3.

He kept a picture of his parents tucked firmly in his back pocket. New soldiers fresh out of training march forward, standing tall like trees at attention, and the look in their eyes, a mix of fear and excitement.

“Um... G-general! S-sir!” The nervous ones stuttered.
If they were brave, his uniform would be neatly pressed, and he’d say “General!”

He rested his hands under his chin, no matter how fearless they’d acted, their legs shook like a nervous child. The soldiers all smelled the same-all of them. Maybe it was the way they stood out in the sun all morning that made them smell this way- like burning plants in the summer heat.

One slow evening when the enemy was not attacking, leaving the soldiers bored and waiting for commands, the enlisted men marched up to the General’s tent along with the youngest soldier, holding one of the civilians. The enlisted men looked just like they did when they first enlisted only older and covered in scars. The General matched them up amused to find that none of them had really changed, the oldest still serious, the younger ones still silly. The first enlisted man pushed the civilian to the front and began yelling about a thief and execution.

The General stood slapping the enlisted man across his face. The other enlisted men’s eyes widened, the shock evident on their faces. The young soldier backs away, his eyes averted as mumbles a quick apology.
As they waited, the enlisted man’s breath coming in short puffs, like a dog in the summer heat. His breath was hot. The General wasn›t shocked when the enlisted man pulled him to the ground and, for a minute, let curses slip from his mouth. Only after the civilian ran away did he release all of his anger, which the General took proudly and waited before moving away, giving the General time to say “It’s time to go home.”