War room (5 minutes freewrite)

The general is checking his uniform in front of the mirror - just like an actor on opening night, he's checking every detail - all the stars and all the stripes are in place, his trousers perfectly ironed, he looks impeccable. He needed this short break in his own quarters, after long days and nights spent in the command center, huddled with his most trusted men. Sweating and suffering together like one over each major victory, met with cheers, and each major setback, met with fists pounding the table in frustration. Today's the day. The few hours of sleep have cleared his brain, he knows what he has to do and as he looks himself in the eyes he knows he will do what it takes to protect his people and his country. Deep in his heart he already knows what the final report from his secret agents will say. It's just a question of timing and his hand will be steady.

Thousands of miles away across the world, in his own bunker, the rival general is slowly touching his cheeking enjoying the smoothness of a much needed shave. The sweaty clothes, stained with the mustard and ketchup of many meals eaten at his desk, lie in a heap on the floor. He's wearing his full uniform today, the one with all the stars and all the stripes. What he needs to do is out-think his enemy. A worthy man, who knows well the rules of the game. They've never met face to face but he knows all there is about him. Stubborn and a bit impulsive, but a true patriot. Just like him. They've reached a stalemate and each passing hour brings nothing but senseless destruction, with no victory in sight. He'll go over the data once again with his loyal aides, but there isn't much time left. He must act decisively, before his reckless rival gets a chance to strike a fatal blow. His country and his people depend on it.
The chess play has been going on for too many days, the players know it's time to make the final move. Their hands feel heavy, but they force them down nonetheless, pressing the buttons in front of them at the same time, a feat of precision, like two dancers in perfect sync.
It's done. Both generals spend long minutes without moving, without saying a word, a tense wait for the technicians to confirm the launch that will bring them victory.
The missiles are on their way, the enemy will bite the dust.

The glaring light of day almost blinds them as the generals emerge from their bunkers for the first time in days. They pause to take a breath of fresh air. A faint taste of ash in the air, the sweet taste of victory.
As they settle down in the back of their dark bullet-proof cars, the generals reach for their phones to congratulate each other. They've won. We've lost.

Image source: Pixabay

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: *ash. New prompt every day. Check out her blog.