The Official

by Kyle Kurtz

He stood with the rifle in his hands, shaking as the scope came to rest upon one of the kids. The man to his right, dressed in a blue suit with three stars on his chest sighed and gave the order again, the order he could not follow. The kids looked around ten, and they huddled together in fear at the sight of the soldiers before them. There he was, the commanding officer of his unit, being ordered by an official to shoot upon children in front of his men. His black hair was long, it had grown out after he had gained the rank of lieutenant, it was his privilege, but now it seemed to cloud his eyes. His blue uniform shook over his body as he willed himself to fire, but the movement wouldn’t come, his fingers refused to respond.

His men all muttered and stared; he could feel their eyes burning into his back. This was his punishment for not following orders; it was the kind of punishment that only happened in the army, the kind of punishment that wasn’t talked about after it was over unless you didn’t listen. He had failed to attack this village before, he couldn’t tell his men to do it, and now Brigadier General was forcing him to kill the last few kids in the village, all because one of them had been seen concealing a weapon. Which one? The Brigadier General didn’t care; they were all in a group so they must all be conspiring. Above him the Brigadier General swore again and gave the order, slamming the butt of his pistol against the Lieutenant’s head, demanding he fire.

His eyes met the cloudy scope again, and he saw them, two little girls, and three boys, all staring at him from across the field. They were all holding back the biggest boy, but the Brigadier didn’t care about him, he demanded they all die. His hands shook again as another blow came to his back, and one of his men began walking forward, he could tell by the angry footsteps, the Lieutenant looked up to recognize his friend Briggs coming with rage clear on his face. He looked about ready to kill the General, but as the Lieutenant moved to stop them a shot rang out, and Briggs jerked back, blood spraying from his chest. Looking in the scope the Lieutenant saw the biggest kid had forced the others aside, and his own rifle was trained at them. As the kid tried to aim with clumsy hands the Lieutenant fired. Then he fired again. And through tears he kept firing until no one was left.

His pale face had gotten even paler, making the shock of messy black hair on his head stand out even more than before. His blue army uniform was unbuttoned and looked like it had been on for days, and he smelled like cheap alcohol. The judge looked down at him and saw a ruined man, a man who had given up. The judge frowned upon him and spoke, “Lieutenant, I’d like to give you a court martial for not listening to the Brigadier General, and through inaction caused the untimely death of Private Briggs, but I think you’ve already hurt yourself more than I ever could. So from now on you’ll be a regular soldier, the official solder. You had a great record you know, so the army needs you. But you’ll never get a promotion as long as you live, got it?”

The soldier didn’t even look at him. Pulling a bottle of gin out of his uniform he walked out of the courtroom, never looking back.

He was at Tornado Base now, he’d been here for years. After they’d taken his status, they’d but him on the shelf, knowing sooner of later he’d quit the army. But he wouldn’t quit, he was the official.

Looking at the clock, he saw was it was eleven again, and he pulled it out from under his pillow. The sterling silver gun he’d played with for years now, the colt forty five. Looking down at it he admired it, it was a gift he’d gotten from Briggs himself when he’d become a Lieutenant, it was one of those old ones with six chambers that could spin when you loaded it. The perfect gun for a game like his. With wide eyes he spun it, listening to the bullets wiz by and then snapped it shut without looking, because if he knew it wasn’t a game anymore. Pressing it against his pale white temple he stopped and thought again, but when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Briggs jerking back, blood pouring from his chest, and the fear on the last kid’s eye when he pulled the trigger of his rifle, sending a hollow point bullet into the body of a kid who hadn’t even held the rifle that had killed Briggs. He couldn’t stand it, not even for a second, so he opened his deep black eyes and saw his life now.

He saw people looking at him with disgust, knowing that he had shot defenseless children after letting his best friend die. He saw his life for the past three years, the repetitive days and the sleepless nights. He saw himself getting thinner, it hadn’t helped that he’d stopped eating like he used to. He saw his pale face becoming near milky white, because he hadn’t seen the sun in ages. The last thing he saw, was the game he played every night at eleven o clock, and he pulled the trigger as hard as he could, wincing as he did.

After a click, there was nothing but silence. Looking at the gun he jerked it to see the spinning cartridge where he loaded it and saw five spaces filled, and just one empty, the same one he had just tried to fire out of. He swore and threw the gun under his pillow, knowing no matter how many times he did this it would always shoot the empty slot. Why? Because he was lucky, he always had been. Maybe Briggs wouldn’t allow it, but he was dead. That was a useless explanation.

Resting against his bed he stared at the ceiling like he always did after losing a game of roulette. He was the official soldier. And it looked like he still had something to do before he could die.