For Every Soldier, A Child

Pandora Bowe knelt at the grave of a man she did not know.

+ CODE

+ CODE

rating: +20+–x

For Every Soldier, A Child

Pandora Bowe knelt at the grave of a man she did not know. She wept, knowing the one she wanted watched, just out of sight. She laid flowers, stem by stem, allowing the last thorns to prick her finger, blood pooling on her thumb. She made a show of wiping her tears away, the blood smeared under her somehow pristine mascara.

Always performing. Pandora stood, staring at the tombstone. Nothing more than ends to a mean.

"Did… did you know Nathan?"

Pandora turned, acting surprised as she saw her target before her. Like a loquacious and malicious predator, she toyed with them. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to disturb anybody with my visit. I thought that I would be alo—"

"No, please— " The woman before her gasped and let out a sob. She was pleading, begging, desperate for answers. "I just can't believe he's gone. One day he was—"

"You're Nathan's wife?" Pandora waited, patiently.

"Y— yes." Of course she was. "Did you work with Nathan?"

Nathanial Flitterman was a Foundation agent, part of MTF Theta-12, one of the nameless, meaningless divisions that was most likely somehow under Pandora's command. Not that she made a habit out of visiting the graves of the fallen fodder, mind you, but there was something greater at stake here.

I wonder how much she knew. Pandora nodded. "Did he… what did he tell you about his work?"

"That it was dangerous. I knew that I just—"

"It's okay," Pandora mimicked, her voice matching the widow's in tone and timbre. She crossed the little gap remaining between them, holding the woman close. As she did, Pandora rolled her eyes. "I wasn't ready for his passing either. I can't imagine what you must be going through, nor… you had a son together, right?"

As the woman sobbed into Pandora's shoulder, a fact that irritated her, she could barely string together sounds, let alone a coherent sentence.

I'm going to have to dry clean this. What a worthless woman, she is nothing more than an accessory to her dead husband. Even in death, he is still more relevant than she. Of course, there was more to Agent Flitterman than just a nameless pawn in one of countless games; there was something that Pandora had spent far too much money on to let it go to waste. Thus, here she was, standing in the midst of a field of graves she couldn't give a shit about, supporting a weeping widow.

It's pitiful. I don't even visit my own father's grave, to think I came all this way just for a simpering, sobbing timewaster.

Pandora had enough of the woman's seemingly endless tears. It was time to be more actively supportive.

"Mrs. Flitterman, let me take you somewhere warmer. We can talk more there. Is there a cafe, a park or maybe you—"

"My house," Mrs. Flitterman supplied through sniffling. "It's not far."

"Lead the way." Pandora nodded, having already known that to be the case. Without waiting for the widow, she began to guide her towards her house, nodding all the while to the woman's depressed babbling.

The things I do for people. Pandora brushed snot off of her lapel in disgust. What can I say, I am truly generous.

The hovel was run-down, bland and average, the ideal vision of a failed suburban dream. Despite this, Mrs. Flitterman seemed to take pride in her surroundings, each frame on the mantle dusted, as if that made a difference. Pandora had been in many homes just like this, she knew exactly who the Flittermans were.

The imperfect American dream, resolute in the face of economic depression, withering away as our country rots from Washington. She scrambles to hold onto the visage of normalcy, ignorant that the white picket fence peels with each winter. She was waiting on a husband who lied, a man who told her no truths and was as absent as he is now.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed, as Mrs. Flitterman returned, carrying a tray of tea. Pandora had not asked for any. She acquiesced.

"You have a… welcoming house." Pandora smiled gently, sipping on her tea. God, this is bland.

"Thank you. I… it was hard, with Nathan being away so often. I tried my best, but, there are just some things only a man can do, you know?"

"I do." Pandora nodded. Not that I can think of any.

"You said that you worked with my Nathan? Can you… nobody told me anything. One day he was calling, saying good night to Joshua, and the next—" Mrs. Flitterman began to choke up, fighting away another wave of sobs. "They sent him home in a box, miss… I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name."

That's correct. Pandora forced her face to one of sympathy. "My name is General Bowe, and I was Nathan's commanding officer."

"A General came all this way, because of Nathan?" The woman was astounded, rightly so.

It didn't really matter that Pandora lacked the official rank, nor the station to use the title; it was her birthright, one she claimed with pride. Speaking of birthrights…

"He was an incredible man. Doing dangerous work, keeping our country safe from terrorists and threats around the world."

Mrs. Flitterman nodded, as if her greatest xenophobic suspicions were confirmed. "Was it…"

"He died bravely." Pandora pulled on the twisted threads the woman projected, their family tapestry unravelling before her eyes. "He was stopping a bomb, set by… I'm sorry, but the name of the terrorist cell is classified. I hope you can understand, regardless of that, your husband served his country to the very end."

"Thank you for telling me," the widow eked out, staring at the portrait sitting on the mantle. "I had no idea he was doing such important work."

He wasn't. Pandora kept that to herself, amongst many things. He worked at the Foundation, firing bullets at what we told him to, throwing his life in harms way to move the needle slightly to our side. He didn't make a difference, he didn't make a mark, he barely gave me a reason to remember him.

Pandora reminded herself of her mission. But what a salient reason indeed.

She leaned forward in her seat, setting the teacup on the coffee table, upon a coaster. An air of intensity began to brew, as Pandora manipulated the woman's emotions like a puppet on strings. She paused, waiting for Mrs. Flitterman to make the first move.

"What is it?"

And there it is. Pandora looked up at the woman, passion burning behind her eyes, the same fervent feeling she once held for the flag radiating out.

"Mrs. Flitterman, your husband was working with me, directly, on a project of international importance. We were creating a device, a machine that could protect the United States from a threat before the enemy could even launch their weapons." A quarter-truth, at best, but enough to bait the hook.

"I had no idea…" Mrs. Flitterman shook her head, worried. "Why… why are you telling me?"

For as bland as she is, at least she knows to jump when I call.

"I wouldn't, not under any other circumstances but…" Pandora paused, building the tension in the room. "Nathan told me many stories about your son—"

What was his name? Pandora hesitated, trying to recall the uninspired choice that Mrs. Flitterman had said just a few minutes prior.

"Joshua?"

Thank you.

"Yes, he told me so much about Joshua. He cared about your son more than anything else in the world. There is nothing that can compare to a father's love for his son, did you know that?"

"He… he never seemed like—"

"Nonsense," Pandora interrupted, plying the woman further. "I have seen fathers, mothers, countless parents who all love their families. I have seen men and women sacrifice themselves, just so their loved ones back home might live to see another day, and I have watched those same men and women fight until their dying breath because they cannot wait to come home."

Mrs. Flitterman began to cry, and Pandora pushed the advantage.

"But Nathan? Nathan blew all of them away. He was so dedicated, so assured that what he was doing now would protect both of you, give Joshua the life that he deserved… he would have done anything. In fact, he did."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What do you mean?"

This is almost too easy.

"Nathan was at the center of our research, and we had calibrated the device to him. Unfortunately, he passed before we could ensure that the device functioned properly." Pandora put her hand on the other woman's knee, trying her best not to show any distaste for the cheap tights. "They want to cancel the project entirely. I told them that we could rework the machine to another biological signature, but they refused to give me the funding unless I could prove that the device would work as intended."

That should be enough. Pandora sat back in her chair, sighing intentionally, lips tight.

"So… what are you saying? That… that Nathan died before you could—"

"It was terrible. He died fighting to save the rest of his team, he didn't care about the cost. His bravery was incomparable, but…" Pandora nodded, as if the woman had found some profound idea. "Yes, you are right. He died before we could do anything, and now a decade of research is going to go to waste. I've tried to plead the case, but unless we can prove that it works— I'm sorry, I don't need to burden you with my problems, this isn't something you can fix. I apologize, sincerely. It seems that my emotions got the best of me."

Pandora was tired of the charade, no matter how well she might have played it. There was little joy to be found in treading the same boards, tugging the same strings, playing the same hapless citizens like a lyre. Still, she was close to her goal, and knew exactly what was needed to get what she wanted.

So, Pandora waited. Silently. The clock in the hall swung back and forth, noisily passing by the seconds, as Pandora stared at her reflection in the disgusting cup of fluid the woman had called 'tea'. She was ready to leave, when, just as she knew would happen, Mrs. Flitterman lit up.

"Wait!" Mrs. Flitterman grabbed Pandora's hand, excitedly. "You said that it was linked to Nathan's genetics, right? His DNA?"

"It was, which is why—"

"What about Joshua?"

Thank you for making this easy.

"I… yes, that would work, but I wouldn't want to—"

"What would you need from him?" Mrs. Flitterman was in a fervor, staring at the portrait of her dead husband. "If there's something that Joshua can do to honor his father's legacy, a way that we can make it all worthwhile… We have to. For Nathan's sake."

Pandora sat back, waiting an appropriate amount of time that a more sensitive person might to consider the merits of testing a weapon with a child, before nodding.

"I… I think that would work. It wouldn't be much, just a few tests, all conducted over a weekend, four days at most but… Mrs. Flitterman, I… I think you just saved the United States billions of dollars. This is… incredibly selfless of you."

"Let me go get Joshua, I'm sure he'll understand." As the frantic woman scurried away up their stairs, Pandora allowed herself to smile. It didn't take all that long this time, she mused, checking her watch.

Once the mother had proposed the idea to use her own son, in the legacy of his father — a choice Pandora knew that she would make, just as all mothers would — the rest of the afternoon was a formality.

As Pandora walked down the steps to the Flitterman's house, she contacted a nearby Foundation site, and arranged a time for them to come pick up Joshua Flitterman. The boy had been reluctant at first, but when Pandora explained that he would get to play a video game to shoot down terrorists, the boy nodded in excitement, readily obliging.

Of course, there were no terrorists, nor was it a game. Pandora pulled the schematics up on her phone, reviewing the machine — yes, even with a child, it should still work. Once they got it up and running, he would be transferred into a conceptual-digital consciousness, ready to influence the Noosphere directly. While Nathan was the preference, due to his MTF training and loyalty to the cause, Pandora was sure that a few months in the digital purgatory would turn Joshua into quite the pliable thing, ready to come when she called, fighting on her behalf. From there, well — the sky was the limit.

Actually, this may be for the best. A child has not only an imagination, but their minds are more willing to accept the unknown. Joshua…. yes, he may be exactly what I was looking for. If I can change the very thoughts people are having…

Pandora grinned devilishly, putting the phone back into her pocket. As soon as she left their yard, Pandora forgot about Mrs. Flitterman, unimportant, her use having dried up.

Funny. Mrs. Flitterman will soon do the same for Joshua.

Pandora watched the sun crest from behind a cloud, blinding her eyes as she reveled in the warmth. She had done it, taken a loss and turned it back into a victory — just as she had, countless times before.

For each end, a means. For each soldier, a child. All ready, waiting for my command.

Maybe, today was a good day.

« The Bowe Transition | Forgotten Memories // Eventyr | To Be Continued »

‡ Licensing / Citation
_licenseboxbleakeventyrforgotten-memoriesgeneral-bowemilitary-fictiontale
page revision: 3, last edited: 05 Sep 2025 02:33
Edit Rate (+20) Tags Discuss (2) History Files Print Site tools + Options
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License