The Generals Missile

The chandelier above the Harrington family banquet hall cost more than most people earned in a lifetime, it was a fact I knew well because Old Man Harrington reminded me of it at every opportunity. 

And trust me... Tonight was no different.

"Three million dollars!" he called, swirling his wine glass without so much with his glance in my direction. 

"That chandelier is worth more than you, Ethan Cole." He said with his face rigid like a stone.

Two hundred guests laughed, their mirth not polite, but rather the kind that erupts from watching a vomit getting stepped on. 

I stood at the far end of the long table on a seat reserved for servants and uninvited relatives.

Yep! That's me.

Whilst my wife, Victoria Harrington, sat twelve chairs away, sandwiched between her mother and her brother, Derek Harrington and she didn’t look at me; she hadn’t looked at me for eight long months.

"Father," Derek said, standing with his glass raised high, trust me when I say that nothing good comes out of the braggadocios spoiled brats mouth. 

"I want to make a toast... To three years of patience." His gaze shifted to me, Ha! Me again?

Curiosity washed me, cause has he not done enough?

His smile to me was the kind offered to a stray dog about to be kicked. 

"Three years we have tolerated this... creature in our home... Three years of feeding him, clothing him, housing him. And what has he given us in return?"

He paused for dramatic effect...

"Nothing!" He mocked.

The room exploded into laughter, fists banging on tables, someone whistling in delight. 

Derek approached me with slow, deliberate steps, taller than me by half a head, broader by twenty pounds of gym muscle, and drunker by four glasses of Hennessy so disrespectfully at my front.

"You know what I think?" he said, stopping mere inches from me, the stench of cognac heavy on his breath. 

Like what the heck is his obsession with me?

"I think you should thank us!" He spat. 

"Get on your knees and thank the Harrington family for keeping a worthless dog like you alive."

Ah! Jesus! Poor worthless me... A dog? Damn!

I turned my gaze to my wife Victoria, hoping for a sign, a flicker of support... but she stared resolutely at her plate, fingers trembling around her fork, her silence louder than any words anyone could say out.

"I am your sister's husband," I fired quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

The slap I received came so swiftly that I barely registered his hand moving; my head snapped sideways, the sound cracking through the hall like a gunshot! Pow! 

Silence fell over the crowd, then someone in the back started clapping, a slow, mocking applause.

"Husband?" Derek grabbed my collar, yanking me forward like a worthless dog indeed. 

"You are not her husband! You are a charity case! A stray my mother felt sorry for! You have no money, no family, no name, no future.! The only reason you breathe is because my sister has a soft heart and my father has not yet decided to throw you into the street." He cursed at me like an angry snake.

He shoved me backward, and I slammed against the wall with a painting rattling and a vase toppled, shattering on the marble floor. Yep! I'm finished.

I was going to be punished at this point! Definitely!

"Clean that up!" Madam Harrington called from her seat, not even turning around. 

"That is all you are good for, Ethan... Cleaning up messes, you pile of shit." He insulted me and they all laughed at the weak poor husband.

I knelt down, not out of submission but because three years ago, my mother lay dying in a hospital bed that reeked of bleach and morphine. 

A scent I can never forget.

She had clutched my hand, her fingers like paper, and said, "Promise me, Ethan... Promise me that you will live a normal life... No more blood... No more war my son... Find a wife.. Have a family... Be ordinary."

I promised her, and I kept that promise every single day, even when Derek poured wine over my head at his birthday party, even when Madam Harrington made me sleep in the storage room during winter because "the guest rooms are for real family," even when the family driver spat on my shoes while no one intervened, I tolerated all these stupid people for one promise I cannot break.

I began picking up the shattered pieces of the vase with my bare hands, a shard slicing my palm open, blood trickling down my wrist and dripping onto the white marble and I didn't dare stop.

"Be careful with that," Old Man Harrington warned. 

"That vase is 18th-century Venetian, worth more than your entire bloodline." He slammed.

I wrapped my hand in a napkin and continued cleaning, my heart pounding, my spirit wilting, my ego bruised beyond repair, all I saw were dead people talking!

At that moment, Victoria rose from her chair. 

For a fleeting second, I thought she might come to me, that she might say something, anything... but instead, she said, "I need some air," and walked out of the hall without a backward glance.

Derek laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. 

"Even your wife cannot stand the sight of you."

I finished cleaning the broken vase, wiped the blood from the floor, and walked toward the kitchen, the only place where I could eat my meals in solitude after the family had finished using their scape goat.

I stopped as I passed a mirror in the hallway, the man staring back at me bore a red handprint across his left cheek, a bleeding palm, and wine stains on his white shirt and this man on the mirror was me.

How could this man be me!?

- Three years ago, that same face had graced classified military files across seven countries. 

- Three years ago, generals saluted when that face entered a room. 

- Three years ago, the mere mention of my code name made enemy commanders surrender without firing a single shot.

- Asura! The God of War!

- Supreme Commander of the Northern Military Region. 

- The man who ended the Border Conflict in eleven days. 

- The man who walked into a room of forty armed insurgents and emerged alone, drenched in blood that was not his own. 

But I made a promise, and Ethan Cole keeps his promises.

I ate my dinner alone in the kitchen, cold rice and leftover vegetables with my bleeding hand.

Mrs. Patterson, the maid, was the only person in this household who treated me like a human being, leaving a small bowl of warm soup for me.

"Mr. Ethan," she whispered from the doorway, "your daughter has been crying... She asked for you."

My daughter... Lily, Four years old and the only reason I hadn’t burned this family to the ground.

I went upstairs to her room, where she sat on her bed, hugging a stuffed rabbit missing one ear. 

"Daddy," she said, reaching for me with both arms.

"Uncle Derek said you are a bad man."

"He said you are going away."

I picked her up, holding her close against my chest; she weighed almost nothing, smelling of baby shampoo and the strawberry candy Mrs. Patterson snuck her after dinner.

"I am not going anywhere," I said, my voice steady.

"Promise?" She innocently asked.

"Promise." I replied, my eyes reddened in pain.

She fell asleep in my arms, and I remained in the dark, holding my daughter tightly, listening to the party downstairs... I heard Derek bragging about his new car, Madam Harrington discussing which suitor would replace me as Victoria's husband, and Old Man Harrington on the phone, talking about a business deal that would "finally rid us of that useless son-in-law."

I was their topic! The filth the had to get rid off!

I held Lily tighter, my heart aching.

Did they forget she was part of this family too?

Then my phone buzzed...a text from an unknown number.

"General Cole Sir! - The Northern Command has intercepted a credible threat against a civilian target in your city and the target is a four-year-old girl."

"Your daughter, We await your orders."