Here is a small OS. This happens a few days after "Without Reservations".

It is very soft.

I apologize for the mistakes of language, come usual, I'm French, but give me a chance.

Happy reading

In the days of despair you can grow hard

Till you close your mind and empty your heart

If you find yourself staring in the abyss

Hold tight to your loved ones and remember this

This shield will protect your sacred heart

This sword will defend from what comes in the dark

Should you grow weary on the battlefield

Do not despair our love is real

He contemplated the full moon in front of him.

Up on the terrace, the shoulder against a pillar, he smoked a cigar lost in his thoughts.

The night was soft. Stars shone as thousands of small fireflies. A fine breeze was felt occasionally stroking his face with a refreshing

It would have been able to be a magnificent night and he would have been able to appreciate it.

The house was quiet. The team has long been asleep. It is probably what he should also have made but for some time his sleep was not simply restful.

Images haunt him. Images that result in others. Images reflecting death.

He sighed trying hard to block his feelings.

He was a leader and did not allow to show his weaknesses.

Even these days. Especially these last days.

It was not man's kind to question itself. His plans may not always be as he had expected at the beginning but the end result remained essentially unfolded.

But for an unknown reason, today, as all other days since the accident, It could not be removed from the head the question that everyone asks at least once in his life and we usually filled with remorse, guilt, anger, sadness. . . which can even make a person crazy to ask too much, viz. . . What if?

And if he had not urged the General to have days off?

And if his plan would not work? Correction, its plans?

And if they would not have arrived in time at the hospital?

And if he had not made the mission of the bank of Hanoi?

And if he had not agreed to work for Scotwell?

And if, and if, and if...

The night, beautiful as it was, was in fact only a big swindle. She laughed at him. She attracted him in this game of spirit. And he was allowed invade by his own hatred.

The day, he was the team leader. The Colonel strong and deserving of his men. He took care of them all as he headed for almost two decades now. Most of the time the smile on the lips, because everything was well in the best of the worlds. It is what he forced to believe and persuaded the others.

But his walls collapsed as soon as the night came and as soon as he ended up alone. Alone with himself.

And it is only there that he could release the pressure. He did not hide any more. He had nothing more to prove.

He began shivering during a low gust of wind and raised the higher head towards stars by sighing.

And if he had lost him this day?

He closed eyes by trying hard to remove the image of his Lieutenant lying on the hard and cold ground of a kitchen, filled with sweat, the ghostly color skin, shallow breathing and the blood. Too much blood.

He reopened eyes and took a trembling inspiration while lowering the head to look again at the brilliant moon among the darkness in which he was.

And in spite of the fact that the object of its concerns was comfortably in its bed, the cure of its wound on good way, John "Hannibal Smith" made something that he had not done well for years.

He began crying silently.

Each of tears telling his story. The story of a man prisoner for ever with its memories.

He began crying for all the soldiers died in the fight, for the pain imposed on his men in the prison camp, for the betrayal of his own country, for those years lost to flee, for all the suffering they have faced.

He wept because he had almost lost. Losing only reason to continue to fight.

Because that night in the van on the way to the hospital, his second in command had died in his arms.

He did not stop crying. Tears flowed freely down her face. Tears too often repressed.

Tears which this evening he could not hold any more.

Because finally, his son was alive.

He had not lost his son and he was happy for it.

This is your sword, this is your shield

This is the power of love revealed

Carry it with you wherever you go

And give all the love that you have in your soul

The lyrics at the beginning and the end are taken from a song by "Bruce Springsteen" Reviews please !