Major William Larson walked out of the brush towards Destry. When he saw him clearly, the stern look washed from his face and he offered his hand in recognition.
“Destry! What the hell are you doing out here?” He asked.
The major turned back to the soldier that was escorting him, “Take yourself and the rest of these soldiers back to base and continue as planned; I’ve got this under control.”
“But sir..” the soldier began.
“You don’t like that idea soldier?” The major interrupted.
The soldier swallowed deeply, and yelled, “Ok, bring it in! Back to base on my lead!”
All the soldiers snapped into reality, gathered themselves and their gear, and began making their way back through the brush, down the hill. A few of them gave Destry a look of disgust as they walked by, but not Mike Reynolds. He was making sure he was the last to walk by, holding back as best he could. Destry kept thinking that he was the easiest to spot if lost in a crowd. He felt this kid didn’t belong, that maybe he just happened to enlist at the wrong time and got put on this assignment by mistake. The rest of the soldiers filed by with Mike bringing up the tail end.
Major Larson acknowledged random soldiers as they walked by, stating “Good work son”, “Carry on soldier”, with a nod of his head.
He glanced back, looking at Destry. Mike walked past the Major. Destry couldn’t help but look at Mike one last time. When he did, Mike formed a word with his mouth and then looked away quickly because Larson was turning his attention back to the soldiers walking past, and Mike was next in line.
“Good work soldier”, the major said and patted Mike on the back. He continued to walk down the hill nearly dragging his gun, feeling defeated. If Destry hadn’t known any better, he believed that Mike had formed the word, “Run”.