A little something for November 11. With a bit of Selaxes 'Red Tails and Wilde Sky' reference tossed in.
Little Stuart was looking though one of the family albums, a massive volume for such a small kit, and found a very old photo of several of his ancestors, must have been prehistoric with such old fashion clothes. And one of them was in a funny suit, sort of like the cavalry suits in the westerns on TV.
"Dad, who is that?"
"Oh my. That is your great great uncle Virgil." Dad looked at the old portrait, a cluster of Hopps of that generation, and in the mix the already elder bunny in his old uniform coat, already a half century on from the war that went with it. "He was a soldier way back when."
"Really? I didn't know any bunny could be a soldier."
"Oh yes. During the big war, a lot of bunnies joined the military. Not all became soldiers or actually fought, but there were a few. And it was another Virgil, your Grand Pop's Brother, who became a big hero back then."
The elder bunny found and opened another album and found a photo. And there was a picture of Grand Pop as a young buck with a similar bunny, though in a soldier suit. There a bunch of medals on his suit, but what caught Little Stuart's eye was his mutilated ears. "Oh! Dad! Did he get hurt in the war?" Pointing at that detail.
"I'm afraid he did." And Little Stuart noticed the sad voice, like when Teri didn't come back from the Hospital. That made him a little sad too, and he hugged his Dad.
"Why did he go out and get hurt?"
"To stop some very bad beasts from hurting a lot of other mammals. They wanted to hurt just about everyone, even us here. So he went and stopped them, but got hurt a bit while doing it."
"Did you want to be a soldier?"
"Well, I was lucky, not much of any war to fight when I was younger, and someone has to say home and grow the food for everyone."
Little Stuart nodded sagely at that. "I can grow food too, or be a soldier."
"With a little luck, you'll never have to worry about having to make that choice."
0000
Stuart still remembered that all those years later when his own Virgil told him of his plans.
"You really want to be a ZDF officer?"
"Sure Dad. Judy is off at school, studying to become a cop. And if I want to go to the academy, I've got to start working for it now in high school." He gave his worried old bunny a hopeful look. 'Besides, I'm the Virgil of this generation."
Stu cringed at that. The Hopps tradition of recycling names through the generations was coming to bite him. Judy's namesake was a bit of a spitfire herself, and even he was named after one of the founders of the farm. But he had been reluctant to attach the name that seemed to go with soldiering to any of his own offspring. Not like there was a war on or anything that suggested he would be put in obvious harms way.
"It can be a tough life, even in peacetime. And you'll likely be stationed way off somewhere." And that was his concern of the moment. It seemed like any one of his kits who left the 'Burrow took a bit of his heart with them. Even while he took pride in the character and accomplishments of all his issue, part of him lamented that they were grown and gone, not his little kits anymore.
"The price we pay for our continued freedom and security." Said not too pompously.
Stu made a face. "Sure, hit me in my patriotism and civic duty why don't you." He put a fatherly paw on his son's shoulder. "I have to admit I'd be worried for you, but if this is what you really want..." He let out a sad sigh, another kit slipping away.
"I know, Dad." And gave him a hug.
0000
The Eleventh of November was always a crapshoot for the weather, though this year it was clear and dry, cold, but not miserable.
Virgil was home on in-transit leave and there was an air of added solemnity to match the date. He was going off to a foreign trouble spot, part of a peacekeeping force. No great battle to save civilization itself, but to protect a small and obscure population in a far off land from fratricidal madness.
There would be some fuss, flags and speeches at the Veteran's cemetery later that day. But Virgil was up early, not to be a part of that ostentation, but off in the corner of the Hopps land where generations now lay.
Like many, he had avoided that place, other than to attend another dreaded addition, and felt a twinge of guilt in that. He and his were not ones to dwell on the past loss too much, but again, were loath to too easily forget.
Most of the markers were simple things, a squared off stone, inscribed with some memory. A couple were more elaborate. Then there was the row of white marble things. Simple pieces provided by the Veteran's Bureau for all who served, in a design unchanged for more than a century. The Hopps had always insisted that theirs would always come home. Thankfully, most where for those who had passed in the fullness of years. So far, the name Virgil had been repeated only on that type. But there were other names that had abbreviated dates and place names, familiar or obscure.
At times like that, he couldn't help but think of the old CSN&Y song that he both loved and dreaded, 'find the cost...'
After a while he headed back towards the house, and found his father coming out to greet him.
Stuart Hopps was not all that old, a hearty middle age buck, a bit thick in the middle and robust in limbs from a life of honest hard work. But in the moment, Virgil could also see a weary mammal who had been out to the plot too many times for more than just a visit.
"Hi, Dad." Offered a hug.
Stu said nothing but gave his son a desperately strong embrace.
"Dad. You know I can't promise anything."
"But do your best."
"To do my duty..."
They both smiled a bit at the old Ranger Scout pledge.
"You'd better give your Mother some loving before you go."
"When have I ever not."
0000
It was at the diner where Stu sometimes dropped in for a cuppa and some chatter with his neighbors. A little idle talk. What to plant this year. Speculation on crop futures. Then he heard some angry noise across the room.
"And now they're wasting our taxes on these foreign interventions. Who cares about some beasts half way 'round the world?"
Glob, it was Calvin, always complaining about anything and everything. He'd actually gone on a tear once about how the sheriff had spent his bitterly surrendered taxes on a replacement head light for his cruiser.
Stu rolled his eyes and got up. "So, Calvin. You don't have a problem with mothers and kits getting murdered, as long as it's somewhere else?"
"I never said that!" The scrawny Hare shot back.
"That's what you implied. My Boy is over there right now, and that's exactly what he's been trying to stop." Stu had been getting regular updates and what Virgil had been describing had been heartbreaking.
"Fah! Just stories, propaganda to keep us supporting that boondoggle."
Stu tried his best to remain calm, but his ears snapped back in anger. "So. You're calling Virgil a liar too?"
The clueless Hare was unimpressed. "Folks will say anything to justify their position. What else could he say?"
The atmosphere in the diner suddenly became electric with tension.
Stu stood stock still for a moment, then sighed. "Calvin, I've known you long enough to know that trying to beat some sense into you just wouldn't work. Besides, it would give you the opportunity to make a new career out of siccing the law on me for the next octade or two."
Stu turned to leave and felt a paw grab his shoulder. "You can't talk to me like that, Hopps!"
The shorter rabbit spun around and grabbed the taller hare by the front of his shirt and hoisted him bodily over his head. "You know, even touching me like that could be construed as a physical assault, and I'd be within my rights to kick your mangy tail across the county, purely in self-defense, you understand. So why don't you scrape together just a tad bit of common sense and watch your muzzle about my and mine. Understand?"
Stu set him back down and Calvin did have enough sense to not try anything. Moreover, the Hare could see he had no support there, with everyone giving him various flavors of the stink eye. He left without a word.
Stu sat back down, waving off some supportive, even congratulatory comments. "No. That was some bad business all the way around. I know he's an idiot so his rants shouldn't have gotten a rise out of me to begin with." He stared into his cup, and he recalled all too well some of the daily horrors his son had recounted.
"How IS your boy doing?" Jackie asked.
Stu glanced over to his friend with a bit of a grimace. "He's surviving. But like I said, it really is a matter of saving mothers and kits from murder. Its like everyone has gone mad. Political parties, classes, tribes, even families, are all at each other's throats."
Stu rubbed his face. "Early on, I was so worried about him and what he was doing with his life, more as a father, selfish for keeping his kit close. But now." He looked out over his friends and neighbors who now hung on his every word. "I still worry about his safety, but I'm also so proud that he's made the choice to do those noble things that we'd like to think we'd do, but never get that test."
There were knowing nods to that.
Stu sat there with a small sad smile. He was proud of his son, that he had made such a choice. And it reminded and reinforced the pride he held for his daughter off in the big city. Maybe he'd done some small thing to make the world a better place with such kits after all.