Allegory #1

    A scant few days after being drafted for a lifetime of service in the 
Lily-Liver Legion, I had become a pariah, having quickly acquired a 
reputation as a singularly brave and noble individual.  Despite being the 
youngest and most recent addition to my squadron, I had already been awarded 
two of the most disgraceful Medals of Honor in existence.
    Don't get the wrong idea;  I was a good guy.  I have always been 
conscientiously cowardly.  Fear was my God, as it was everybody's God, and I 
regularly worshiped by chickening out.  
    I am not a coward anymore.
    This is how I got the first medal:
    I was sent on a suicide mission right into the heart of Sentinel 
territory to recover plans for a missile they were supposed to be building.  
We were expected, of course, to turn tail and run away screaming the instant 
we caught a glimpse of the enemy.  As the others headed off together, I 
decided to get a head start on them and go the other direction.
    Now this was my first mission, and we hadn't been briefed well — the 
commander had been too nervous to leave his seat and they'd had to play a 
video from the previous brief — so I had no way of knowing that I was the 
only one going in the "right" direction, and before I knew it, I was in and 
out with the plans.
    I tried to explain that it hadn't been my fault, that I simply hadn't 
quite got my bearings yet.  I begged to be given a second chance to prove 
myself, but no, everyone was given his due.  So I was awarded the Golden 
Medal for Bravery in the Face of Terrible Danger with great ceremony.
    It was really all a game; there was no terrible danger to face anywhere.  
I knew it.  I don't know if anyone else did, and I was too afraid to say 
anything.   The Sentinels were just a bunch of big rocks with faces carved 
into them, less likely to build rockets than they were to suddenly turn into 
chimpanzees.  The plans were a few leaves I'd picked up for writing letters 
home.  The commander burned these, by the way, for fear of being held 
responsible.
    He was held responsible, in fact; they promoted him out of the squadron, 
and I, naturally, was appointed commander in his place.
    As for how I got the second medal:
    I stole it.
    I stole it from Scumbag Boothose, the bastard.  Yeah, I said Scumbag; 
he'd been demoted so many times, they'd had to come up with new ranks just 
for him.  Everybody loved him, the bastard.  He wasn't any better than me, 
though.  He wasn't any better than anybody, the stinking rotten bastard!
    You know what made the difference between him and me?  I'll tell you.  It 
was our names.  That's all there was to it; he had a good name and I had a 
bad one.  His parents had fated him right from the start to a life of success 
by calling him Pansy-Ass Little Girl.
    My parents had named me Gordon.
    Well, anyway, Scumbag Boothose was being awarded this medal for getting 
close enough to a Sentinel to take a picture.  You see, he wasn't any better 
than anyone.  I, as commander, had personally thanked him warmly for bringing 
us this photograph, which would be immensely valuable in future operations, 
which would surely become an important milestone in the progress of our 
battle against the Sentinels, which I cut into a million little pieces and 
buried.  And I told him he'd earned a medal.  Ha!  You should have seen him 
when he heard that!  I gloated.
    And I was gloating still at the ceremony.  I gloated as the two privates 
opened the box and pulled out the Diamond Badge, the ultimate medal.  Yes, I 
had given him the worst punishment it was in my power to give.  You will 
forgive my cruelty.  Please understand that it was simply in my nature to be 
spiteful and heartless.
    I glanced over at Boothose standing in line waiting.  He was rocking back 
and forth as that horrible badge approached, his face a study in despair and 
defeat.  The privates moved slowly and handled their burden gingerly, taking 
care not to graze their hands against any of the razor sharp edges or hanging 
bits.  It jingled a little, and Boothose's eyes widened and he started 
twitching.
    Then they handed me the medal.
    Confused, I stood there wondering what I was expected to do.  I waited 
for someone to explain to me.  But nobody spoke and they all watched me with 
contempt.  What had happened?  Was this mutiny?  Those worthless turncoats!  
They were giving me the medal to take the place of their beloved hero!  Those 
rotten, worthless, treacherous, rotten pirates!  Furious, trembling, I took 
it from their waiting hands and pinned it onto myself.
    I only later realized that I had been given the medal only because I was 
expected to award it personally.  There was no plot against me;  I had simply 
made another stupid mistake and accidentally taken the rap.  I was a 
laughingstock.
    When the Grand Consul heard of this, he had me promoted quickly to his 
own position in light of my persistent incorrigible bravery, and he fled back 
to anonymity in the ranks.  Everyone dreamt of anonymity, most people got it. 
 It was a good system.  
    Usually.  For most people.
    Well, I had had it with a system that worked for everyone but me.  So I 
did something.  I did a lot of things.  Just to show them how awful I could 
be if that's what they wanted, or something like that.  The logic is twisted 
because I was angry.
    So I implemented a rigorous schedule and a whole slew of strict 
regulations.  Calisthenics in the morning, afternoon and evening, 10-mile 
hikes every day, talking back gets a medal, promotions at the drop of a hat.  
I even wrote an anthem, which I required the men to sing at every meal and 
before every mission:

    We the men of the LLL
    Our hearts are made of glass
    We're gutless,
    We're spineless,
    And we ain't got no balls neither!

    And so on.  And the men did all of it, because they were afraid of me.  
It was really quite inspiring.
    Because they were afraid of me!  That was the turning point, I think, 
when I realized that fact.  I took advantage of it.  I sent them on mission 
after mission until they were so exhausted they couldn't take a single step 
away from the enemy and then I'd meet with them individually in my dark, 
foreboding office just to watch them squirm and I threatened everyone with 
promotions.
    Soon, they were so afraid of me that they stopped coming back from the 
missions.  A few men at first, then more and more slowly disappeared from the 
base.  One day I looked across the island and saw tents and smoke from 
campfires, and I knew they were all gone for good.
    I saw them breaking apart the great stone idols for stones for new 
buildings, and I had the strange impression that it was my own body they were 
dismantling.
    Suddenly, I knew who I was.
    They knew too, by all appearances. And they had finally realized that I 
was their enemy.  I had gone too far and given myself away, and lost my power 
over them.  But I will win them back.  I am doing it carefully, slinking 
around the campground in the night, howling in the dark, and leaving little 
signs of my visits to let them know I'm still alive and well.
    And I will not leave them alone.
    I will never leave them alone.