Lieutenant Chen stared at the small circular bottle of hand sanitizer - the last one in his unit’s medical supplies. Through the transparent plastic, the gel looked innocent enough, but he knew it represented something far more significant in these dire times.

“Sir, the infection rates are rising in the civilian zones,” Private Wang reported, his young face marked with exhaustion. “The refugees… they’re getting desperate.”

The military compound had become a last bastion of hope in a region ravaged by both war and disease. Outside its walls, society was crumbling under the weight of a pandemic that had proven more devastating than any missile strike.

“How many civilians are gathered at the gates now?” Chen asked, though he dreaded the answer.

“Over two thousand, sir. Many are showing symptoms.”

The lieutenant rolled the small bottle between his palms, feeling its perfect cylindrical shape - a cruel mockery of completeness in a world falling apart. Their orders were clear: protect the military installation and its precious medical supplies at all costs. But the human cost of those orders weighed heavily on Chen’s conscience.

“They’re not our enemy, Wang,” Chen muttered, more to himself than his subordinate. “They’re our people.”

“The high command’s directive-”

“I know the directive!” Chen snapped, then immediately regretted his outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s just… my sister lives in one of those civilian zones. Or lived. I haven’t heard from her in weeks.”

Through the office window, Chen could see the masses gathered beyond the perimeter fence. Mothers clutching children, elderly supported by their families, all looking toward the compound with desperate hope. The same hope contained in the countless identical circular bottles that were now under armed guard in their medical storage.

“Sir,” Wang hesitated, “there’s something else. Some of the men have been talking about… about helping themselves to the supplies. Morale is low. They see their own families out there.”

Chen placed the sanitizer bottle on his desk, its perfect round shape catching the late afternoon light. “When I joined the military, I swore to protect our people. All of our people. Not just those in uniform.”

That evening, Chen made his decision. He ordered the gates opened and the medical supplies distributed to the civilians. It was a direct violation of orders, one he knew would cost him dearly.

As he watched the supplies being handed out, bottle by bottle, he caught sight of a young girl receiving one of the round containers. Her smile reminded him of his sister.

The court-martial was swift and unforgiving. Chen stood at attention as the verdict was read, his medals stripped away one by one. Through the window of the military tribunal, he could see the civilian zones in the distance, where thousands now had a fighting chance at survival.

His career was over, his freedom forfeit, but as they led him away, Chen noticed something that almost made him smile - the judge was using one of those circular bottles of hand sanitizer, identical to the ones he had given away.

In the end, he realized, we’re all just trying to survive this chapter of history, military and civilian alike. The only difference is how we choose to write our part in it.