CHAPTER 8: What Respect Costs

Frank ate slowly.

The food was cold, but he did not complain. Marcus sat across from him. Two other soldiers joined after Frank waved them down. Lieutenant Miles stood at the end of the table.

“Sit,” Frank said without looking up.

Miles hesitated.

“I said sit, Lieutenant. Don’t make me repeat myself. I’m old.”

That time the laughter was warmer.

Miles sat.

For several minutes, nobody spoke about the medal. Frank appreciated that. Finally Marcus asked, “Sir, why did you come today?”

Frank chewed, swallowed, and looked around the dining facility.

“Anniversary,” he said.

No one asked of what.

He told them anyway.

“Fifty years ago today, I lost six men before breakfast. Army fed us powdered eggs afterward. I hated those eggs.” He looked down at his tray. “Been thinking about them all week.”

The young soldiers went still.

Frank’s voice remained steady. “Funny what stays with you. Not the speeches. Not the ceremony. Sometimes it’s cold eggs and boys trying to joke while they’re shaking.”

Miles lowered his head.

Marcus looked at the old man and understood that respect was not a mood. It was attention. It was making room for the pain behind the story.

Frank took a sip of coffee and grimaced.

“This coffee’s terrible.”

Marcus smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Frank looked at him. “Good. Army hasn’t changed everything.”

The room breathed again.