Published: 2025-09-25

The tap of his military boots sounded like tap dancing; John was nervous. Sitting on the back of the convoy, rifle in hand, he wished nothing for the day to be over, whatever the outcome may be. He was the youngest, most inexperienced soldier of the squad, but he firmly believed in what they were about to do. Regardless, he was troubled. The tone of his milky white face oscillated from yellow to green; he was losing his cool. Seeing how calm the rest of the soldiers were made him more uneasy. Most of them sat with their back straight, hands folded in front of them, expressionless. Whatever they may have been thinking John wouldn’t know. Another soldier disassembled his rifle and put it back together; he did it with finesse, as if the rifle was part of his body and seemed to be unconcerned with anything but his rifle.

The bumpy road made John want to vomit; it was too much for him. Maybe he would break down and start crying at any moment; he didn’t know, but he felt like he couldn't take it anymore. He felt the pad of a warm hand on his shoulder, which brought him out of his thoughts. “You want a cigarette?” A soft voice asked him while holding a package in front of him. It was Matthew, a soldier not much older than John but who seemed much more mature; he had a scar in the form of a semicircle in his right cheek, it was rumored that he got it in combat. John looked at the cigarette, absorbed in the cylindrical shape of cancer, but he was still speechless. “You blind or mute? Stevie Wonder or Helen Keller, take your pick.” Matthew said. John snapped out of his trance after hearing this.

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”
“Good. You have to take care of your body. Life is precious.” Matthew said as he put the box in his pocket. “Look, kid,” he continued, “I know you are nervous, you may be even scared, we all are, but you are here, and we need you. When you show up, you have to do the job; otherwise, someone else will have to take care of your share, and this ain’t no office job. When you don’t do your part, people might die. You understand that?”

John nodded, half understanding, half surprised at the eloquence with which Matthew spoke.

“That ain’t the proper way to talk to a senior member. I want to hear a ‘yes, sir.’” Matthew said.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better. Now, you see the men here? That’s Roger, Thomas, and the rifle guy is Gary. The driver is named Peter. Out here, we have nothing but each other. These are your brothers, and you treat them as such. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right. Now relax a little, you are making everybody here tense.”

Roger, who sat perfectly still in front of John, looked at him and smiled. John smiled back. The tension was starting to release, his shoulders weren’t heavy anymore, and his breathing had slowed down; he felt good.

The convoy kept advancing through the bumpy road until it stopped. The doors of the convoy opened. “They set a trap for us. Someone must have leaked information.” Peter said.

A few kilometers in the horizon, they could see the presidential palace. In front of it, there was a massive crowd of civilian protesters celebrating the government.

“Had we heard from the commander?” Matthew asked.
“I tried to contact him, but the frequency is dead. He may have been captured.” Peter replied.

Matthew paced up and down and, suddenly stopping, said, “From now on, I am assuming command. As far as I am concerned, nothing has changed. We all have our orders, now let’s go.”

He talked with confidence, as a natural leader does, and although he was younger than the rest of the crew — except for John — everyone seemed to respect his judgment.

“We advance!” Matthew said as he climbed into the convoy again. The rest of the men got into the convoy too, and Peter returned to the driver's seat. They advanced towards the multitude.

The crowd held banners with messages such as “We won’t allow a coup” or “Military traitors are trash”, and protesters threw rocks at the convoy. The convoy stopped 500 meters from the presidential palace entrance; the mass of people was too thick; they could not penetrate it with their vehicle, which protesters kept rocking from side to side, despite how heavy it was.

“We’re going out.” Matthew said.
“With all due respect, sir, but they’ll eat us alive out there.” Gary said.
“We came here with a purpose. We have our orders, and we are gonna make it happen. We are gonna open our way through the crowd. If they become hostile, we shoot. Our names are already destined to be written in history. If any of you don’t want to be remembered as an assassin, then don’t leave this convoy, but I’m going out.”

All men stood up and saluted. John imitated them; he was inspired.

The doors of the back of the convoy opened, and Roger descended from it, followed by Thomas, both with their rifles in hand. The crowd was starting to get close in when Matthew jumped from the convoy, pointed his rifle to the sky, and opened fire.

“No civilian has to die today, but if you interfere, we will shoot.” He said.

The crowd started to back up. Some panicked and ran away; it was chaos, but nobody dared get near the military men.

“Now, we advance. I want two men in the front line, two in—” A loud noise interrupted Matthew. The same sound was heard again three times in rapid succession. He was shot four times. Behind him, Gary stood with his rifle still pointing at him. A quick jerk to the left, and now Gary’s rifle pointed to Thomas’s chest; he pressed the trigger, and Thomas fell to the ground. Roger jumped on Gary’s back, and the crowd quickly jumped over them. The last thing John saw was Roger pulling the pin of a grenade. His instinct told him to close the door of the convoy. The convoy rocked. “Drive! Drive, damn it, drive!” He shouted to Peter, and the convoy accelerated towards the presidential palace doors.

As soon as the convoy stopped, John kicked the door and opened fire. Civilians fell to the ground as if they were dominoes. To liberate the people, he first had to massacre the supporters of the old regime with his own hands. Peter grabbed him by the collar and said, “Save your bullets; who we came for is inside those walls.”

John let go of the trigger and looked Peter in the eye; he looked scared. “I need a cigarette.” John said.

THE END.