When I left home to go to war, I had this feeling. A feeling that stuck with me for all those long, agonizing months of trying to save myself and my people. I’m still not sure what it is.
“Good luck to our army and navy. They will serve our kingdom well,” announced Prince Anthony at the ceremony. You know, the one that celebrated the military’s leave into the battlefield. I gave him a bow and turned to the crowd. “I, Meighan Schroeder, want to thank my mother, father, and brothers for their support in getting me here. On this stage, telling you all I might die in battle.” I said into a microphone. Some laughed and others just looked at me blankly. Then a boy, a tad younger than me went to the podium. “I regret this already,” he said, his voice breaking from fear. I gave him no pity. But the look on his face was determined and confident, almost as if he had prepared for this all his life.
We were given an hour to say goodbye to our families and friends. But I went to the cemetery, to my parents’ grave, where my brothers, Nicholas, Peter, and Andrew were waiting. I bowed to them and looked at the tombstone. “This is it, Mom and Dad. I’m going to war. If I happen to die, I will, sure as hell, find you in Heaven.” I said, desperately holding back tears. “Meighan, I have high hopes that you will come home alive,” said Peter, “And if not, we will go insane.” I looked at him and walked away. “Be careful, chica.” Andrew said before I disappeared into the plane.