Page 26 of The Soldier

The first kill is the worst. I didn’t sleep for three nights waiting for lightening to strike me down or something. I’m not religious, but like most of western society, I’ve been raised in a Christian-based world and taught that taking a life is wrong.

I was trained to kill.

When you’re faced with the enemy and need to choose between his life or your own, it’s an easy one to make.

It’s the aftermath that gets you.

Knowing I’ve stopped deadly attacks in America, evil terrorists, and child traffickers goes some way to feeling you did the right thing. But when you’re lying in the dark facing your own humanity and your maker—whoever that is—a weight descends on your soul.

Most people lose their shit if they run over a cat or bird. Try killing a human being.

Try walking over to that body and staring down at them as they lay in a pool of their blood with a bullet hole in their forehead. You tell yourself you did the right thing and that they’re no longer a threat.

That you did good.

That they chose to waste their life.

That I took.

Then the questions start. Is it all predestined? Is there life after death? Why is there such evil on the planet?

What the hell is all of this about?

War. Death. Torture.

While people in fucking Hollywood spend hours scrolling social media wondering who is sucking whose cock.

It was the moment I started becoming desensitized that I knew I had to get out. I remember kicking one body over so I didn’t have to see his face. Then, shot the back of his head for good measure.

That wasn’t the final moment though.

The exact moment I knew I had to get the fuck out of the forces was when a young boy pointed a rifle at me. My hand was down by my side gripping my weapon as I took in his small frame and deep brown eyes. He wasn’t the first underaged enemy I’d faced, but he was the first I didn’t hesitate to shoot.

Nor did I feel anything when I strode over to check he was dead.

As per protocol, I lifted his jacket to find bars of C4 strapped to him.Motherfuckers.It was a common strategy. They enemy used young soldiers in the hope we’d disarm him instead of shooting. Then as we got close, they’d detonate the explosives.

The kid was a suicide bomber.

My body froze until I saw the button in his hand.

Not remotely controlled.

But it fucking could’ve been.

“Shuffle your team to accommodate,” Josh tells Ryder, bringing my attention back into the room, and then he then glances over at me. “That frees Marshall for black ops as discussed.”

“Have done.” Ryder nods.

“Keep him as a reserve,” Aidan says. “I can’t see him being happy on desk work in between.”

Fuck no.

“Christ, he’ll create mayhem.” Josh mumbles with a quick shake of his head.

“I’m right here.” I spin my water bottle in my hand. “You need me to reduce my hours?”

I could semi-retire.

---