An eerie silence hangs over the small settlement as I hold my breath and wait for the next shot. The dust has started to settle around the impact hole in the cracked ground just a few feet away. Almost peaceful, the six houses around us sit under the glimmering midday sun. Snow-white clouds streak the sky as if drawn with a fine paint brush. Idyllic, if I didn't know the enemy was hiding in the shadows.

When a bird starts to chirp, I exhale. The prickling I've felt under my scalp since the ambush doesn't ease. My gaze flicks up to the small mountain plateau from which the shots were fired. No blinking metal from the shaft of a rifle. No reflection from the binoculars of a spotter. No kicked-loose gravel scattering down from the plateau.

"You think it's safe, Tomás?"

I turn my head at Felipe's question. "No."

"But it's been quiet for a while now."

"Too quiet." When I detect movement behind one of the houses' curtains, I crane my neck. If they value their lives, these fools better stay inside.

A few twigs crack and Juana crawls out from the underbrush behind us. Moving her rifle into position among the lumber that provides us with quite good coverage, she settles into the spot next to me. "I radioed for backup. They're sending two troops that should be here within the hour."

I grimace. Depending on the number of rebels hiding out there, we'll be dead in an hour.

More movement behind the curtain. When the door opens a crack, I raise my chin and squint. A crouched figure comes into view. Two dark eyes stare at me from above a beard that hides the rest of the man's face.

"Stay inside!" I yell.

"My wife is sick. I need to take her to the doctor."

"Backup will be here soon. Until then, stay inside."

"Please, she's pregnant and bleeding. I need a doctor now."

"It isn't safe. Don't come out."

A muffled cry drifts from inside the house. For a brief moment, the man turns his head and mumbles to someone behind him. He opens the door a little farther.

"Is one of you a medic? My wife needs help now."

I lock eyes with Juana. She has some medical training, but I won't risk her getting shot.

"You have to wait for the backup."

A louder scream floats from the house.

The door opens even wider. The man peeks out, then shows his head. No sound other than the low whispering wind and the chirping bird. Seconds trickle down in slow motion. He stands up. Tall with broad shoulders, his frame takes up almost the entire doorway. The rutted lines around his eyes bear witness to the hard life of a forest worker. A small girl of maybe five peeks from between his legs.

"It has been quiet, Tomás," Juana says. "The rebels might have withdrawn. I should go in and help his wife."

My gut feeling cautions me to follow protocol. "You know the drill. Hostile fire means we keep our asses under cover until backup arrives."

"C'mon, Tomás. We aren't even close to an active battle zone, so the shooter was likely just a rebel scout who wanted to spook us and then moved on. Let me help."

Before I can make a decision, the man ventures onto the front porch. His gaze scans the nearby tree line and the towering mountains. When all stays quiet, he walks down the three steps of the front porch and heads for the parked car. The little girl follows him with hesitant feet, her pigtails flapping up and down in the wind just like the hem of her green polka-dot dress. A small hand reaches for her father. As her wide brown eyes meet mine, the prickling under my scalp grows stronger. It's as if a thousand ants have been set loose in my hair.

A crack splits the still afternoon air and the chirps stop. My mouth opens in warning just as a flock of birds takes off toward the sky. The little girl's gaze follows them with a smile that fades when a bang echoes off the mountain walls.

For a few seconds, time comes to a standstill. The man's head explodes like the three-gallon water canisters we used in basic training for target practice. Blood pelts down on the little girl, her loud shrieks ringing painfully in my ears.

"Cover me." I secure the rifle and toss it over my shoulder by its strap. Lunging forward, I fix my full attention on the little girl; my mind barely registers the rattling gunfire behind me. I grab her and cradle her to my chest. As I duck, a bullet zooms by so close to my cheek that I can feel its heat. Zigzagging from left to right, I sprint for the stairs. She wiggles in my arms; when the next bullet grazes my shoulder, I almost drop her. With gritted teeth, I conquer the few steps with one long stride. Another two and I'm by the door.

Just as I'm about to dive for safety, a woman blocks the doorway. Eyes that look gigantic in her gaunt face hone in on the slaughterhouse her entrance has become. Her mouth opens in a silent cry. Before I can push her aside, a bullet flies by me, hitting her right in the chest. She's tossed back into the house. I step over her to get to safety. Machine guns rattle and I slam the door closed behind me.

The shrieks start again as soon as I set the girl onto her feet. My head is about to split apart. I press my palms into my temples, trying to focus.

"Elena, come." An old woman has appeared from the back of the house and pulls the struggling girl into her arms. With little shushes, she tries to calm the hysterical sobs. Her gaze meets mine; her eyes are pleading. "Please, save my daughter." A few tears spring loose, the desperation seeping out of her enough to twist my guts.

I stare at the woman on the ground. Blood has soaked the front of her blouse, the stain growing with every raspy breath. I have no formal medical training. What am I supposed to do? No amount of pressing will stop the bleeding of that crater-like wound.

Pulling out my radio, I press the connect button. "Juana, do you copy?"

"I'm here. Are you okay?"

The graze throbs, but it's no more than a scratch. Adrenaline will do the rest until I can have a doctor look at it. "Yeah, I'm fine, but the wife got shot in the chest. She's bleeding pretty badly. What should I do?"

"Where did she get shot?"

I squat down, carefully cutting through the fabric of the blouse with my knife. I fold the ends back. "Right side, between the lower ribs."

"Shit, that's a liver shot. Is there an exit wound?"

I set the radio down. When I roll her to the side, the wife groans; it triggers another fit of wailing from the little girl. I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. Finding the tear-stricken face of the old woman, I jut my chin. "Take her to the other room."

She hesitates for a breath before she complies. The closed door muffles the cries, although they still reach a part of me that makes me sick. Corpses and wounded soldiers are one thing, but civilian casualties get to me. These people didn't sign up for war.

The wife's back shows no ragged wound a bullet would leave after traveling through a body. The floor underneath her is dry. I carefully readjust her on the floor and pick up the radio. "No exit wound."

The radio crackles before Juana is back on. "What color is the blood?"

I can't resist the joke that pops into my head. It's the only thing that keeps me from screaming and kicking the wall. "Red."

"Fuck off, genius. I'm talking about the shade."

I gaze at the hurt woman. Her lips are parted slightly, her breath shallow. All color has drained from her face; the skin is almost translucent. Next to her body, the blood soaks into the pine wood, where a puddle is quickly forming. "Dark, almost black."

"Shit. It's fatal, Tomás."

"So there's nothing I can do for her?"

"Unless she gets medical attention in the next few minutes and a blood transfusion, she's a goner."

The helplessness is suffocating. All I can do is shake out of my jacket and place it under her head to ease her breathing. No sound escapes her tight lips, but I can tell how much she is suffering. Squeezing her hand one final time, I heave myself to my feet. Her mother needs to know, even if it's hard.

When I walk into the room next door, the old woman looks up from her rocking chair. I shake my head and her face contorts, more tears rolling down her cheeks. The little girl wails like a hurt animal and clings to her as I try to pull her off. After a few soft words from her grandmother, she lets go of her cardigan. The old woman gets up with a grunt and drags herself to the door. Shoulders slumped, head tilted forward, she looks absolutely broken. I'm amazed she manages to stay on her feet.

I drop into the rocking chair and pull the little girl onto my lap. She buries her face against my shoulder. As tears soak into my shirt, I stroke her back and gently rock back and forth. I'd pay big money to just walk away, but chances are the shooter is still out there, so I'm stuck here until backup arrives.

My gaze wanders to an untouched lunch on the table. A pink straw is stuck into a glass of chocolate milk, a smiley face drawn with jam on a sandwich next to a jar with peanut butter. They must have a relative who works in the foreign section of town or they wouldn't even have access to American food. Just an hour ago, that made them one of the lucky families in Malaguay—before the war blew up their world.

Seconds dribble into minutes, and eventually, the old woman returns and lifts her granddaughter out of my lap. The tears have dried and a shell-shocked stare is all that remains. Almost stumbling over her own feet, she carries the little girl out of the room. At least the child still has someone who loves her and will take care of her. No orphan to beg for a space at the orphanage tonight. Back when I lost my parents, I wasn't so lucky.

As the adrenaline seeps out of my body, the wound throbs. The pounding spreads to my neck and my fingertips. I'm unable to move my arm.

Fucking great.

Dozing with my head tilted against the backrest of the chair, I continue to rock. The even movement is like a lullaby. When the knob of the front door crashes into the wall, I yank my head up. Jumping to my feet, I raise my weapon. My thumb slides off the safety, the pain forgotten. Every muscle in my body tenses. With a held breath, I'm ready to fire, my full focus on the living-room door that slowly creeps open.

"Dios mío, Felipe. I almost shot you." I exhale through tight lips and give my best friend an evil glare.

"Backup is here. They combed the area and it's safe. No more signs of the rebels."

Securing the weapon, I shoulder my rifle. "Then let's go."

When I step onto the porch, I avoid looking at the dead wife's body, my eyes scanning the soldiers that have gathered in little groups. A few walk from house to house and talk to the occupants. The corpse of the man is already gone. I inhale a deep, liberating breath. The fresh air tingles in my nose, flushing out the stench of blood and death that still has my stomach in knots. My gaze finally settles on Juana and the two men next to her.

Felipe is about to jump off the porch, but I hold him back. "What is General Varela doing here?"

"No idea. Probably just a routine check."

I doubt it. Malaguay's head of military rarely involves himself in minor rebel altercations. Driven forward by my curiosity, I click the heels of my boots together as I stand at attention.

Mayor Conde, my superior and Juana's father, takes the lead. "What happened here, Capitán?"

"We were scouting the area, sir. When we were coming up on the houses, a hostile opened fire. We took cover but couldn't assess whether he was alone, so we called for backup."

"But at some point, you broke cover?"

"Yes, sir, to aid a civilian."

"And that justified risking your life and that of your subordinates?"

When I feel General Varela's glare drill into my temple, my gaze diverts for a second. "With all due respect, sir, the lives of Teniente Conde and Teniente Gallega were never in danger."

"Which makes risking yours okay?"

Hell, yeah.

It's my life and I can do whatever I want with it, even if that's not the popular opinion. As a Malaguian soldier, my life belongs to the state.

When I stay silent, both men exchange a glance. General Varela addresses me. "The mayor asked you a question, soldier."

"Sir, I did what I had to do under the circumstances."

"And you don't regret this decision?"

Though I'm supposed to stare straight ahead, I turn my head to look him in the eyes. "As a soldier, I'm supposed to serve my country and its citizens. I consider saving the life of a little girl service to my country."

Mayor Conde laughs. "There you have it, Pablo. I told you the boy is stubborn."

The general's smile doesn't hit his eyes; as a matter of fact, his gaze gives me the chills, something that is hard to do. "Why don't you walk me back to the Jeep, Capitán?"

As we stroll along the path that cuts through a small area of woods, my stance is stiff. I still have no clue what Varela wants from me. A reprimand is unlikely since Mayor Conde would've done that in front of Felipe and Juana to prove a point. Yet nothing else comes to mind that would justify a general taking time out of his busy day to talk to a low-ranking officer.

He remains quiet until we reach the Jeep. "My officers tell me that you have great talent in war strategy and combat analysis."

Heat prickles in my cheeks. "I might've had a few good ideas."

Truth is, the mayor and a few other officers have been consulting me more and more often before we attack smaller rebel settlements. I thought it was just part of training but not something that would make me stand out.

"Don't be modest, Capitán. Malaguay needs soldiers like you. Even though I find today's behavior reckless, it also proves courage. However, don't let it happen again. If I invest money and time in a soldier, his ass belongs to me. No exceptions."

"I'm not sure I understand, sir."

He offers me a cold smile. "You're high-ranking-officer material. Of course, you will have to undergo further training and work hard to earn that title. Are you willing to do that?"

"Yes, sir." My beaming smile reflects my excitement. That type of career is usually only open to members of the leading families. Instead of having reached the top of my career ladder, I'll be able to advance far beyond what I ever thought possible. That he singled me out is a huge honor—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'd do anything not to screw this up.

"Don't let it get to your head. And if you ever get assigned on another patrol with Teniente Conde, make sure she is safe. Juana enjoys a special status in this army and can be a little bit of a renegade. You don't want to be the one who has to explain to Mayor Conde why you couldn't protect his only child."

"I will, sir. And thanks for the opportunity."

He fixes his cold eyes on me for a second longer before getting into the Jeep. The tires spin and I'm left behind in a cloud of dust. Finally, I caught a lucky break. Now all I have to do is keep my mouth shut and avoid playing the hero again, and I'll end up with the career I've always wanted.

~~~~~

© Sal Mason 2018

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