"No!"(Kevin Hughes) The General was a brave man. A good man. Yet, he had his duty. Even though he gave orders, he still had to obey orders. He wasn’t the top of the Hierarchy, except for the Military Wing. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t a politician (“...and when," He thought to himself: " did I stop capitalizing the “P” in Politician?”). He had no connections other than a Family History of rising from the Ranks to become a General.

His Great Grandfather evolved from a mere Private to Hero of the Revolution - and became a General. His son became a General in the War to End all Wars…which did not. His son rose from a Corporal and Rifleman, to lead the greatest Tank Regiment ever put up against the Germans in World War II. And now, after the Fiasco in Afghanistan, and the ugliness of Georgia and Chechnya- he himself had achieved the same trajectory.

He put the report down on his desk. Along with the handwritten letters from several Commanders. He picked up the last letter. The one that is forcing him to make a decision. It wasn’t like the other letters at all. It was more of a Poster really. Written by a little ten year old girl in the Ukraine. A letter that had forced him to this point.

He read it again. Tears fell. Tears that should have fallen in Afghanistan, Georgia, Chechnya …or at the grave of his beloved Eugenia. For in those tears were all the things that war had driven from his heart and soul. He would have to decide. Soon.


*****

“But Daddy, they are cold too!”

Alex didn’t know what to say to that. He looked down at his baby girl. She was only ten years old, but already tall and strong with the hints of beauty waiting to come along with puberty. Just like her Mother had been. His face darkened. Nobody should lose a wife just because she was waiting in line for bread when the Russian Shell shortened the line for bread, while making the line for Heaven longer. That seemed like years ago, not weeks. He was still in shock. Will this war never end? Will the grief ever go away? Will his heart grow harder, more bitter, unforgiving. He thought all those things as he looked down at the determined look on his daughter’s face.

He softened.

“Okay, but I will go with you. I will wave a white flag. But we can’t stay. You make them your offer…then we leave.”

She smiled. (It would be years until she realized that her and her Mother shared the same confident smile when they got their way. It would make her smile too..

And so it was that a brave little girl and a very worried Dad, approached the enemy.

With nothing more than a White Flag in the hands of the Dad, and two pots - one with tea, one with coffee, in the hands of the little girl.

*****

The Russian Soldiers were cold. They leaned up against the sides of their tank. The Fighting had stopped when the orders stopped coming down. They were just to stay put. So they did. One of them looked up.

“What the hell is that?”

The rest of the tank crew, and the supporting Infantry Squad came to alert. Safeties were taken off on all the small weapons. Some were aimed at the little girl and the haggard man waving a white flag.

“I don’t know. But put your weapons down.”

“What if it is a trap?”

The grizzled Sergeant snorted.

“I have been in three wars. A kid alone…maybe a booby trap. A man alone, definitely a booby trap. A man walking his daughter towards the enemy? Never happened, never will. Even the blasted Taliban sent their kids out to die alone. We will wait.”

And they did.

*****

The Little girl stood in front of the tall Sergeant. She knew her dad was right behind her. She could feel his trembling hand on her shoulder. It was all the confidence booster she needed.

“I have brought tea, and coffee. I thought you might be cold. I don’t have an sugar. The grocery store is gone.”

The Russian Solders stared in disbelief. They were cold, they hadn’t any supplies in the last three days…nor orders. They just stood still. It was the Sergeant who spoke first.

“That is kind of you young lady…but we are the Enemy. If you turn around and go about three blocks back…you should find your own Soldiers who would love tea and coffee.”

“But aren’t you cold?”

“Yes. Young lady, we are.”

“Well, then, it is settled. Here! Tea in the blue pot, coffee in the red one. Three are so many of you…you might have to take small sips.”

The Sergeant tried one more time, his eyes only on the little girl.

“But we are the enemy!”

“No you are not. You are cold soldiers doing what you were told.”

And that was all it took. Men started getting out their mess kits and the cups needed to have coffee or tea. One soldier brought out a pack of Sugar his Mother had given him just three weeks ago…before all this mess started. He carefully poured about twenty grams out in a little pouch to give to the girl and her Father as a gift.

They all got a few sips in their canteen cup. They toasted for peace. They toasted for thanks. And they made the little girl laugh with their funny faces and compliments. It was a rare moment. One, that if the soldiers survived, would be told and retold with awe. The brave little girl and her tea and coffee. For a few minutes, the war was forgotten.

They waved with truly good wishes for the little girl and her Dad.

The Sergeant spoke once the little girl and her Dad had gone out of sight.

“I hope to God we don’t have to shell their building.”

Around him, all of the men offered up a prayer. Most for forgiveness when the orders came down. And they would. They would shell that building. And cry.

Until…

*****

“Sergeant! Sergeant! Sergeant!”

The Sergeant leaped to his feet. His nap forgotten. Orders must have come down. He was fully alert and awake now.

“What is it? Are we to move?”

The Corporal laughed.

“No. Much better than that. The little girl is back! With more little girls and coffee!”

“What?”

Sure enough, a handful of girls (with just the one Dad, and several Mothers) were standing in the snow holding steaming pots of tea and coffee.

Instantly (seeing the smile on the Sergeant’s Face) the ordinary Troopers raced to get out their cups.

The Little girl gave the Sergeant a Letter. More like a Poster. He read it …tears streaming down his face. He nodded. The little girl beamed.

The Sergeant sent a report to nearby Russian Troops. The Dad of the little girl sent his own report to the men and women bearing arms on his side of the war.

The letter, more of a proclamation than a letter or poster, was written in a Little Girl’s ten year old hand. Flowers and hearts in purple and pink (all hand drawn) decorated the margins. At the top and bottom were cute ten year old drawing of tea and coffee pots.

This is what the letter said:

“Dear Soldiers. Soldiers in either Army. This corner of Seventh and Alexander Streets is now a “fight free zone”. It will be a coffee and tea corner only. No weapons. You can carry them on their straps but not in your hands. No SHOOTING! Every morning at Seven AM, we will bring coffee and hot water for tea (we are out of tea. The store got blown up. You have to bring your own tea.

We can’t stop the war. We are to little. But we know you are cold…because we are. So please, for a few moments, enjoy the coffee or tea.”

That is how it began. It grew somehow. Within a week, there was little or no fighting in that sector of the city. Both the Russians and Ukrainians worked to make sure that the area was secure…and safe. Smugglers, who just a month earlier sold their goods on the Black Market with total disdain for the Laws of any country…were suddenly good Citizens. Donating coffee, tea, and even sugar (in small measured amounts) to the long table set up by the little girls every morning at Seven AM.

Soldiers would chat, sometimes cry and hug at the friends, family, or brothers and sisters already lost to the war. Other times they would talk about what they would do when the war was over. One Russian soldier told a Ukrainian soldier:

“When this madness if over…I will bring my three brothers and help rebuild. We own a small cement factory and are all builders.”

“I hope I live to see that, it would make me happy.”

“I hope you do to my brother. “

And they shook hands on it.

Word of that kind fo story got up the chain of Command. It made it to the desk of the President. He issued an order. One that now sat on the desk of the Highest Ranking General still alive. The order was to bomb the corner of Seventh Street and Alexander Road. With Specific orders to take out the little girl and her Father too.

“We must teach them a lesson!”

*****

The General put on his medals. He made sure they were exactly where they should be. He made sure his boots were Parade Ground Level. His aides were quiet and respectful. They knew he could have just written back to the President. He chose to tell him…face to face. They admired his courage. But they wouldn’t bet a plate of Borsch on his chances of coming back from that meeting …alive.

The General took one more look in the Mirror. He saluted himself. He turned to the wall where all of his Ancestors seemed to be smiling at him. Proud of his courage. His decision. His backbone. He was a real General. A man. A real man. He Saluted them all, gathering courage from their looks at him.

His car was waiting.

His Staff was waiting. Waiting to hear of his dispatch. Or sham trial and exile. Some of them cried.

At the secret Palace a red faced megalomaniac puffed up in anger at the answer his General just gave him:

“I gave you and Order! Now, think carefully, will you carry it out…or not?”

The Palace Guards couldn’t help it. They stared at the statue stiff General. So did the entire bunch of sycophants left surrounding the megalomaniac masquerading as a Leader.

The General’s voice had no give in it. No submission. No fear.

“NO!”

*****

Epilogue.

The three brothers shook hands with the Ukrainian Soldier from the Coffee Point. They had brought more than a hundred workers, and twenty cement trucks to the corner of Seventh Street and Alexander Road. The Little girl was handing out coffee not three meters from where they stood. They all turned and saluted with their coffee cups. She waved back. They all smiled.

It wasn’t over…it was a new beginning.

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