Ron Crosswell stood at attention inside the austere courtroom of the military base in Hamphire. His crisp Navy SEAL uniform was impeccably pressed. For his age and duration in service, it had some impressive decorations on one side of his chest. Everyone present was in the military and was in uniform. The court-martial had been a grueling process, and now he anxiously awaited the verdict that would determine his future in the elite fighting force.
In a moment, Colonel Tim Blookes, a stern-looking court-martial officer, addressed the room. "Ron Crosswell, you have been charged with multiple breaches of military conduct, including insubordination and endangering the lives of your comrades. After careful deliberation, this court has reached a decision."
Ron's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the verdict that would define his career or future. If the judge reinstated him, then he had the former back. An expulsion meant his future would be elsewhere. It was a reality he avoided thinking about, one that had kept him from eating and sleeping at night. His face portrayed a mix of confusion and agony as the weight of the situation etched into his features.
"Ron Crosswell, you are hereby discharged from the Navy SEALs with dishonor."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Ron deliberately disbelieved what he heard, expecting to hear something else, but that was it. Then, he felt a crushing wave of disappointment wash over him. He had dedicated his life to serving his country and had trained relentlessly to become a SEAL. Now, it had all come crashing down.
"I deserve better than this. Yes, I do," he thought to himself.
A plethora of emotions flushed over his soul. First, it was anger at the perpetrators of this dastardly plot. Then sadness came before self-pity, then a deep sense of sympathy over his seemingly bleak future. There was also a nagging presence of letdown at himself for such an outcome.
"I was a fine soldier, quite professional. How did I find myself in this mess? What now, what next, what's out there for me?" He questioned himself painfully as his lips moved, almost vocalizing the words.
Ron Crosswell, 26 years old, stood tall at 6 feet 1 inch. He was a commanding figure in his Navy SEAL uniform. His slender, athletic build spoke of years of rigorous training. A pair of striking green eyes accentuated his strong jawline and handsome features. As Ron walked out of the courtroom, his head hung low. He couldn't help but replay the events in his mind, trying to make sense of what had gone wrong. The confusion and agony on his face were tangible. This new reality was a stark contrast to the pride and determination he had carried with him throughout his military career. His future was uncertain, and he knew he would have to find a new path in life. Whatever that would be must be inferior to this one. He looked at the decorations on his outfit.
Ron's reputation in the SEALs was impeccable. His competence and smartness were legendary. He had earned the respect of his comrades through many tough missions and outright feats of bravery. But he was also known for something else - an unwavering adherence to his conscience. The last attitude was what landed him in the present trouble. If he were capable of looking the other way when things went wrong, then he would still be fine. His dignity and tendency to always stand up for the downtrodden got in the way of his illustrious career. With some vehemence, he corrected himself and blamed the corrupt system instead. The joke was on the shameless officers who had pulled the strings against him. He cast a look of disdain at them as three of them gathered in a corner, discussing pleasurably.
In the locker room, Ron carefully cleared out his personal effects, one item at a time. His movements were deliberate and controlled, frequently stalled by deep thoughts about his sorry state. However, he had always been meticulous, a trait that made him one of the best in the Navy SEALs. Colleagues who had trained and fought alongside him gathered around. They tried to console him, mostly non-verbally, as they offered heartfelt hugs and emotional farewells.
It was apparent that Ron's departure was already leaving a void not only in their ranks but in their hearts. He was respected not just for his skills but for his integrity and his refusal to compromise his principles, even in the most challenging of situations. With each farewell, Ron's slender frame seemed to carry the weight of the world. As he left the locker room, his green eyes betrayed sadness and determination. They transmitted a readiness to face a new chapter in his life. Luckily, he would be able to stand by the oppressed.
*************************
Ron Cresswell woke from his prolonged nap. The nagging headache to the back of his head had subsided.
"Five twenty-three pm," he almost whispered to himself as he read out the displayed time from his military-colored wristwatch.
"Attaboy!" Grandpa Danny hailed as he took a break from puffing the smoke from his pipe. "My highly proficient special forces grandson."
"Oh no, not again," he uttered dejectedly at the septuagenarian. "Come on, Pa, let me breathe here."
"Son, there's no need to be disturbed. They thought they disgraced and dismissed you." He adjusted himself on his rocking chair to face him. "No, fate got its way with you."
"There you go about these incessant lectures about destiny all over again. I see why I dislike coming to stay with you." Ron was smiling now.
"That's a blatant lie, my boy. You lie so well through your teeth. It's apparent the military trained you quite well." The older man's eyes locked with his, and they broke into more rounds of laughter.
"Sincerely, I don't know what lies ahead for me," Ron confessed with a solemn tone. "I get so scared and worried, waking up at night to think myself away."
"Relax, son, time heals all wounds. Time makes everything. I mean everything. Nothing escapes its grasp." He said reassuringly, placing a hand on his thigh. "Trust me on this."
"I just hope you are right. It seems like I'm at the bottom of a pit, disconnected from the world and reality."
"You need some momentary distractions." Grandpa Danny directed the smoke to his face this time, but the whitish substance dissipated on its way. "I will help you get a job at "Your Safe Haven Mall" and maybe hook you up with a sweet young lady."
They broke into intense laughter, majorly due to the last part of his statement. Grandpa Danny was Ron's maternal grandfather. They shared an unusual bond, and the young man turned to him at crossroads and difficult times. He was almost never disappointed. It was the septuagenarian who mentored Ron on how to hunt and use various firearms at fifteen.