The Reward

December 1945, Vancouver Canada. The year the second world war ended. It’s been three months since the six years of absolute horror, but it was over now and the few lucky soldiers that barely survived, can now celebrate peacefully. I pushed George, my best friend who was put in a wheelchair by the Nazis, through the delicate blanket of pearl white snow. We were making our way to the Military Award Ceremony of World War Two. The icy wind bit at our skin and mist puffed out with every exhale. I remembered the days of innocent childhood, when us boys would pretend we were mighty dragons, and would exhale heavily, making it look like fire was endlessly pouring out of our milk teeth mouths. Those days were are only a distant memory, clouded by the roar of machine guns and the blood curdling sound of explosions. I stopped at a cushioned seat labelled Jeremiah Robin and an empty place labelled George Ballad. I pushed George’s wheelchair into his spot and sat down. I sat amongst men that had casts on their arms, or a missing leg or sadly suffered from PTSD. General Blackhart stood in front of the oak lectern and gently tapped the microphone to see if it was working. He let out a deep sigh and began “We are gathered here today...”  

The Medals of Valor were awarded, and George received a silver. Further awards from The Member of Orders to the Sacrifice Medal were given out to the brave and honorable soldiers. “Congratulations to all the soldiers who fully deserved these awards. We all appreciate your dedication and bravery for this country.” A round of applause and cheers of joyful men circled around the crowd. This was the first time I had seen a proper smile on these men’s faces.  I fiddled with the cuff links of my khaki blazer, I hadn't received anything yet, and I was starting to doubt myself.  “And now, the award that is very rarely given out, the award that is the highest and most prestigious award of the British honors system, it is awarded for valor in the presence of the enemy. The Victorian Cross. This man has shown complete and utter courage and bravery throughout the hard and torturous six years of this war. The young man who will walk away proudly with this pinned on his blazer is...” every soldier was on the edge of their seats, their breath caught in their tightened throats. Everyone's heartrate skyrocketed and a thick silence buzzed in the frozen air.  Blackhart’s deep, rusty voice shot throw the air like an arrow “Jeremiah Robin!”

My heart turned to stone and my stomach did a full 360 flip. The butterflies in my stomach made me nauseous and my hands instantly started to shake. “Be a man Jer, be a man” I whispered to myself. The men screamed so loud I couldn’t even hear the General say congratulations. I began to walk to the stage; my crew thumped my muscular back and gave me hard high fives. My lips split open and my pearly whites shone like there was no tomorrow and my newly polished shoes clicked against the wooden stairs. Blackhart had a surprisingly warm smile on his face as he gripped my right hand to shake it. I looked at his chest and saw the multiple awards of honour and valor pinned to his uniform he proudly wore, I hoped to turn out like him, to be able to bring out my uniform to my future children and display my shiny pins to them, to be a hero. This moment gave me hope that I would be the hero everyone longed to be. I held the bronze cross in my sweaty palms and made my way to my seat, occasionally stopping to give my friends a hug or another high five. I sat down again trying to breath normally, George rested his hand on my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but let a tear of happiness run down my rosy cheek.