The Burdens of War
The captain’s eyes stared into the surprisingly calm gaze of the young stallion who knelt before him. His body; coursing with adrenaline, pushing his thoughts and strength to the limits. He could feel a shiver run down his spine and shoot out his tail, leaving him trembling. The quaking of his body was so intense, his helmet raddled above his disheveled mane and the rifle held in his sweaty hoofs was beginning to lose its grip.
The young stallion stared at the captain, cutting away at his soul. He looked at peace, his eyes not moving from the captain’s, his hind legs bent down in the tall crops that surrounded him. His black helmet was tilted slightly to the left and his rifle rested on the ground beside him. His face was dirtied with spots of mud and heavy bags rested below his dreary yet determined eyes. He was so young, no more than 18 or so, but wore the face of a true soldier.
The captain was far less placid than the stallion before him. He expected the young pony to at least draw his sidearm in a feeble attempt to counter him, but he did nothing. He only waited silently for fate to consume him.
The young pony raised an eyebrow, rather surprised that the captain hadn’t done anything yet. His face silently asking, ‘what are you waiting for?’
The cool hushes of wind whispered into the two ponies’ ears, swaying the crops to the side and rustling the leaves of a single oak tree that stood in the distance. The sky was painted a dark grey and a crooked brown fence stood a few yards away. They both continued their death stare, neither moving a muscle, yet the unarmed stallion, still kneeling on the ground, seemed much less tense.
The captain could feel sweat building up along his forehead, trickling down his cheeks like rain. His mouth grew incredibly dry, and no more moisture existed in his swelled up throat. His hoof rested against the trigger, the barrel aimed at the young stallion’s chest. Biting his bottom lip, he could feel his sanity slowly unravel.
He had killed many through the past years, but this… this was different. Through all the battles, attacks, and defenses, the captain never really rested his eyes on the faces of the enemy. To him, anypony in the opposing uniform was a threat.
He stood in this empty field for scouting purposes, planning on crossing the countryside to regroup with his company. He had no intensions on running into an enemy soldier; but here he stood, one kneeling in front of him, only a few yards away.
The captain had strict orders to shoot anypony on site, less reveal their scouting grounds to the enemy. His instincts would have normally kicked in by now, and the young enemy soldier before him would be long dead. But there was a strong churning in his stomach as he stared at the stallion. He was so young, so naïve, so innocent looking. He was just a kid.
The young stallion was growing curious as to why the captain hadn’t done anything yet. He slowly lifted his knees from the ground to stand up. He raised his front hoofs in the air, signaling to cease fire as he stood upright.
The captain’s pupils turned to pinpoints and the sudden action of the young enemy soldier startled him. Without a second thought, the captain squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the trigger of his rifle. A loud bang erupted through the still air around him, and a bright flash from the gun’s barrel illuminated his face. A single bullet cut through the air like a knife, making direct contact with the young stallion’s chest.
The captain kept his eyes closed and all went silent again. The stillness was interrupted one last time as the stallion’s body collapsed to the ground with a thud.
Fearfully, he opened his eyes; no soldier stood before him any longer, only the corpse of a young stallion littered the open field.
A small smoke stream drifted upwards from the gun barrel, disappearing into the grey sky above, and the air around him began to feel heavy. The captain was now alone, only him and his thoughts. Still shaken, he slowly approached the corpse, his hoofs snapping twigs as he walked.
The young stallion’s helmet had fallen off, tilting back and forth on the ground and revealing his messy brown mane. A small exit wound marked his back and the grotesque smell of blood filled the air. Guilt, regret, and the longing for forgiveness swelled up the captain’s brain.
Something then caught his eye. In the rear slot of the young stallion’s saddle bag, was an assortment of papers. Possibly enemy maps of some sort. But as the captain slowly removed the papers from the bag, he realized that they weren’t maps, but letters.
He looked through them, all written in the finest of cursive. With a broken heart and watery eyes, the captain noticed the headings of each letter, all sent to the stallion’s mother, siblings, friends, and lover. There were pictures as well, pictures of the young stallion training hard in boot camp, receiving hugs and kisses from what is assumed to be his friends and family, and saying goodbye to them as he left for the war.
All the letters ended with the same, simple sentence, “We can’t wait for you to come home.”
The pictures and documents were soon littered with the captain’s tears, quietly crying above the young stallion’s corpse.
So many thoughts ran through his brain. How many lives did he just ruin with a single bullet? How many ponies will be given the news that their loved one won’t be coming home after all? How many sleepless nights will he endure? Why did he pull the trigger? How can he live with himself?
The captain placed the letters and photos back into the stallion’s saddle bag, wiping away the final tears from his cheek. After a brief moment of recollection, he rested his rifle back into his pack, and gave the stallion one last look before walking off. Still thinking to himself, “Why did I pull the trigger?”