A Penitent man -Part 1

There is a sense of relief knowing things are over, even if the outcome isn’t favorable. I wonder if this is how an inmate on death row feels when taking that final walk upon their day of reckoning? The difference is not what wrongs were committed, but how things went so wrong.

Low on everything but pride, we fought and held them off for eighty-one days, until mental fatigue became one more enemy. Living with constant gunfire, continuous shelling day and night while hunkering in a dark burnt out building takes a toll that no one can truly prepare for.

We gather in a room with what remains of our officers and fellow NCO’s. My friend, second lieutenant Lukas, is the highest-ranking officer we have left. A good man placed in an unwinnable situation.

“Crispen and I met with their commanders this morning to discuss a truce.” Lukas leaves that line hanging in the air.

“A truce or surrender?” A voice calls out.

The room erupts into a frenzy of voices. Lukas raises his hands until we quiet down.

“They are calling it a truce, but yeah, we know what it is. We are surrounded and cut off from our main forces. There are more civilians than soldiers down here and the reality is they will level the building by night fall if we do not give ourselves up.”

His words lay heavy because we knew he spoke the truth, failure is hard to accept. Even though the war continues in other areas of our country, our part is over. How do we walk away knowing our fellow soldiers died in vain? No one speaks, some slide to the floor, head in hands. I stand like a statue, if it weren’t for the pounding in my head I could easily believe I was stone.

Lukas explains. “The civilians will be taken to an internment camp.”

“And us?” I ask.

In the pause that follows, Lukas looks everyone in the eye. “We made them pay a high price for little gain. There will be a cost.”

We all knew what that meant.

“It has been an honor. Prepare to evacuate, dismissed.”

Lukas grips my arm and whispers. “Grif, when they realize who you and Thomas are they will make an example. No one will blame you for running.”

I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t occurred to me. My brother and I would receive special attention, and not the kind where medals are involved. I shake my head and join the others.

Shortly before dusk we exit our industrial fortress, placing palms over our eyes and blinking from the glare of the gold and vermillion orb. Many had not seen sunlight in weeks. For so long we breathed in stagnant air, waste bucket fumes and buried corpses rotting in slabs of broken concrete. Now we are on the surface, and the air isn’t much better.

With heads down and shuffling strides the civilians board the buses then depart in a cloud of dust, leaving us to our fate amongst an eerie silence. I take in the surreal beauty watching the sun hover on the edge of the horizon, a blush of blood melting into the earth covering the fields in crimson light. A Saturday night kind of red where inhibition smothers your morals and every decision is a game of chance.

The uneasy quiet of sundown overwhelms us as the situation becomes a reality. Suddenly, I experience that same queasy sensation I had on the first day of summer camp watching my parents drive away.

We line up in three rows of twenty, straight, heads high. Defiant, proud men and women. Standing beside my younger brother, Thomas. I hardly recognize him as the same person I knew growing up. He was once a gentle soul, an artist and man of peace. In another time he may have been a priest or teacher. A good man. The opposite of everything I am. Yet the day we received word that our father was missing in action, we both signed up. Thomas lied about his age, not that it would have mattered, every able person was accepted. That was two years ago.

Staring across at the invaders, they are disheveled, unorganized. I hate everything about them. From their smug attitude to their uniforms with a stupid patch depicting a bird of prey gripping the world in its talons.

A grizzled, haggard captain steps out from their ranks. His eyes are red in dark, sunken sockets. Yet his full mustache, waxed to pointed tips, seems oddly out of place. The rest of him is unremarkable, but that impressive mustache looks familiar, giving me a sudden sense of déjà vu.

“I am Captain Rogers….” He begins.

“You don’t look like an Avenger.” One of our men remark to a chorus of strained chuckles.

Ignoring the jab, he marches methodically down our lines, positioning himself in front of Thomas and myself. The edges of his perfect mustache curl upward, his lips tighten while he stares.

Glancing at me he says, “What is your name?”

I don’t say a word. It may appear I was being stoic. The truth is I had nothing clever to say and didn’t trust my voice to speak. All I was focusing on was not collapsing.

He points at the first person at the end of our line. “Starting with you, count out one to five.”

One by one we call our numbers, when it comes to me, I say four, Thomas, five.

“Number fives, take ten steps forward, then about face.” Rogers orders.

I realize the price we are about to pay. Thomas is aware as well, yet he leans forward to proceed. I block his movement and take his first step followed by nine more of my own. I notice Lukas does the same with Mathew, a young private who found out he had become a father three months earlier but had yet to see his child.

Thomas is staring at me, his mouth opens. My body shivers, I give a firm shake of my head. The twelve of us are instructed to get on our knees.

One by one bags are placed over our heads. I  give Thomas a look to let him know I am proud of him. Then all goes dim. I sense as much as I hear soldiers moving. Scraping of boots on dry soil, the unnerving sound of metal bolts sliding back. I inhale and my throat and nose become dry.

I am not a religious man but find myself praying. Time becomes abstract while waiting for the order for our end. Instead, our hoods are ripped off.

My eyes water from the glare of the setting sun and instantly find myself in a surreal situation once I see what is placed in front of us.

Lukas cries. “What the fuck is this?”

“Gentlemen, these are for you.”

Placed in front of the twelve of us are individual Browning M2 machine guns, resting upon tripods aimed at our fellow comrades. Before any word can be said, we feel a rumble and watch the buses still filled with civilians return.

Addressing us, Captain Rogers speaks. “You will approach your weapon and upon my order, fire. “

My jaw drops and I stare at Lukas who leaps to his feet. “What kind of Roman legion bullshit is this?”

Before anyone responds Rogers continues like he is discussing the weather. “Upon my count you will shoot until the entire belt is empty.”

Lukas glares at his counterpart. “We agreed to surrender and you assured safe passage. You can’t …”

“I CAN AND WILL.”

“If we refuse?”

Rogers doesn’t place an order or move in the slightest. Suddenly two shots ring, startling a flock of birds from a decimated billboard. As they take to flight, screams erupt inside one of the busses while we stare at the blood splattered windows. In moments two bodies are tossed out of the vehicle.

Rogers continues. “The guns are staked to the ground and locked with no greater than a six-inch swivel. Should you refuse this order every civilian will be eradicated along with your men.”

His next words are cold and calculating. “It’s your choice.”

We start protesting when suddenly two children are hauled out and forced to kneel. Guns pointed to their heads.

“These two will be next.”

A collective scream cries in unison. I lose all sensation. Suddenly I recognize the voice calling. “Stop…Stop…”

Lifting my head, Thomas calls to me, words that haunt me to this day. “Grif ...it’s okay. You can let go now.”

Our world becomes quiet.

The man next to Thomas raises his hand in a fist, soon every soldier across from me lifts an arm in defiance.

Rogers smiles. “Good. We are all in agreement. Approach your guns. Should any man refuse or not empty his magazines they will be shot.”

Knowing we won’t shoot he adds “Along with all remaining civilians.”

I try to process the insanity, instead I cry. “You bastard.”

A hard blow slams into my back and drops me to the ground. Bits of gravel and dust fill my mouth as the world spins. I watch a sliver of red soak in the soil below me.

His men lock their weapons, aiming them towards us and the civilians. “You have five seconds. Make your choice.”

My soul flies free of my body, watching this playout from above. With novocaine muscles I move. Lukas drags his feet towards his weapon, I follow, so do the rest. In the distance Captain Rogers yells.

“READY”

My body quivers uncontrollably, reality floats beyond all logic. A soldier across from us begins singing our national anthem.

“AIM.”

My voice rises with the others. Images of my life cascade like light through a prism. Thomas and I as children. As teenagers. As young men. Laughing, dreaming. sharing secrets. Brothers. Crying as we kiss our mother goodbye, me promising to protect him.

‘Grif, you can let go now.’

“FIRE.”

So ends Part 1. Please continue on to part 2

https://vocal.media/serve/a-penitent-man-part-2

Thank you.

Jason