“It’s my fault, I’m to blame, I’m sick, I really am sick, but all of this has nothing to do with my son.” George Baldwin said anxiously, “I have five sons, four of them are the best soldiers. Oh, and my father, my father was also the best soldier. Including me, I—I am also the best soldier. I was among the first group of scouts, fought in the counterattack war, killed thirteen Viet Cong. If you don’t believe me, ask Commander Grant, he knows, he knows everything.”

George Baldwin turned his gaze to Henry Grant, as if Henry Grant had once again become his lifeline.

“Senior!” The female officer’s sweet voice reached everyone’s ears, giving a particularly pleasant and enjoyable feeling.

“Chief, please, go ahead, I’m listening.” George Baldwin nodded desperately, speaking quickly, “I know I’m sick, I shouldn’t hit him every day, shouldn’t keep him locked up at home every day. But I’m scared, I’m really scared of losing my last son. I know my actions may have already ruined the child, but I beg you to give him another chance, one last chance!”

At this moment, George Baldwin was afraid, afraid that he had truly destroyed his son.

That afternoon, while he was waiting at the school gate, Henry Grant brought a male and a female soldier to find him, saying they wanted to take his son to join the army.

George Baldwin refused without hesitation—how could he let his only remaining son go into the army? What if he died too?

The male soldier didn’t say much, only that George Baldwin’s son probably wouldn’t meet the requirements, and that they were mostly just going through the motions, so they could report back.

George Baldwin was furious. He knew his son; in his heart, every one of George Baldwin’s sons was a hero—no one could be better than his sons.

But after observing for a while, George Baldwin suddenly realized that his son had somehow become timid and cowardly, even less brave than a girl.

Whether he admitted it or not, the fact was right in front of him: his son had been ruined by his own hands…

George Baldwin did indeed live in a state of sickness, but he didn’t want to destroy his son. His son should be an eagle, a tiger, just like his four brothers, just like his grandfather and father.

“We understand how you feel, but please also understand us.” The female officer gave a warm, friendly smile to George Baldwin and said, “Senior, your four sons have already sacrificed for the country, and your only son is your only reason to keep going. To be honest, we really didn’t want to come here. If we take your child away, his mother probably won’t be able to bear it. Your family has already given so, so much to our country…”

“Shut up!” George Baldwin suddenly roared, glaring fiercely at the female officer.

The moment the roar sounded, the male officer’s eyes reflexively narrowed, his pupils instantly contracting to the most dangerous pinpoints.

He sensed the sudden burst of killing intent from within George Baldwin, the kind that comes from the battlefield, from bloody, life-and-death combat!

It was as if that iron-blooded soldier, who had returned triumphant with heads hanging from his body, had been reborn, stepping onto the battlefield again, bloodthirsty and wild.

“My son is not a loser.” George Baldwin slowly straightened his slightly hunched back, lifted his head, and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Ten minutes. Give him ten more minutes!”

After speaking, George Baldwin clasped his hands behind his back and stood imposingly in front of the window, staring intently at his son.

The wide-eyed female officer let out a long breath, waved her hand to signal the male officer to put away his military knife, and nodded at him.

The male officer started timing, watching the window.

At the school gate, Edward Baldwin, huddled in the corner by the wall, still didn’t move. He hugged his backpack to his chest to shield his body, exposing only a small head, warily scanning everything in front of him.

One minute passed, two minutes passed, three minutes passed… a full nine minutes went by, and Edward Baldwin was still curled up there.

Inside, Henry Grant shook his head, preparing to go comfort George Baldwin.

“He moved!” George Baldwin suddenly exclaimed.

He did move—Edward Baldwin stretched out both hands, counting on his fingers.

The male officer squinted, staring hard at Edward Baldwin, his peripheral vision sweeping over the east road facing the school gate and the south road.

A motorcycle sped in from the east, and a small truck came from the south road, still far apart.

“Thirteen seconds, twelve seconds, eleven seconds, ten seconds, nine seconds…” The male soldier realized the motorcycle and the truck were about to collide, and began counting down.

Suddenly, the male officer saw Edward Baldwin’s mouth move, and the shape of his lips matched the countdown exactly. His eyes widened instantly, disbelief shining in his pupils.

When the countdown reached the last two seconds, Edward Baldwin quickly covered his eyes with both hands, his face full of pain.

With a loud “bang,” the motorcycle and the small truck crashed heavily into each other. The motorcycle flew out, and the driver, covered in blood, was thrown hard onto the road.

“Genius! Genius!” The male soldier panted, letting out a low growl.

George Baldwin was stunned, Henry Grant was stunned, and the sweet-faced female soldier was also stunned. All of them turned to look at the excited male soldier.