My Father Tried to Brand Me a Traitor — Until the Unit He Feared Most Entered the Hall….
The auditorium was packed, the air thick with that specific self- congratulatory military pomp. I stood in my full dress uniform, my face set in a mask of polite boredom. Then the shouting started from the back.
Freeze. Hands up now. Captain Jensen on the ground.
I didn’t even flinch. I just felt tired. Two military police, weapons unholstered, were storming the aisle.
The entire room gasped. A single sharp intake of breath. I slowly raised my hands.
The camera in my mind panned to the stage. There he was, my father, Colonel Rhett. Robert Jensen, a man who saw his legacy as the only thing that mattered.
He was clutching his lifetime achievement plaque, and he was grinning. It was a grin of pure grim satisfaction. He mouthed the words right at me, clear across the distance.
I reported you. The MPs were pulling my arms back, the cold metal of the cuffs biting into my wrists. Just as they clicked shut, the main auditorium doors slammed open, echoing like a gunshot.
A voice thundered, “As you were. ” A general flanked by two men in dark suits, C strode in. He didn’t look at the MPs.
He looked at me, then at my father on the stage. His eyes were pure ice. My father thought he was witnessing my downfall.
A righteous patriot exposing a traitor. He had no idea he was the true target. To understand how a decorated colonel ended up being detained at his own awards ceremony, you have to understand the two lives I was living.
It all started a week earlier at a tense family dinner. He was at the head of the table polishing that very same plaque, the bronze gleaming under the dining room light. He was boasting about the upcoming ceremony, about his life of service.
And you will be there, Anna, he commanded in uniform for once. Show some respect. I just nodded.
But my brother, Mark, the family’s golden boy, Major, just smirked. My father turned to him. At least your brother made major.
Then back to me. 8 years in, still just a captain. What is it you even do in that intelligence unit?
file reports, make coffee for the real soldiers. I stayed quiet, the familiar coldness setting in. It was the same dismissal I’d faced my whole life.
The B in physics while Mark C in history was leadership potential. The boring coding camp I’d loved while his football injuries got all the attention. But this time, his dismissal had a new edge.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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