Peter- Hawaiian Resistance- Night 71
The
non-Faction troops waited apart from the mainlanders. The loud music of the
Faction troops pulsed across the western shore of the island, forcing the beats
of brutal war drums and the screams of violent vocalists into the minds of
every man, soldier or not. Peter sat by his friends; those who survived the
initial Chinese sweep of the island chain, at least. Many tried to calm
themselves quiet guitar strumming or even the last desperate scratching of a
pen before battle. Peter sat quietly, consciously deciding whether he would be
able to take another’s life when his own was endangered.
The
thought seemed so cliché, so obvious. He felt as if he should think something
more profound in what would certainly be the end of his days. Perhaps he should
think about the political implications of his actions, of the impact he would
have on the people he had grown up with. He could not distract himself from the
deep fear that he would be unable to pull the trigger.
How
selfish he was, to ignore everything in the fear that he might show too much
mercy. What would happen to everyone he knew when he choked? How could he live with himself, knowing he had contributed to his home's destruction? Hands clasped around his scavenged Chinese rifle,
Peter began marching toward the Faction camp. He would join the men who had
come to the islands for the blood, not those who were subjected unwillingly to
it.
"Five hours until deployment," the camp megaphone blared. "All units ready gear, get all vehicles stocked and fueled. We deploy in five hours."
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