The War Journals: Resistance

  I was fading in and out of consciousness. I could hear things in the distance, voices that sounded like they were miles away. I couldn't force myself to open my eyes. I was dieing and I knew it. I was probably just hallucinating.

  I thought I felt hands, touching me. Gently caressing my many wounds. Maybe they were angels, taking the pain away from me as I passed into the great beyond.

  I had never been particularly religious, preferring logic and reason to blind dedication and zealotry. After all, religion was the biggest cause of violence in the world. Why would a peace loving god want people to kill each other in his name?

  I felt my body being lifted. One leg dangling, dragging on the ground. Surely, that leg was coming with me to whatever afterlife I was on my way to. Why was it dragging in the dirt? I could still hear the voices in the distance, but couldn't make out what they were saying.

  Suddenly, I was dropped. Only a few inches onto a hard surface. It didn't hurt, but it was certainly a shock. Enough to jar me and rouse me, if only a little.

  It felt like I was rushing away, zooming through the air. I tried to open my eyes. I could barely move them.

  Everything was so blurry, I could hardly see. I could almost make out faces hovering over me. The sun glaring over distant tree tops as they rushed by. I was fading in and out of consciousness again. Occasionally seeing the light breaking through the tree tops as I flew past. Where was I going?

  Surely, if I was going to hell, for being a murderer, these mysterious figures would not be so nice to me. I was probably much more efficient at dealing pain and death than any demon.

  Again, I faded. this time completely to black. A black so dark and deep that I could not wake up from it. I felt myself descending into darkness, never to open my eyes again.

  I had always been a fighter. Ignoring my better judgment and rushing into battle with no thought for myself. And now, I was too tired to keep fighting. I was calm and at peace. My guilt was lost, left behind me as I fell on the battlefield that day.

  The Chinese had won. I had failed. The General had failed his resistance. Their intent was to show the world that the General was just an ordinary man. A man made of flesh and blood. A man that could die like any other.

  He was not just any ordinary man. He was a man who possessed a certain mettle, a different kind of valor. The kind of courage that could define a nation, one that would live on in others for generations after he was gone. The General had become more than just one person. He was the embodiment of hope, a symbol of perseverance and tenacity in the face of certain death.

  They were right about one thing though, I could die. The Chinese succeeded in killing Connor Jeffries that day, but the General would continue to live on in the heart and soul of not only the Americans, but all those who had been searching for hope all over the world.

  Connor Jeffries' story ends here, with him alone and bleeding to death in the woods.

 

 

  Part II

  The Hardest Loss

  Chapter 17