The Calling

General Ben Carville along with James, accompanied by Agent fox, Secretary Quinn and his men walks through the halls inside pentagon. The inside was astonishingly bigger than how it looks outside, its packed with many officers and soldiers doing there duty throughout the day.

"I don't remember how Pentagon got bigger in the inside, is it their new innovations developed after several years?" James awed but ponders how possible this is to happen of how spacious it is in the inside compare the outside.

"But honestly, Im impressed how spacious it becomes after these years." James was impressed about the results of the innovations that comes through.

"Well, it was the major innovation that happened for years. The U.S, Euro Alliance and Pacific front's brightest mind made a breakthrough that solves the spacing problems on our facilities, and they might implement it for alot of purpose but thanks to their work, our efficiency were much better and it bolster us with bigger space, thanks to it we never worry about adding new department and giving our soldiers their own barracks that gives them permanent residency." General ben applaud the marvel of Allied technology that solves their problem about spacing problems inside of their building.

They continue to walk past alot of rooms filled with people working on their departments, scientist experimenting on their own labs, and soldiers inside cafeteria. It has the feeling of uncanny atmosphere but its impressive nonetheless. Then they have reach their destination, the Office of the General.

"Sir, I may take my leave from now, take care Sir James and Sir Ben" as they reached the room, Agent fox take his leave from now. Leaving James, Ben and Quinn to the room.

The three begun to walk inside the room and Quinn closes the door then moves to her desk to do her work. General ben take his seat on his desk and James takes the chair and sits towards in front of him.

"James, I know that you never want to get involved in the army but right now we are currently thin on personnel, especially commanding officers, we have many soldiers but we lack COs which those people will be the one who will take the risk, the brightest ones who will employ tactics at the best rate and the one who will do their best to complete the mission. As far as I know Kid, you possess the three of it. "

General ben sitted on his chair talks with James, He knows he doesn't want to linger in the military anymore but he explains why Allied HQ needs him, his attributes and abilities to command people are very high, that anyone in the Allied nations government wants him to join in their ranks.

"Im not sure about it anymore Sir, I tried to leave that behind and to never again joins the army. Im done sir, I know they need me but, Im out I don't want to include myself anymore in this mess." James politely responds while his head tilts towards the ground as he sits to General ben that he's not interested to join the army anymore, despite his achievements and characteristics he wants to never to be included in the Allies mess.

James Rutherford sat rigidly in the plush, oversized chair, the kind that swallowed most people but only seemed to highlight the lean strength still evident in his frame.

Across the polished mahogany desk, General Ben Carville, a man whose face was a roadmap of campaigns and command decisions, leaned forward, his expression a practiced blend of concern and unwavering resolve. The scent of old paper and stale coffee hung in the air of the general's office, a familiar comfort that now felt suffocating.

"James, we've been over this," Ben's voice was a low rumble, persuasive yet firm. "Your record speaks for itself. The men… they respect you. They need you."

James stared at the framed commendations on the wall behind Ben, medals he'd once coveted and now barely registered. "With all due respect, General, my time is done. I'm out." His voice was flat, devoid of the fire Ben remembered so well.

Ben sighed, running a hand over his cheeks towards his beard. "Is this about the incident, James? Because we've assured you, your actions were by the book. It was a tragic loss, but it wasn't your fault."

James's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the general's shoulder.

"Look, I understand it was difficult," Ben continued, his voice softening, "but we all lose good men. It's the cost of doing our duty. You know that."

"I know it better than most," James finally spoke, his voice laced with a bitterness that surprised even himself.

Ben paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of an idea passing through them. He leaned back in his chair, a deliberate shift in posture. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost a whisper.

"You know, I had a conversation with Marcus's parents last week." The name hung in the air, a silent explosion in the quiet office.

James's rigid posture faltered. His eyes, which had been so carefully blank, now held a raw, undeniable pain. Marcus. His best friend. Dead on a dusty, foreign road, under a sky that had been too bright and a command that had been too flawed.

"They're proud of him, James. Incredibly proud," Ben continued, his gaze unwavering, pinning James in his seat. "They remember how much he looked up to you. How he talked about you, the way you always had his back."

James finally met Ben's eyes, and in their depths, the guilt was a gaping wound. He could still hear Marcus's laughter, see the easy grin that had vanished in a flash of heat and shrapnel.

He could still feel the weight of the report in his hands, the one that detailed the "tactical error" – his error. The order had come from him, the final, decisive call that had sent Marcus and his squad into that ambush.

"He died because of my order," James said, his voice barely audible, a ragged admission torn from his soul.

Ben's expression remained somber, but there was a glint of something else there now – a calculated hope. "He died serving his country, James. Just like we all signed up to do. And he died with you leading him.

He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Don't you think he'd want you to keep fighting the good fight?"

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken accusations and the phantom echoes of a loyalty that had cost everything. James closed his eyes, the image of Marcus's face, vibrant and alive, burning behind his eyelids.

The weight of his absence was a physical burden, one that seemed to settle heavier with every word Ben spoke.

The general waited, letting the name, the memories, and the crushing guilt do their work. He knew he'd found the crack in James Rutherford's armor. The question was, would it be enough to break him, or to bring him back?

"Then I'll do it, sir. For my country, for the people I'm sworn to protect. But on one condition: when my work is done, I walk away for good."

James's voice was still a low rumble, but it carried a new, resolute edge, a steel he hadn't shown moments before. Across the desk, General Ben Carville's face broke into a wide grin, the lines around his eyes crinkling with relief. The flicker of hope he'd held onto now blazed bright.

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. The condition would be a dogfight with HQ, no doubt, but one he'd gladly take on, especially with James back in the fold.

"Then it's damn good to have you back, Commander James." Ben pushed himself up, his chair scraping softly against the polished floor. James, still feeling the lingering weight of his decision, slowly rose. They met in the space between the desk and the door, their hands clasping firmly, a silent, weighty agreement passing between them.

Just then, a loud, undeniable growl echoed through the quiet office. Jame's hand flew to his stomach, and Ben let out a booming laugh. He glanced down at James's shirt, noticing the stains and how his clothes were dirty.

"Well, kid, sounds like your stomach's leading the charge today, eh?" Ben chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I'll have Quinn, my assistant, guide you. Here's your old locker key, and there's a private room you can use later. Let's touch base again at 1300. For now, take care of yourself, James."

Ben pressed a small, worn key into James's palm. With a final, reassuring pat on the shoulder, he watched as James, still looking a little unsteady, followed Quinn out of the office.

James walked with a slight slump, one hand instinctively pressed against his rumbling stomach. Beside him, Quinn moved with a confident, almost rhythmic stride, a small notepad clutched in her hand. Her presence was a striking contrast to his weary state; her long brown hair swayed gently with each step, and her self-assured gait drew the eyes of several passing officers.

"Hey James, long time no see, Falcon!" Quinn greeted him with an almost childlike warmth, using his old army nickname.

James offered a weak, tired smile.

"Hi Quinn. Looks like the years have been very kind to you. Honestly, you're even more stunning, and you walk with so much confidence now. I still remember how shy you used to be. Good to see you again."

He thought of the petite, bespectacled girl she used to be, a stark difference from the poised woman beside him.

Quinn's smile widened at the compliment, a genuine happiness radiating from her. "You're back again, James, same old story, hehe. But seriously, the top brass have been champing at the bit for your return."

She glanced at him, her eyes bright. "It's great you rejoined. We desperately need more people capable of leading our forces, and our allies."

"Nonetheless, I'm happy to see you, James." As they reached the cafeteria, Quinn winked. "I'll send the uniform to your room—Corridor 5-C. See you later, James, bye!" With that, she left him with instructions for the private room.

James stepped into the cafeteria. It was far more spacious inside than it appeared from the outside, but he didn't mind. The area buzzed with officers and soldiers enjoying their meals. James made his way to the counter, which offered a wide array of food. He settled for a plate of Bolognese spaghetti and two slices of cheese pizza.

Finding an empty table, he sat down to eat. Once finished, he returned his tray to the designated section of the counter and headed directly for his assigned room.

Meanwhile, In Moscow

In Moscow, at 1105 hours, the Kremlin High Command was intensely focused on preparations for the inevitable conflict. Outside the headquarters, towering buildings, factories, and barracks exuded an aura of menace and absolute might. Heavily armed soldiers patrolled, vehicles roared with fury, showcasing a wide array of arsenal, and the hum of their aircraft split the sky, a sound of impending death.

Within the halls of the High Command, a blonde man strode with pride. His uniform, adorned with a few medals, spoke of his excellence. Each of his epaulets bore a single yellow star, and his visor hat featured a prominent star at its center.

Accompanied by conscripts, he proceeded to the war room. He pushed open the door and entered, where his superiors awaited him. They were seated around a long mahogany table, with a massive window behind them casting them in shadow, their faces obscured by the light. He stopped before them, stood at full attention, and saluted, introducing himself with a clear, firm voice.

"Товарищи генералы, я Максим Орлов. Мне поручено командовать Красной армией в день расплаты. Я готов служить. (Comrades Generals, I am Maxim Orlov. I have been assigned to command the Red Army on the day of reckoning. I am ready to serve)."

His superiors nodded slowly, observing Orlov intently. One of them replied, "Орлов. Да, мы вас ждали. Ваша репутация опережает вас, молодой человек. (Orlov. Yes, we were expecting you. Your reputation precedes you, young man.)"

Maxim maintained his serious yet respectful demeanor. "Спасибо, товарищи генералы. Для меня большая честь служить матушке-России. Я с нетерпением жду своего вклада в достижение наших целей. (Thank you, Comrades Generals. It is an honor to serve Mother Russia. I look forward to contributing to our objectives.)"

His superiors collectively acknowledged his potential with a slight, almost imperceptible smile. Another superior responded, "Посмотрим, Орлов. Посмотрим. (We shall see, Orlov. We shall see.)"

Hearing his superiors' approval, Maxim gave a crisp, concise bow of the head. "Благодарю вас, товарищи генералы. (I thank you, Comrades Generals.)"

Afterward, he left the building and made his way to his own base, beginning his preparations for a war that was destined to happen.

An impending event was bound to unfold—a looming, disastrous outcome that promised widespread destruction and death. An unending war on all fronts, an omen of shadows.