Half-Hearted

The general called me quite early in the morning to go see him. It did not come as a shock to me that it was about my religion. When I was drafted, I filed to be a conscientious objector, but i was sent anyway. My country was losing...1

I arrived at the general's tent at 0600 and quickly and quietly let myself in. The room was sparsely furnished and lit by a single light bulb in the middle of the ceiling. The general, though, was no where to be seen, his chair standing vacant on the opposite side of a rustic-looking desk.2

Expecting this, for the general was no known to be extremely punctual, I sat down at one of the few chairs seemingly littered across the room. I tinkered with my equipment for a bit to waste some time, but after thirty minutes, I got worried.3

For the first time since entering the tent, I realized that the tent had two rooms, one's opening covered by a remarkably well camouflaged flap. I stood up and moved myself towards the flap. The flap was surprisingly heavy as I shoved it to one side to allow my passage.4

The source of my inquiry lay on the ground in front of me. The poor general's body had been pulled in half and plopped in the middle of the floor. I quickly scanned the room for clues as to how this could have happened. As my eyes rested on the back wall, I noticed the tear in the tent's canvas.5

I decided backup would be necessary, so I went back out the way I came. I ran to the officer's quarters and flung the door wide.6

The three other officers lay there, also ripped ruthlessly in half, blood staining the Persian run on the floor. My mouth dropped open, but quickly closed again as I realized that there was a horrible odor coming from their bodies. I walked over to one body, a colonel, and leaned down to inspect it.7

A smell overwhelmed my senses, making me feel horribly lightheaded. It was only then I realized I could not move...