James sat in his grandparents' cozy living room, nestled between the comforting presences of Rosa and Larry Summers. The room, with its soft, warm lighting and the familiar scent of old books and pine had always been a sanctuary for him since he was young.

However, the news report on television cast a somber mood. The reporter's voice, steady but tinged with gravity, spoke of the latest development: the deployment of high-level Awakener teams alongside Special Operation Forces in Kashmir. Their mission was to conduct punitive actions against the KLF in response to the recent terror attacks in New York.

Rosa shook her head slightly, her eyes concerned. "It's a drastic step." She commented. "But after those attacks, I suppose the government felt compelled to act decisively."

Larry, gruff as always, added. "It's about time we showed some backbone. But I worry this could escalate quickly. It's not just about retaliation anymore; it's become about sending a message, and messages get easily misunderstood.”

James pondered their words, feeling the weight of the situation. "Do you think this will be enough to deter further attacks? Or is the government likely to send more troops?" He had some insight, thanks to Miss Walker's offhand comments, but the worry that this could spiral into something much bigger remained - especially since he knew that the Guilds were working overtime to push for a more significant commitment.

Rosa sighed. "It's hard to say. High-level Awakeners can make a significant impact, but whether it's enough to stop the KLF is another matter. Unfortunately, these groups can be resilient and motivated by actions like these to retaliate even harder. Not to speak of how deeply entrenched they are in the region."

In moments like these, James remembered his grandmother was not just the matronly woman who baked him cookies. She was experienced in the chaos of battle, having served as a nurse in several deployments.

Larry nodded in agreement. "And there's the matter of public opinion. Understandably, People are angry, but this sudden shift towards aggressive action... It's a far cry from the isolationism we've been practicing for years. I don't like how quickly things changed. It stinks of subterfuge."

For a moment, James almost told him of what he suspected was going on, but he refrained. Miss Walker had been adamant he was not to speak about this with anyone - even his friends or family - because any leak could mean very dangerous people coming to knock at his door.

The AA will take care of it… I wish I could believe that, but if they were that competent, we wouldn't be in the situation we are in now.

James leaned back, returning to the conversation. "It's like the attacks have awakened a more bloodthirsty sentiment in the average person. People who were advocating for peace and caution are now calling for decisive military action."

Rosa gently placed a hand on James's arm, her expression softening. "It's a natural reaction to such a horrific event. Fear and anger can drive people to support measures they wouldn't have considered before. But it's important to remember the cost of such actions, not just in terms of resources but in human lives too. A lot of people will die now because they are in the wrong place at the wrong time, but they had nothing to do with the attacks."

As they discussed, the news switched to footage of the Awakener teams being deployed. The camera focused on two S-rank Awakeners - Marjoram Freedman and Leonard Tosk, known as the best of the best the AA had to offer, which also meant the organization was all in with this operation - their mere presence a testament to the seriousness of the operation. These individuals were akin to nuclear weapons, their power immense and the potential destruction they could unleash devastating.

The fact that they would be deployed spoke of the seriousness with which the Federal Government took the operation. They seemed to genuinely want to get it over with as soon as possible.

Rosa watched the reel with a furrowed brow. "Sending S-ranks... it's a clear message, but it's also a huge risk. If they are there fighting in the bunkers, they are not here defending us."

The reporter then cut to a brief speech by President McArthur. His demeanor was calm yet assertive as he addressed the nation regarding the situation in Kashmir, his greying hair giving him a dignified air. "My fellow Americans.” The President began. "Today, we stand united in the face of an unprecedented challenge. The recent attacks on our soil by the Kashmir Liberation Front have not only taken innocent lives but have also struck at the very heart of our nation's sense of security and peace."

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He paused, allowing his words to resonate before continuing, his eyes resolute. "We cannot and will not tolerate acts of terror against our people. That's why, in response to these heinous acts, I have authorized a surgical operation to excise the cancer that is the KLF. This operation will be swift, precise, and decisive. Our goal is not merely retribution; it is to send a clear message to anyone who dares to challenge us: You cannot mess with America and expect to go unpunished. The world will remember this.”

Rosa frowned slightly, her expression one of concern mixed with skepticism. "Surgical operation... that's a bold claim. Let's hope it's as precise as he says. The last thing we need is a drawn-out conflict."

Larry shook his head, skepticism clear in his expression. "Sounds a lot like what they said about Afghanistan and Iraq. Quick and efficient, they said. Look how that turned out."

James couldn't help but agree. The parallels were uncomfortably close, and the prospect of another prolonged conflict was disheartening. The conversation veered towards a more historical analysis, comparing the current situation to past conflicts and the lessons that seemed to go unheeded.

Larry's gaze drifted to a corner of the room as they spoke. "You know, your father kept journals during his time in Afghanistan. They might offer some perspective on all this. They're up in the attic if you're interested."

Then, upon seeing James' surprised look, he added. "You were too young before. I only skimmed them, but he was open and honest about the brutal reality he witnessed. It wasn't something a kid should read."

James's interest was piqued. He had heard stories about his father's time in the military, but a first-hand account was much better than that. "I think I'll take a look. Thanks, Grandpa."

Excusing himself, James made his way to the attic. The space was dusty and filled with memories, a treasure trove of family history. As he climbed the creaky wooden steps, a musty scent, a blend of old paper, wood, and a hint of lavender from the scent dispensers his grandmother put everywhere greeted him.

Sunlight filtered through a small window, casting a warm, dusty glow over the piles of boxes and old furniture.

James' eyes were immediately drawn to a stack of photo albums on a shelf. He picked one up and began flipping through the pages. The photos were a portal to the past, showing his grandparents in their youth. Despite most of them lacking color, there was a vibrancy in these images because they captured moments of joy, love, and adventure.

His grandmother, Rosa, was always smiling, her eyes sparkling with life. Larry, his grandfather, looked younger, of course, but there was a familiar sternness in his gaze that James knew well, softened by the evident affection he held for his new wife. Photos of them on their honeymoon in Paris, others of the cruise they went on in southeast Asia, and even a few from when they attempted skiing.

James chuckled, remembering his grandmother telling him that they stopped going once Larry lost his balance while skiing and collided with a tree head-on, breaking his nose. He had been too embarrassed to continue, and their family never returned after that.

Turning the pages, James found a photo that made his heart skip a beat. It was a picture of him as a child, alongside his father, at the beach just a few hundred yards away. They were both smiling, the sun setting behind them, casting a golden hue over the scene. They were happy.

The photo brought a surge of emotions. Love and admiration, but also a deep sense of loss and frustration. His father had been his hero, a figure larger than life, yet the memory of being left behind was a wound that had never fully healed.

James sat there for a moment, lost in thought, the photo in his hands. He felt torn, his mind a tumult of conflicting feelings. He admired his father, the soldier, the protector, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of abandonment, the unanswered questions about why his father had left for that last mission, and why he hadn't been there when James needed him most.

With a heavy sigh, James returned the photo to the album and continued his search. It wasn't long before he found the journals, a series of worn notebooks with his father's handwriting scrawled across the pages. He gathered them up and headed back down to his room, a sense of anticipation mixed with trepidation in his heart.

Settling into his comfortable chair, James opened the first journal. The entries were candid and unfiltered, providing a raw insight into his father's experiences in the Afghanistan War. He read of brutal combat, the daily struggles of life on the front lines, and the constant shadow of danger that hung over the soldiers.

One entry stood out, a reflection after a particularly harrowing day:

"Today was one of those days where you question everything. The gunfire, the screams, the chaos... it's all too much sometimes. But then I think of Ophelia and little James back home, and it gives me the strength to carry on. They're my light in this endless darkness. I fight not just for my country - because I'm starting to have doubts about how right we are in being here, doing what we do - but for them, for the future I hope we can have together."

James felt a lump in his throat as he read the words. It was a glimpse into the heart of a man torn between duty and family, finding solace in the thought of his loved ones. Further into the journal, a cryptic statement caught his attention.

"I know Ophelia's connections might raise eyebrows, but I trust her more than anyone. She has ties to some shadowy figures, but that gives me peace. I know they'll keep her and James safe while I'm gone. It's an unconventional assurance, but in this world, you take what you can get."

James' brow furrowed. He knew little of his mother's past, only vague hints, considering how deeply his grandparents despised her for leaving him and his father soon after the man returned from Afghanistan.

The idea that she might have had connections to the underworld was both surprising and intriguing. It shed new light on his parents' relationship and their life before everything changed.

He continued reading late into the night, each entry a piece of the puzzle that was his father's life. The journals were a mix of introspection, battle accounts, and personal musings, some of which he himself had.

Through them, James felt a connection to his father that he hadn't experienced before, a bridge across the gulf of years and silence.

As he closed the last journal for the day, James leaned back in his chair, his mind whirling with thoughts and emotions. He realized that his father's life and decisions were far more complex than he had ever imagined. There were no simple answers, only the messy, intricate tapestry of a life lived in extraordinary times.

It might sound stupid, but he was always… I never felt like he was a real person. I only saw him as what I remember. A stern but loving man whose duty superseded any affection he might have had for me. This helps make him more human.