A man of about forty walked into the recruitment office — dressed in torn, filthy clothes, with long, unkempt hair and a thick beard. He smelled of the street and the rain. The soldiers at the entrance exchanged glances and grimaced.

— Documents, — the duty officer said sternly.

The homeless man pulled a crumpled but neatly folded passport from his pocket and handed it over with pride. Then he stepped confidently into the office where several officers were sitting.

— I want to join the special forces, — he said firmly.

The room burst into laughter. One of the officers, without lifting his eyes from the papers, smirked:
— The special forces? Maybe you’d be better off in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Or do you want to be a janitor?

— No. Only the special forces, — the man repeated stubbornly.

— Guys, get him out of here, — the major said irritably. — He must be crazy.

Two soldiers grabbed the homeless man by the arms and led him out into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind him.

The man stood by the exit, clutching his passport to his chest, silently crying.

At that moment, a general was walking down the corridor. He was about to pass by, but suddenly stopped, stared at the man, and froze 

— Captain? — he said in astonishment. — Is that… you? Why do you look like this?

The man wiped his eyes and replied softly:
— After the last operation, I came back wounded. I spent a long time recovering, spent everything I had. My wife left me, took the kids. I had to sell the house… I ended up on the streets. But now I’m healthy again and I want to come back. Service is the only thing I have left.

The general was silent for a moment, then stepped forward, placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, and said:

— I remember what you did for your country. You saved more lives than any of us. Come. Let everyone see who you really are.

And when they walked into the office together, the officers who had been laughing just moments before stood up from their desks. For the first time — not out of order, but out of respect.