The battlefield had always been a home for James Brown a place where he always found what he was looking for, a place where when others might run away from the battle in search of glory, he fought for the lives and dignity of those for whom he was responsible. He was defined by the cheers of grateful villagers, the bonds with his brothers-in-arms, the weight of his uniform. But on that day, everything flipped.
It started with a mission gone awry, or so it appeared. In the volatile border town of Zambuka, a routine peacekeeping operation went horribly wrong when a weapons cache was discovered in the area of responsibility of James' platoon. The accusations came fast and furious and were damning: negligence, misconduct and complicity in smuggling arms.
In the court-martial room, James sat crouched against the wall, the harsh glare of the lights washing out his features. His voice, steady and resolute, rang out in defense of his actions, but the odds were stacked against him. Victor Kareem, the general who had engineered this whole charade, gave the performance an almost undetectable smirk from his seat.
"You were entrusted with the lives of civilians and soldiers alike, Captain Brown," Victor said, a note of phony disappointment in his voice. "And yet, you failed. You brought discredit to this institution."
James clenched his fists beneath the table. He knew the truth. The cache was a setup Victor's way to silence him. Weeks earlier, James had discovered classified papers suggesting Victor was engaged in illegal arms deals. He intended to report it, but Victor beat him to it.
The verdict was swift. Dishonorable discharge. No chance to appeal.
James was no longer the proud soldier who had taken the ranks as he stepped out of a military tribunal with the insignia removed. His fellow warriors turned their eyes away, and the throngs with whom he had once celebrated besmirched him when his back was turned.
At his modest apartment, James put his medals and photographs away. Every one a painful reminder of the life he had lost. He was angry, he was despairing, but deep down there was a flicker of resolve.
Weeks stretched into months, and James found himself having a hard time adjusting to civilian life. Job offers weren't exactly plentiful for a disgraced soldier away from his unit, and the burden of public scorn was stifling. He did odd jobs security work, construction anything to put food on the table.
James recalls hearing on the news one rainy evening while working as a bouncer at the club where he used to help run a conspiracy to dehumanize others that there was a peacekeeping mission in place to monitor a minority group in a foreign country. It mentioned rather be grudgingly a young woman, Sarah Johnson, who had publicly heralded an unnamed soldier for having saved her family during a crisis. Her words struck a chord with James, the pale light in the dark.
"Perhaps I haven't lost everything," he muttered to himself, gripping the counter tightly.
Little did James know, his story wasn't finished. What he thought was an end was but the beginning of a journey that would have him revisit his past, battle for his future, and uncover a conspiracy deeper than he could have ever imagined.
The name Sarah Johnson would reenter his life, suffused with the possibility of redemption and more.