Disclaimer: I do not own Rat Patrol or profit from writing.
Author's Note: This is for Memorial Day. I hope you like it! Mention of passing of characters, but no explicit details. Don't worry, tullyfan, they passed away from natural causes.
The old man took down the box from the shelf. He carefully wiped the dust from the top. He slowly opened the lid. It creaked from years of just laying there. On top lay another small wooden box covered with a piece of white cloth. Inside were two medals: the Bronze Star Medal and the Commendation Medal. The old man vividly remembered when the Sarge had given it to him.
"Take it," he had said. "I want you to have it. I have no one else to give it to. You were just as brave as anybody. You were always there for me. Whenever I needed advice, you were there. Do what you think is best with them." The next day, he had received word the Sarge had passed away. Natural cause they had said. He had flown down to see him one last time. He was glad the Sarge was out of his pain, but it still hurt. A small part of him had died with him. He wouldn't be the same. None of them would. He and the others went to the funeral. A reunion that was bittersweet. The Sarge was called "a hero." He never thought of himself as one. He had told that to all of them the day he had received the Bronze Star. He had been confused. "What about all those who died? I lived. Why do I get a medal simply for being lucky I didn't die?"
Underneath the box was a book. A book on the desert and its tribes by one Dr. Jack Moffitt. The old man smiled. He had received the first copy. "Here," he had been told, "this is for you. Thank you for all those conversations." Even in his old age, he'd never slowed down. Still taught and gave lectures. He was a much sought after speaker. He had been the second.
His hand hit against something pink. He pulled it out. Rock-hard bubblegum appeared. It had been in his pocket when he had gotten shot. The bubblegum had stopped the bullet from burrowing itself too deep. "A miracle," the doctors had said. He had kept the whole package of bubblegum as a reminder. How close he had come to losing his life. How something so simple could save his life.
Next to the bubblegum, stood a champagne bottle. Someone had sent it to him. It had been sent from Germany. Inside the empty bottle was a paper with the words: I heard. I'm sorry. That was all. Two years later, the sender died.
He looked at all these items. A tear made its way down. He got and poured four shots. Four toasts for four brave men. Men the world might forget, but whose impact could not be undone.
He was the last of them. He would make sure their sacrifices would not be gone unnoticed.
