The Field Marshal pondered his options upon return, crossing his fingers that he would indeed return this time - he had been shaken by the last hair-breadth escape from death´s brink. He had returned barely alive from many missions that had been considered foolhardy, even suicidal , but it was different now. The urge to feel the rush of combat that had driven him since he could remember was now competing with an image of himself sitting on a porch with a glass of whisky, a loving wife and perhaps even grandchildren by his side.
He shook away the comforting reverie and straightened himself. If he was to see his home again, he knew he had to focus on the immediate situation and not loose himself to daydreaming. To occupy his mind, he visualized a number of tactical scenarios they might face on the way back. He wanted to be thorougly prepared for what seemed like a perilous last lap..
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