The makings of a hero

(I'd like to dedicate this piece to a dear friend who served in the Vietnam War and the struggles he faced because of it. And also to the young men and women all over our world who serve--It is my sincerest prayer that we may reach a point where your lives may never be lost or damaged by the brutality of war again.)

A sole figure was sitting awake in the makeshift tent on the edges of the great battlefields of Gheshar, listening to the sounds of battle raging in the distance dully. Every so often he would bring the rations bar to his mouth for a bite, chewing mechanically as screams of dying men and women would erupt suddenly against the backdrop of gun fire and heavy artillery.

A figure in one of the bunks across from him tossed fretfully, murmuring in his sleep. The soldier had received a serious wound from a Mandalorian warsword, and it had grown infected in the marshes where he lay wounded before the healers could reach him. He was now fighting a fever on top of the blood loss. He probably wouldn't survive the night.

Try as he might, Carth Onasi couldn't recall the young soldier's name. It had been flitting about the edges of his mind ever since he came upon the wounded man among the corpses littering the swampy marsh and carried him back to camp to be treated. They had met once at some academy, where the Republic admiralty had sent him to give a pep speech to the new recruits who were headed out into battle for the first time. They would all be inspired to meet the great hero, Commander Carth Onasi, the admiralty had told him.

Gods, but he hated when they said things like that. He hated when people put him on some pedestal, made him sound like he was more then what he was. Just a soldier, doing his job. Doing what he had trained to do. Doing what had to be done. Nothing more.

But he went. He gave the speech, just like the admiralty had requested of him. He went, and he did his duty. And this boy, whom he had 'inspired' to go to war against the Mandalorians, lie dying in the next bunk. And there was nothing Carth Onasi, the highly touted war hero, could do about it.

Helplessness. It was the one feeling he hated the most, the thing he feared the most. The Mandalorian war machine ground relentlessly forward, and no matter how hard he fought, no matter how much back patting and propaganda he was subjected to, no matter how many medals they pinned on his chest, he couldn't find a way to stop it. And so the young would continue to enlist, inspired by tales of heros and glory. And they would continue to die.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, too tired to fight his melancholy thoughts, yet too tired to sleep and escape them. And so he sat there beside the young boy who had followed him to war, and waited for the end to come. Then he would let the squad know, and the deceased soldier would be sent off home for a military burial.

Why couldn't he remember this boy's name?

His men would see the light on in his tent, and brag to other squadrons about their famous commander's iron constitution. They would theorize that he was in there now, coming up with another great strategy that would turn the tide of this battle and send the Mandalorian raiders fleeing the planet. It would once again be under the protective arm of the mighty Republic.

If only they knew the truth, that the light was still on because he was too tired to sleep, or think, or even remember the name of a fellow soldier.

'They would lose heart,' he heard Saul's voice in the back of his mind. 'You give them hope, Carth. You keep them strong. It's a gift you have, people find strength in you. It's what will make you a great leader someday.'

Saul. He wondered where his old friend and mentor was at that moment. Maybe on Telos, Carth thought with a wistful smile to himself. Saul had promised he would stop by and check in on Morgana and little Dustil for him when he passed through the system next. Take them his love, apologize to them for him that once again he would disappoint his family and not be home in time for another holiday or birthday. Explain to them how their husband or daddy was doing something very important and they should be proud of him and support him in his duties.

He wondered if sometimes those words ever sounded as hollow to his family as they did to him.

No. That thought itself was a denial. He knew they did. He could see it in their eyes when he went home for a visit. Oh, they would go through the motions alright, but there was an underlying sense of disconnection... of loss. He would come home, met by lovely wife and exuberant child. They would have a special dinner, and he would dote on Dustil and spend every possible minute he could with him, wrestling on the carpet or playing swordfighting outside in the yard. Then a tired and happy son would be sent off to bed, and he would retire with his wife. They would make love, and he would do or say anything he could to express to her how much he still loved her. But the nights would be interupted by the nightmares he had, or a call from the admiralty saying they desperately needed him back on the front lines, and they were sorry to cut his leave short.

Then would come the argument, the chill radiating off Morgana enough to make him almost welcome the heat of battle. Dustil would cry, and beg him not to leave. But he would explain again to Dustil why he had to go, to keep him and his mother safe, and that soon this war would be over and he would be home for good. It was a scene he knew was being played out across the galaxy every second.

Every time he stepped off the shuttle, he expected them to not be there. To go to his house, and find it empty. A note from Morgana telling him how she got tired of waiting, tired of always being last on his list. That she had taken Dustil and returned home to Corellia where he would be raised in a real family, not just by a neglected mother and a nonexistent father.

Why wouldn't this damned war end?

A pained groan broke into his thoughts, and his tired eyes turned to come to rest on the ghastly pale face of the soldier in the next bunk. A look of fear was in the young man's eyes, glazed and fading with the life inside the body. Those eyes locked on his, and for a moment relief showed in them. Then the body spasmed with pain, and he moaned again and tried to move.

'Easy, soldier.' Carth stood and moved over to sit on the edge of the young man's bunk. 'You were wounded. Don't try and move.'

Some of the tension seemed to leave the man's body at the sound of his commander's voice. 'D-did we... stop them...'

He knew what the boy was searching for. The reassurance he sought with every one of these deaths he watched. That it had meaning, that it was for something.

He forced a reassuring smile onto his face, and put his hand on the boy's arm. 'You did well, soldier. The Mandalorian charge to our flank was halted. '

'W-we...showed t-them...' the sound of that voice was eerie, words being forced out with the few remaining breaths the punctured lungs could manage.

'Yeah... we sure did.' Carth replied, patting the boy's arm. 'Now rest, soldier. Rest well. You've earned it.'

The light of a smile seemed to brighten the dimming eyes for a moment, and then they faded completely to gaze at him with no further comprehension. The tension eased out of the body, as the last breath hissed out of a slack mouth. After a moment, Carth reached up and ran his hand over the younger man's face, closing the eyelids for one last time. He dimly felt a burn in his own eyes, tears that would no longer fall but remain shoved down under the face of battle hardened discipline.

He rose and went to the edge of the tent, looking for a guard or wandering soldier to send with word to the clean up crew that another body was ready to be shipped home.

A soldier spotted him, and ran up to him. 'Commander! There you are! I was sent to look for you.'

Carth fought back a sigh so that his men wouldn't see how tired and defeated he felt just then. 'Very well soldier. Report.'

'Word came in from the admiralty, sir!' the man exclaimed, his face almost glowing in the eerie grey of the coming dawn. 'The Jedi, sir! The Jedi have joined the war at last!'

It took a moment to sink in past the fog clouding his exhausted mind, but it finally did. As if someone had lifted a great weight from his shoulders, the commander straightened up to his full height. And for the first time in a long time, a smile broke out on the well known face of the great war hero, Carth Onasi.

'Well what are we waiting for, soldier?' he barked, gaining the attention of the men who had gathered around to hear the news. 'Let's go mop up this Mandalorian mess here and show those Jedi what our Republic troops can do!'

A cheer rose through the camp as their leader headed for the front lines, twin blasters drawn and ready.

Zak. Zak Trojurr. That was his name, Carth remembered.

This battle would be for him.