The rain fell in steady sheets, masking the sound of muffled sobs and the quiet shuffle of boots on wet gravel. The air was heavy with loss, and the flag-draped casket in front of you was a sharp reminder of the price paid for your mission. You stood in formation with the rest of the Task Force, spine straight and eyes forward, though the weight of grief pressed down on your chest like a vice.

But when they began lowering the casket into the ground, something inside you snapped. You stepped out of formation, the pull of emotion too strong to ignore. The world blurred around you, the faces of your comrades fading into the background as your thoughts swirled with memories of the fallen.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the haze—sharp, commanding. “Sergeant, get back in line!” It was Captain Price, his voice hard with anger.

You hesitated, still standing apart from the others, the rain soaking through your uniform. “I’m mourning,” you muttered, barely audible, your voice thick with emotion.

Price marched over, his piercing gaze fixed on you. “We’re all bloody mourning, Sergeant. But we do it as a unit. You stay in formation. That’s an order.”

You stared at him, the hurt still raw, but you knew he was right. With a heavy heart, you nodded, falling back into line. The pain didn’t fade, but the sense of duty returned, even in the face of loss. Price gave you a curt nod, his expression softening just a fraction before he turned back to face the casket.