I was sort of in a trance, looking around the room, fear overcoming all of my senses. Ten of us had entered the
bar, three remained. Jean Claude, the token French of the squad, was crying over the body of our leader. Dunfield
was still huddled in the corner, holding his rifle and staring into nothingness. And then there I was. Gun loosely held
in my hand, scouting around the pub lobby, not knowing why I was here. Not knowing why I had given up my life
for this. My home, my car, my Mary. Not knowing why I had felt so driven to fight for a cause so futile yet so sure
to succeed. I could not fathom why my comrades, lying lifeless around me had to die to stem the greed for power
that one egotistical man had.
My patriotism had faded from my heart. The light of optimism and excitement that I had felt entering this desolate
town had flickered and died. I was a pawn. A pawn in a large game of chess between a man fuelled by hatred
and greed and a man trying to save the rest of the world from turmoil. All my faith in humanity and my God was lost
when I stood there, rain falling gently on the roof, flames crackling in the evening light and the gentle sobbing of a
man who had lost a friend.
Nick Wilkey