The prodigal son

The port of London was crowded with people, from children waiting for their parents, to the elderly waiting for their children and grandchildren, husbands and wives anxiously awaiting their spouses, sometimes accompanied by more relatives or holding their children in their arms. The hospital ship Pendragon was finishing the last mooring tasks, soon the siren sounded indicating the signal to disembark. Three gangways were deployed from the lower deck of the ship. Through the first, near the stern of the ship, a team of uniformed military personnel lowered the coffins of those who had fallen in combat and stacked them on the dock awaiting loading onto transport trucks. On the second gangway, an army of medics was busy carrying stretchers with seriously wounded to the military ambulances waiting for them on the dock. On the third gangway, the wounded who were able to walk on their own feet were disembarking.

Ruslan, who could finally walk without losing his balance, stood at the top of the third gangway, and looking at the workers unloading the coffins, took off his cap, tucked it under the right epaulette of his uniform and saluted with his left arm. The survivors of the 26th Company, at his side, did the same, many of their friends filling those coffins. After a brief but solemn moment, they continued their descent to the dock.

- I'm sure my family has come all the way from Bristol to greet me, - said Corporal Constance Perry cheerfully, as she hurried down the ramp aided by a pair of crutches. - Although I hope they won't be frightened to see me in this state.

Her pant leg, bent at the knee and held in place with a safety pin, highlighted her missing limb.

- Don't worry Connie, I'm sure they'll be relieved to see you back on your own two feet.

- Foot and crutches - she clarified.

- Has anyone ever told you that you have a very dark humor?

Ruslan and Constance had made good friends on the return trip, and after so many days talking they had decided to dispense with certain formalities when speaking to each other, it could be said that their friendship had been forged with the fired bullets and tempered with the spilled blood.

- Connie!!! - the sudden shout caught Constance's attention.

A man and woman, each in their 40s, waved their arms in greeting as they approached along the dock.

- Mom!!! Dad!!!! - she shouted and advanced as fast as her new crutches would allow.

When they met, her parents hugged her as if they would never let her go again, and she hugged them back, letting go of the crutches, which fell to the ground with a thud, muffled by the roar of the crowd on the pier.

- Sweetie, what happened to you? - her mother asked with great concern, staring at the bent leg of her uniform, while her father picked up the crutches from the floor and held them out to his daughter.

- Occupational hazard, - Constance replied, causing a grimace between amusement and concern on her father's face.

Constance turned to Ruslan and motioned for him to come closer, as he had respectfully stepped aside, to allow them some privacy.

- Captain Ruslan Drake, my parents Henry and Brianna Perry.

- It's a pleasure Mr. and Mrs. Perry - Constance's father offered him his left hand after a brief glance at the folded sleeve of Ruslan's jacket, and Ruslan shook it gratefully.

- You look like you've been through hell, my child - Constance's mother passed Connie's tearful gaze to Ruslan and back again.

- Brie, you don't need to remind them... - began Henry Perry.

- Never mind, it's the truth - said Ruslan shrugging his left shoulder.

- We thank you for bringing our daughter back alive, Captain - Henry took off his hat and pressed it to his chest.

Ruslan felt a pang in his heart. Constance must have seen the change in his expression, because she immediately intervened.

- Dad please... - Constance began.

- I'm afraid it wasn't me who brought her back, Mr. Perry, - Ruslan replied. - It was she herself who struggled to survive.

While Ruslan was still talking to the Perrys, a scream caught his attention. Turning his head he saw his family, his whole family. Even his father was there. His siblings were running toward him. The Perry's said their goodbyes, Connie saluted her captain and left along with her family, back home at last.

Ruslan stood on the dock, waiting for his own. As they approached, he turned, facing them. His siblings stopped dead in their tracks a couple of meters away from him. His sister, Cathe, put her hands to her face and tears began to well up in her eyes. His brother, Jack, was biting his lower lip as he shut his eyes tightly to keep from crying. Ruslan realized after a moment why. The reason was the same reason he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, his face shattered, and his body distorted by the loss of his right arm, clearly visible through the folded right sleeve of his uniform. He had covered the empty socket of his right eye with a patch when the bandages had finally been removed from his face, but the terrible scar across his face was not yet fully healed. Ruslan advanced towards his family slowly, his pace still somewhat unsteady. Catherine threw herself around his neck and hugged him, and Ruslan returned the embrace with his one arm as he struggled to keep his balance. His brother Jack forced a smile, still glassy-eyed, and gave him a strong pat of encouragement on his left arm, which Ruslan thanked with a nod. His mother and father approached; concern etched on their faces.

- My son! - Marion Drake's voice almost broke as she addressed her son.

- I'm sorry I couldn't keep the promise I made to you, mother, - said Ruslan, crestfallen and regretful.

- You came back alive, that's all that matters - his father stepped forward and gave him a hug.

Ruslan hugged him back, while his mother, emotionally burst into tears, embraced by her eldest daughter and youngest son.

- I know I didn't leave in the best possible way, and I owe you an apology - said Ruslan to his father.

William Drake separated a little from his son and put his hands on his shoulders with kindness, while he shook his head.

- No, I am the one who owes you an apology. Out of anger and desperation I said something I will regret for the rest of my life, and forced you to choose between your dreams and your family, can you forgive me? - William Drake replied to his offspring.

- There is nothing to forgive, you only sought to protect me, even from myself. In the end you were right, I was quite unaware, I did not see the dangers inherent in my vocation. I should have at least listened to you, to meditate more on my decision - Ruslan put his left hand on his father's shoulder, who patted him a couple of times on the forearm affectionately.

- You were both rather stupid at the time, I think! - Marion Drake scolded her husband and son - Luckily Jack hasn't gone out to you two, otherwise Catherine and I wouldn't sleep a wink at night.

And leaving her half-faked anger behind, Marion hugged her son and kissed him on the left cheek. Together the five of them began to walk away from the dock towards the city.

At the same time, elsewhere in London, General Abernathy of Her Majesty's Army Medical Evaluation Corps was reading a telegram from the headquarters of Albion's forces in Sudan. Seeing the first name on the list of wounded, Abernathy smiled to himself under his thick moustache. He then picked up the receiver of the telephone on the left side of his oversized desk and asked to be patched through to an extension outside the military barracks. A raspy voice sounded on the other end of the phone line.

- Well? - asked the worn voice parsimoniously.

- The plan is proceeding as planned, - Abernathy replied. - The Drake's son arrived today on the hospital ship Pendragon. Due to his injuries, he will be taken out of service.

- Unless...? - the voice asked with a certain macabre pleasure.

- Unless the Army oversees his recovery and the means by which it has been carried out, - replied the general.

- Well, let's hope the Drakes don't take too long to make their move.

The voice on the other end of the receiver hung up the phone, leaving Abernathy trembling at the prospect of something not going according to plan. There was a lot at stake in that bet, and for Abernathy even more. His life was at stake. The people who had started that plot would not tolerate failure.