The Friend
A bead of cold sweat ran down the side of his face...camouflage glistening in the midday sun. He perched his friend onto a small flat patch of the broken down encampment overlooking the target. Sighted in, he was waiting for the right moment to engage. There it was...the perfect shot. He started pulling back on the trigger, probably the tightest, most difficult pull he'd ever made. Somewhere halfway, he stopped. It was as if something was pushing the trigger back to rest, not willing to let go. The kill was the last thing on his mind.
He had been a dignified, proud warrior since the day he enlisted. Day in, day out, he looked over at the enemy, and pulled the trigger. Today, though, was special. It was to be his last mission overseas. Codenamed Shadow, he had all but forgotten his real name. The two things he didn't forget, though, were his objective, and people back home. He knew that all he had to do was finish the mission, listen for commands...and wait. Wait, just wait. Anxiously wait for the transport to land on home soil. A mere shell of the man who first arrived in the desert, he didn't know how he would react when he returned to his home town.
His trust was broken. After seeing the enemy lay waste to his fellow warriors, he trusted no one. He trusted only his one friend. The two worked hand-in-hand like an intricate masterpiece. Their partnership was the one sign of peace and calm in the blazing hell that surrounded him. All he had to do was sight in, take a deep breath, and pull. His friend did the rest, never jamming, always working without a hitch. Shadow felt incomplete without his friend rested against his shoulder, his eye pressed tightly to the round eyelet that brought even the most distant person closer.
But today was different. The relationship was disturbed by thoughts past and future uncertain. He knew his duty...and wanted more than anything to fulfill it. In the distance, a dark silhouette moved about an abandoned building, no doubt also looking for the best shot. A sudden gust of wind blew a large cloud of dust and sand into Shadow's face. His heart kept pumping as he pictured the news headlines. “Troops Return Home from War,” they would read, with a picture on the front page of soldiers stepping out of a plane to their loved ones. His target stopped moving for a split second, and this was Shadow's chance. His friend gave him the perfect shot, but he hesitated.
The moment was gone and the balance was interrupted. The prey had momentarily eluded the hunter. Shadow tried to collect himself but through his scope he no longer saw the enemy; he saw his nation's flag, and his family. Blinking, he wiped his eyes to clear his vision and complete the mission. His finger began to tremble as he tried to steady himself and he again let off the trigger. It was the hardest shot of his life.
Then...the sound of rounds fired reverberated through the earpiece, and the moment of silence ended. The words “Man Down” struck him like a bolt of lighting, and his daze quickly disappeared. Blood began rushing through his veins. His hands relaxed, his heartbeat settled. Checking his surroundings, he dug in, and put his friend up to his cheek. The eyelet that moments ago gave him despair suddenly gave him a clarity unlike anything he had experienced before. In cold blood, he was Shadow, and nothing else. His fellow man was injured, the enemy was clear. Like a hawk readying its talons, the scope zeroed in. The harmony of man and friend was restored, and things began to once again make sense. He was Shadow, he was going home. Saying a silent prayer, Shadow depressed the trigger, feeling the familiar bump of his recoiling companion. The dark silhouette in the distance slumped over, lifeless. They had just taken another life, one that could not be returned. They completed each other. His friend was sending him home.
“Oscar-Mike” came the call through his headset. His friend was sending home. Shadow looked at him, and knew that this was the last time the two would ever meet. “Target acquired”, he said, knowing that in a matter of days he would be back home with a full name, his time in the desert a distant, painful memory.