The autumn rain was chilly. The war had been over for over a year. He had been home for just over nine months. Home, can he call it that? He did not know. His wife had changed in the years he was gone. She was mother to a boy who did not have his eyes. Yes she had changed, but the war had changed him in indescribable ways. He moved out not long after his return. He found a nice little community on the outskirts of the city. He got into a routine, as any soldier would. He rented a small one room place and settled into the neeighbouhood. His morning routine took him to the same grocer and the same coffee stop to the same normal conversations every day. He would spend the day walking, never being able to sit or stay in one place for long. Watching and observing everything. He noticed the thugs that seem to be everywhere and the two overwhelmed policeman the town had.
It was on a daily walk about five months ago he found her. She was in a beautiful park a few bocks from his place. He saw her peacefully sitting there, another relic from the war and immediately knew her. The olive paint was peeling and worn. The sand brown, from their time in the dessert, or the rusting of bare metal showed through. He knew that it was his. The registration matched as did the call sign board hanging off the side of the turret, loudly proclaiming "11A" to anyone who looked. He had climbed up to check the hatches. These were all welded shut against vandals and curious kids. He jumped down and crawled underneath, checking the crew escape hatch. To his amazement it was unlocked, and he was able to pull himself in. He settled into the comfort of the commander's station and took the crew compartment in. The memories had come flooding back, he lowered his head and the tears came.
He visited her daily, was able to get some paint from the local army depot and was restoring her to her glory. He fixed the escape hatch so only he could get in. He never went inside after that first time, just worked outside or sat and stared from the park bench across the field. If you wandered the park late at night this is where you would find him, an old soldier reliving past glory.
It was on one of these nights, chilly with a nip of frost when he heard an abrupt scream. It eminated from an alley just off the park. He stood up and wandered over. He peered into the gloom of the alley and met her eyes. She was young, pretty, and terrified. Her clothes were in disarray and she was unable to scream further. This was due to the hand one of her attackers had clamped over her mouth. Slowly he entered the alley. Measuring, calculating, planning.
"nothing to see here old man, move along or you will get what she's having" to empasize his point he moved his hand so the moon light reflected off of a blade.
The words came easy to him as he advanced on the three young men "I am a Lancer back from the war, if tonight I meet my judgement let it be known that I died defending the weak,The innocent and that is a good death. I can stand proudly shoulder to shoulder with my fallen comrades. So come give me a good death. If you can!"
Minutes later all three thugs were down and he was cradling her head in his lap. He reviewed the scene and himself. He was covered in blood, some his, most not. All three would never walk right again and one may not even survive. He had seen death before and welcomed its company
She brought him back to the moment. "You said your name is Lance, Like Lancelot, my knight." Her words barely a whisper.
"i am no one's knight" he whispered back, lowering her head as the squeal of sirens became louder. He had disappeared before the first vehicle screeched to a halt.
He ran to where he was safe, to where he was secure, he ran home and slowly lowered himself into the seat he had spent so many years in, exhausted. He could see his fallen brothers and feel their presence, approving.
Her words came back to him. Knight, is that what i am? Is that what i can become?
He knew the town needed help.
He had skills he could use.
He could do things the police could not or would not.
Can i be the CROMWELL KNIGHT?
He dirfted off to sleep thinking, "I am going to need a cape."