“So, you’re a pacifist.”1

“A conscientious objector, Sergeant.”2

“Cut the parade ground crap soldier, we’re in the field now. So, you don’t believe in any killing? Any at all?”3

“I believe that killing another human being is immoral, yes.”4

“What religion are you?”5

“Christian.”6

“What? Not a Jehovah’s Witness or something.”7

“No, Sir.”8

Another soldier interjected in the conversation between the Sergeant and the medic. “Jehovah’s Witnesses are Christians.”9

“It’s alright, Peter,” replied the medic. “It’s alright.”10

Ignoring the remark the Sergeant continued. “Hell! I’m a Christian. Why didn’t they let me off too.”11

“I didn’t object on religious grounds, but moral.”12

“Oh right. I’ve never heard of that before. Who did you have to kill to get that approved?” The other men snorted and tittered and the Sergeant beamed at his own cleverness.13

The squad trudged on through the twilit fields, moving around hay bales and along hedgerows, and low stone walls.14

After a minute, the Sergeant carried on. “Have you ever fired a gun?”15

“No, Sir.”16

“Do you wanna?”17

“Not really.”18

“Were you always a pacifist?”19

The medic frowned trying to recall, but the Sergeant carried on. “I mean, did you play cowboys and indians as a kid? Cops and robbers. Blam! Blam! You know... did you shoot pretend guns?”20

“Yeah, but that’s different.”21

“Nobody died? Nobody dies if you shoot at a target. Wanna have a go?”22

“Why?”23

“Hey lads! You hear that? Why shoot a gun? ‘Cause it’s fun... that’s why.”24

The other soldiers slowed their pace to watch the unfolding exchange, some nodding in agreement with the Sergeant.25

“Here, take my pistol.” The Sergeant was holding out his gun, but the medic didn’t take it.26

“Take it. That’s an order.”27

“Sergeant..” the Lieutenant warned, in a low, slow tone.28

“It’s alright sir,” replied the medic as he held out his hand and took the pistol.29

The squad stopped to watch. The Sergeant looked around and pointed out a small copse to the left. “Now careful. Point it away from all of us. Over there at those trees.”30

The medic gingerly raised the pistol and took aim. Then lowered the pistol with a quizzical look. “Nothing happened.”31

“You’ve got the safety on dumb fuck. It’s this switch here.”32

The medic took aim again and fired off a single shot, the pistol jerking his arm up into the air above his shoulder.33

“That’s the way boy…“ the Sergeant was cut off by the sound of gun fire being returned from the cluster of trees. “Shit! Take cover. Everybody down!”34

The men dropped to the ground or dodged behind a nearby, large hay bale. One soldier pulled out his radio and shouted frantically into the handset. “Contact! Contact! Taking fire. Position is Green sector Sierra 4-8-8-3. Contact! Contact! This is Echo Bravo Niner taking fire.”35

None of the soldiers could make out any muzzle flashes or gun smoke among the trees, so their returning fire was sporadic and aimless. The Lieutenant made his way to the hay bale and spoke to the radio operator. Then he called out, “Cease fire! Sergeant – cease fire!” The call went around the men and the firing stopped. “HQ reports that’s one of ours. Hold your fire!”36

At the same time the shooting from the trees stopped and a hand waved out from behind a bush in the copse. The Sergeant waved back and the squad all stood up. Then crack! Another shot rang out and down went one of the squad.37

“What the fuck! Take cover!” cried the Sergeant again.38

One soldier looked bemused and pondered aloud. “Why haven’t they stopped firing?” before a squad mate pulled his legs from under him and held him on the ground.39

“Medic! Medic!” called a private, kneeling beside the shot soldier. The medic ran over and found him bleeding from a single shot wound high on his arm, close to the shoulder. Blood was slowly oozing from both sides of the wound as the medic pulled out his bandages and medikit. The kneeling soldier moved off to a better fighting position, while the injured man looked confused at the medic.40

“What happened? Am I hit?”41

“Yeah.”42

“Is it bad?”43

“Dunno. I think you’ll live. Does it hurt?”44

“Kind of. I feel sick.”45

“Take it easy.”46

“Hey medic.”47

“Yeah.”48

“What’s your name? I only know you as medic.”49

“Thomas.”50

“Nice to meet you, Thomas. I’m Frank.”51

The other soldiers realized that the gun shot had come from directly ahead of them rather than from the trees. There was a stone wall ahead and they guessed that a sniper was behind the wall. Taking their time and exploiting their superior numbers, they encircled the sniper’s position. By the time Thomas finished patching up Frank, they had shot and incapacitated the sniper.52

Frank was able to walk, so he was sent back to the logistics unit who could give him a ride to the nearest infirmary. The rest of the squad prepared to move out and continue the advance. 53

Thomas looked concerned. “What about him?” Hhe pointed at the injured sniper. The prisoner, lying on the ground beside the stone wall, looked frightened and had a bloody wound frothing high on the right side of his chest. He struggled every time he tried to move, so nobody bothered to restrain him.54

“Leave him,” said the Sergeant dismissively.55

“I can help him,” said Thomas. As the others ignored him, he looked anxiously from soldier to soldier. “He’s got a punctured lung. If we roll him onto his right side, the left lung will be able to breathe and he could live.”56

Peter wandered toward Thomas and the enemy soldier, but before he arrived, the Lieutenant barked out an order. “Put him on his left side.” Two of the other squadies shoved the man over and wedged him against the wall.57

“I said the right side,” Thomas observed in confusion. “On his left, his other lung will fill with blood and he’ll drown.”58

“Leave him,” growled the Lieutenant.59

Thomas’ guts churned at the inhumanity. Peter, seeing the conflict in Thomas, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The Sergeant drifted nearby the two friends and spoke in a low, yet audible voice, “A prisoner would only slow down the advance.” Then he moved off to join the men as they took up their patrol positions.60

Thomas walked beside Peter.61

“This isn’t what I expected when I signed up.”62

“You didn’t sign up. You were drafted. We both were. Remember?”63

“Well... this isn’t how it’s meant to be. It’s fucked up.”64

Thomas took a final glance back at the dying man then carried on walking in silence. After a few minutes he spoke again. “Thanks for speaking up earlier.”65

“Hah. What are best friends for?” Peter smiled at his friend. “You could do with a clean uniform – look at yourself.”66

Thomas had blood stains on both his hands and sleeves and there was a mix of mud and blood from his knees up to his belt.67

“Is this how we’re gonna die?” Thomas asked.68

“Who knows. We’ve known each other how long?”69

“Fifteen years.”70

“School together. Drafted together. Served together.” Peter didn’t finish the thought and changed the subject. “What did they teach you in basic?”71

“I’m highly qualified at fixing splinter wounds in wooden mannequins and cleaning make-up from play-acting nurses.” Thomas caught sight of Peter’s raised eyebrows and sidelong glance. “Male nurses,” Thomas laughed. ”You know I’ve never seen a real, fresh wound... until today. The funny thing is, I felt so happy when I saw that red-ink stamped across my application form ‘APPROVED,’ not having to fight. This is better than bomb disposal. And it felt good that we got into the same unit too.”72

“Yeah, me too. You know what they taught us in basic? They taught us that the enemy isn’t human. We are all perfect killing machines, because their lives don’t mean shit. I’m ready to kill. And kill and kill and kill. But they didn’t teach us what to do when you’re being shot down by snipers. I’m ready to kill ‘em all, but when I don’t know where they are, I get... I dunno, I get...”73

“Frustrated?”74

“Yeah, but times a hundred. And angry. Real angry. I want ‘em all to die.” Peter paused for a while, then continued in a lower, conspiratorial tone. “But deep down. Deep, deep down in here, I know it’s wrong. I know they’re just like us. With families, wives, children, homes, love, hope... the whole thing. You know. They ain’t monsters.” Peter looked pained. “But I’ll still kill ‘em anyway.”75

“That’s sick.”76

“Maybe. But as long as I can keep myself fooled that they really are monsters, I can do my job.”77

“I could never be like that.”78

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. It’s… almost comforting.”79

As night fell, the squad set up a field camp and a watch rota.80

The next morning they approached their target town, fearing stiff resistance. As they drew close to the first outlying building, Thomas and the radio operator remained behind a ridge line. The rest of the squad moved over the ridge to begin the assault.81

There was an exchange of fire in a prolonged skirmish, lasting almost half an hour, then came the cries. “Medic! Medic!”82

Thomas raised himself to a crouched running position and threw himself over the ridge. The squad was arrayed along the outer back wall of the house and were firing around the ends of the building. In return they were taking fire from across the road at the front of the house. A soldier was being dragged to the middle of the wall by two of the men. Thomas raced straight toward them, gun shots ringing out from both sides of the street. As he approached the injured soldier he saw that it was his friend Peter.83

The side of Peter’s head was a bloody mess mixed with hair and chips of his skull. Most of his ear was gone and he was gasping erratically, his face contorted in a spasm of pain. “Argh. It hurts. Shit. Fuck. Those bastards. It hurts. Help me. Fucking shit.” Peter gritted his bared teeth and reached up to the side of his head as though to feel what damage had been done, but Thomas grabbed his hand and held it away. This was far more complex than any of the ‘standard’ wounds he had been trained to treat. He pulled out his bandages and sized up which one might be able to cover the wound best, but filled with dread as he watched a dribble of pale mush ooze out of the wound mingling with the blood.84

Thomas sat down on the ground and pulled Peter onto his side, laying his head in his lap, wounded side up to minimize the loss. But he had no idea what to do.85

“Peter... Peter?”86

Peter’s face twisted then started to lose tone, relaxing and drooping toward the ground. His breathing stopped then restarted, then groaned in a half exhale, half-cough. Thomas tried to wad a bandage over the wound, but only succeeded in shifting the fluid flow around its edges. “What do I do? Peter, don’t go, help me fix you. What do I do?”87

Thomas fumbled in his medikit pack, pulled out a syringe and stabbed it into Peter’s shoulder. Then he held Peter close toward himself, with his head still resting on his legs. He stroked the back of Peter’s head and softly muttered reassurances to him. “That should help with the pain. I’ll look after you. I’m here with you Peter. You’re doing great. Well done. You’ve done so well. I’ll take you back home. You'll be alright. I’ll take you to your mum.”88

Peter’s breathing stuttered again, his features ceased changing and all movement stopped. Thomas carried on talking to him and stroking his head, holding his hand with his other free hand. 89

With every pounding beat of his heart, Thomas inched a little closer to acceptance of his friend’s death; and in turn, closer to uncontrollable fury. Slowly his thoughts turned. He pictured himself taking up the rifle from his dead friend’s side and thrusting its bayonet into enemy after enemy. Killing. Murdering – not in cold blood, but hot, boiling blood. Even his vision seemed to take on a hot red hue as he wallowed in the alien feeling.90

Thomas found himself jerked back to reality. “Medic!”91

Thomas bent his face down to the remnant of Peter’s ear. “I’ll come back, but someone else needs me now.” Then he tenderly lowered Peter’s head to the ground and ran over to the next casualty.92

“Hey medic! I think I’m shot in the leg.”93

Thomas struggled to set his feelings aside and started working on the wound: cleaning, bandaging, injecting, exactly as he had been taught. As he did so, he reflected on the overwhelming anger that had consumed him just moments before. For the first time Thomas felt able to do his job. He worked quickly and efficiently. Caring and sympathy were but distant memories. Instead, the wound had become his new enemy; an enemy to be beaten into submission and defeated. Afraid of his own feelings Thomas reaffirmed his principles, never to kill another human being.94

"Is it bad?"95

"You'll live." Thomas pulled the bandage tight and held it with his teeth while he pinned it in place. He working quickly so that he could return to his friend's side.96

“Hey medic. I don’t think I know your name.”97

“Medic. Just call me Medic.”