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The single solitary clock in the musty study ticked the seconds away and slowly chimed eleven times. Each chime was low and solemn. The old man seated in the leather chair opened his gray eyes. He glanced at the fire keeping him warm.

He knew it was time.

Painfully he pulled himself to a standing position with his cane and began shuffling forward. He always knew this day would come. When a man is forty, he knows this time is far in the future and doesn't worry about it. When a man is eighty, he knows it's soon and begins to prepare. When a man passes a hundred, he wonders if he missed it but is now looking forward to the event.

The old man was panting as he sat down in the huge leather chair in front of the oaken desk. The green leather top belied the antiquity of the item which he had inherited from his own grandfather. Verdun rested for a minute before opening two drawers. From one he withdrew sheets of paper. From the other a family photograph. He stared at it for a moment, a slight smile on his lips. Then he depressed a section of the second drawer and pulled it even further out revealing a hidden compartment. He pulled out one very care worn black and white photo which he placed on the top of the desk.

One tear came to his eye, then another.

It was more than time.

Verdun reached for a piece of paper and began in a firm well rounded hand:

"My dearest family.

My will has already been filed with the local probate office. Rest assured that your inheritance, the family estate, and the family business will be in your hands hours after I finish writing this. This letter is no secret change to a will. It is nothing more than my final thoughts on life and a final sharing of secrets. Secrets I have held for far too long. There is only one bequest, which you will no doubt honor once you read these words to the end.

I, Verdun Lorenzo Ford, do hereby make a declaration: My time for secrecy is at an end, as is my life. Even as I write this I can feel I have less than an hour to live. So since I have so little time, I pray that you forgive any bluntness or lack of full explanation. I have precious little time, or patience for apologies. What time I have left iI will use to give to you an explanation and an expiation of guilt and sorrow.

I was stationed in France at the end of the War in 1944 through the end of 1945. The unit under my command were all infantry. You may recall that I was only a Second Lieutenant at the time. Some of you may have read about our exploits. What some of you may remember most of all is that we were a mixed regiment. White humans, black humans, and furs. We were the only fully integrated regiment on the ground, and we only had one duty. Clean up detail for any of the remaining Nazi resistance along the coastal fortresses. The German commanders there would not let up one iota.

You all recall the family story of how I met my wife, telling her of how a family member had died, and how we, Arabella and I dated and married. What you never heard was how I had met her cousin Jack. Jack was a local restaurant owner, and a fur. He had been assigned as a translator to our unit as we had few in our unit who knew French, let alone anyone who knew France and the coastal areas.

I remember his fox face to this day. "Todds" they call them. In fact it was a family nick name. I know Arabella never mentioned him to any of you. It was too painful for her. He was a "Fur" side of her family. An embarrasment at the time. Also she was never happy with me for the fact that I chose him first.

Jack and I began our days by going over local maps. He'd point out locations of possible straggling Nazi encampments. I'd send troops out, and then we'd wait for word. I rarely left camp. The Nazis were almost in a state of panic by now, and the killing of officers was encouraged. No, I stayed close to camp, and to Jack.

Jack had weathered the war well. He'd been in Paris during the initial occupation, and since he was a baker at the time, his business was left intact. Both the Germans and the French needed to eat after all. He'd escaped Paris along with his cousin by 1944. The days of 44 were easy. We met little resistance. In 45 we were assigned to help 'clean out' the coastal encampments. We had no idea how dangerous this would be.

Jack and I began spending an inordinate amount of time together. Jack would try to get my mind off of my deployed men by telling me jokes or playing chess with me. At one point he turned his tactics to stories of his family, and his cousin Arabella, which is how I grew to know of her. Finally one night after heavy losses, I found myself in tears in my tent. Jack had come in and tried to console me. I remember his strong arms wrapping around me. I was a proud officer, but I was young. I tried pushing him away. He knew what I needed though, comfort. And that's what he gave me. He just held me close as I cried into his shoulder.

From then on. night after night we'd suffer casualties. Sometimes swift. I remember one night an entire patrol just disappeared. The young men I had sent out to scout a supposedly safe zone had just disappeared. Their charred corpses were found the next morning in a pile outside of our encampment.

Another time they casualties were brutal. I once sent out a squad to check on a coastal bunker. We'd heard the explosions from camp, and I'd sent out additional troops. What soldiers that returned were badly maimed and in pain. Our surgeon was busy. Some had legs missing from the knee down, arms twisted and beyond repair. One fur, an equine, I recall was still alive with a huge slice of skill and brain missing.

Night after night, Jack was with me, holding me. It wasn't long until I found myself falling asleep with him on a chair next to me, his hand holding mine, his voice giving me courage. Soon, I found him in my cot, curled up next to me. His soft warm fur a comforting and stable presence, my arms wrapped around him. I fell in love. He was strong where I was weak. He completed me. Trite I know, but I don't have time to find better words.

He kept me sane. "It's not your fault that men die. You don't kill them, it's the enemy that do." He would tell me in his thick French accent. "Remember the Christmas Incident in the first war? We don't have to kill each other, yet we do. You do your best by your men, give them heart, give them courage, and give them good orders. This is war Ford, not a field exercise! Just be the best commander you can be!"

**

Verdun paused in his writing, wiping a tear away from his eyes. He had little time left. He could feel himself getting weaker.

**

He was right, far to right. I realized after the war that the poor Germans were just trying to defend themselves from us. That didn't make it easy, in fact it made everything harder, including Jack's death.

We had plans. The military outlawed same sex pairings then, in fact it was a death sentence to mate with a fur who was of the same sex as well, but that's a political story, and not one I'm going to repeat here, you all know what has happened since then. We were going to go AWOL when the orders came to return home. I had forged passports, as did he. We were ready any time. We knew things were getting hot in Berlin. Any day now, the war would be over for us.

Then it happened. We were attacked. Out of the blue, some Nazi had given orders to do the unthinkable. Try to drive the invaders back. We were the invaders. A company came at night, machine gun fire ripped through tents. We lost a lot of men. I'd had a particularly bad night and had been asleep with Jack curled next to me, his fur keeping me warm in the spring chill. When the firing started I felt Jack cover me with his body. I heard the bullets zip around me. I felt Jack shudder. He'd been hit. It had been mostly painless. By the time I got him off of me, his eyes were wide and staring. He died protecting me.

Something broke inside of me. I remember grabbing my pistol, and a box of grenades. I jumped out of the tent firing at anything that moved. I lobbed grenades as far as I could. Explosions ripped through the air. I found a discarded machine gun and charged the invaders.

In one act of extreme sorrow and fear, I saved the day for countless men. I earned a medal for it. The true medal should have gone to my Todd, my dear Jack. It was known as "Fords Folly" by some, but most called it "Ford's Charge." My men rallied behind me and fought the Germans off, killing them all. They saw their leader, a brave man, fearless in the fire of the enemy. The reality was a scared and broken man who was suicidal, and ready to die so he could join his lover. I lived. Many did not. Two days later the war was over for us in Germany.

But for Todd, my beloved Jack, the war ended that night. He'd shielded me from pain for a year. He'd been my friend. I'd like to think he would have been my lover physically as well. After the German capitulation, I had Jack's body sealed in a coffin. I took it to his nearest relative, Arabella. That's how I met her. We shared the grief of his death, and in turn she gave me the comfort her cousin had given me.

So now you know my deepest secret. I was a coward in my greatest hour, but my cowardice saved hundreds of lives. And now I ask for only one bequest. I must hurry as my breath is running short. Upon my cremation, do not bury me here. Take me to my Todd, my beloved Jack. Spread my ashes around his grave. It's in Paris in a family plot. I've already made sure permission has been granted by the French authorities who cover the military section. Jack had been buried with full military honors. A rarity for a civilian.

He was my light, my savior, and my sanity. Without him, I would not be here. If he had never existed, I would have deserted in 44, and I never would have found the courage to be myself, and to tell you this story. It is in his memory, the reminder of his strength of character is what allows me to tell you of my one true love. Always be true to yourselves my dearest family. Love fiercely. You never know when it may end.

One last thing. Erect a stone next to Jack's. The inscription should read:

Jack and Verdun

You saved me from myself

Together at last

Verdun Lorenzo Ford

Gen. U.S. Army (Ret)

April 10, 1914 - May 30, 2020

**

Verdun put the pen down and stared hard at the two photographs. One showed himself, the human Arabella, and their four children, Jack, Lorenzo, Eugene, and Anne, surrounded in a gilded frame. The other was a very rumpled simple black and white photo. Two figures stood in front of a command tent. Both smiled hugely. One, a very young Lt. Ford, the other, a very much alive and grinning Jack. Their arms around each others waist.

Verdun smiled. He'd treasure the memory for the rest of his life.