War

My 10 year-old comrade-in-arms haunches over and quietly makes his way with me along the ridge from which the two of us plan to surprise our enemy. Heavy breathing from the long trek up has fogged up my safety goggles, letting me see things only as blurry, indistinguishable blobs--from here on in, the success of the campaign, and indeed my very survival, will depend on my young companion, a boy who only minutes ago was a total stranger. My intrepid friend is not big for his age, but what he lacks in bulk he more than makes up for with heart and determination. I catch his steely gaze and am confident that I am travelling with a good man.

Neither of us are experienced fighters. In fact, I suspect we look awfully goofie crawling along the ridge holding stock rental guns and sporting ragged automechanic overalls. But both of us know that it is not the equipment which makes a good soldier, but his will to survive and to vanquish his enemies. As the ridge starts to angle down, we both realize it's time for action: I click off the safety on my gun and pull the cock, ready to spray anyone unfortunate enough to fall victim to our brilliant ambush.

Suddenly, from behind me a voice shouts, "MURRAY!" I don't know if 'Murray' is code, or if it's simply the name of my little friend, so I quickly turned around with my gun and shout back, "What?" But before I can hear a response, I hear the distinctive splat of a headshot straight to my mask. As white paint streaks down my visor, I realize that I had misheard: the enemy soldier wasn't shouting "MURRAY", but rather he was asking if I wanted "MERCY", a way to surrender rather than take a close range shot to the head. Seeing me go down in front of his very eyes, my young companion screams out "MERCY MERCY!!!!" without a second thought. I have clearly misjudged the boy; he is not at all intrepid.


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