Lethal Guilt


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Lethal Guilt

Jake and Scott, two American soldiers, pulled their Jeep to a stop on the side of the dirt road. They looked at the plain white Afghan hut sitting alone a slight ways off. There was a pretty little girl with long black hair playing out front. It was a beautiful day, but something didn't look right.

"Check that out," said Scott. "Where are the adults? God, I'll be glad when we're done with this damn country."

They both got out of the Jeep and looked around, squinting.

"Be careful," whispered Jake. "I don't see any place to hide except that hut, but those Taliban suckers are sneaky as all hell."

Crouching and zigzagging, they approached the hut. Jake was bigger than Scott. Taller. Thick muscles. But clumsier. The little girl, hearing a noise, suddenly looked up. They were about 15 yards away. Her eyes widened in surprise and fright.

"Boo!" said Jake, right before he stumbled. The girl shrieked.

Jake tried to get his grip back on his M-4 rifle as a shot came from inside the hut. It slammed into the rifle's stock and spun the weapon right out of his hands. Both Jake and Scott hit the ground seeking cover.

"Allahu Akbar!" cried a turbaned man who emerged wielding an AK-47 in his right hand. He grabbed the girl and pinned her body in front of him with his left arm. He started spraying bursts of fire at them as he backed toward the hut.

"Shoot him!" shouted Jake. "Shoot that bastard!"

Scott, feeling calmer than he thought he ever would, took careful aim and emptied his magazine in a small gentle sweep of lethal sputtering. He knew he was lucky to be alive at this range. He tried to avoid the girl, but it was no use.

As the turbaned man started falling and dropping the girl, a blazing detonation roared from inside the hut. One of Scott's bullets had hit a cache of explosives. As the thunderclap filled the air, the man and girl wrenched around in an awkward position like puppets being yanked. They tumbled to the ground.

Then it was over.

Everything stopped. There was a long silence broken only by the crackle of the fire burning the hut.

"Hey, buddy," whispered Jake. "You OK?"

Silence.

"That was a hell of a kill," he said. "When you do it, you do it right." He looked over at Scott, who was staring at something on the ground in front of them.

"Wrong... That's wrong," said Scott, getting up as if in a trance. "That's wrong..."

"What's wrong?" asked Jake. "God damn it, get down!"

But Scott was beyond hearing. He drifted almost like a ghost to the spot he was staring at. He leaned over and picked up a small dismembered arm.

Looking back at Jake, he said woodenly, "That's wrong. Little girl needs her arm."

Jake tried to control himself. "You'll get us both killed!" he seethed in a whisper.

"Little girl needs her arm."

Scott walked slowly, zombi-like, to the dead girl. Her body was mangled, but her face had not been hit. It stared back at him, lovely and surprised. He placed the arm next to the red bleeding stump. Then he backed away and fell to his knees.

Jake, glancing around furtively, came up to Scott.

"I don't think there's any more of them, but we gotta get back," he said.

Scott was gazing at the ground. "I killed a child," he said softly.

Jake looked at him with slight irritation. "Come on, we gotta go."

Scott didn't move. He just kept staring. Jake let out a long breath and knelt down to get eye-level with Scott.

"Listen, buddy," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I shot a little girl," whispered Scott.

"No you didn't!"

Scott looked up, distantly perplexed, but starting to come out of it.

"Well," said Jake "I guess you might see it that way. But it isn't your fault."

"What isn't?"

"The collateral damage."

Scott didn't say anything. He didn't show any emotion. A tear started forming at the corner of his right eye.

"We're in a war, buddy," said Jake. "Shit happens."

"This little girl lost her arm," said Scott, trance-like. "I tried to put it back, but she's dead."

"You got that right. So's the enemy. Now, let's get out of here."

Scott didn't move.

"Stop feeling bad!" said Jake. "It's not your fault she's dead."

"Whose fault is it?"

"The Taliban. Don't you know the unwritten rule? The aggressor bears the moral guilt for all innocent victims. Your guilt is that you took out the bad guy. You did that real good. You saved lives."

Scott looked down at the girl. Her innocent face was so pretty. "I didn't save hers," he said. "I shot her."

"So what?" asked Jake annoyed. "That's not your problem. It's theirs. They made you do it, so they killed her. Not you. Forget about her."

Jake stuck his hand in a pocket and pulled out a small item. "Here, have some chocolate."

Scott missed a long beat, then asked, "Whaaaaat?" He was coming out of it fast.

"I'm busting out a bar of chocolate," said Jake. "I'll give you half. Go on. Eat it. It'll make you feel better."

Scott's eyes gradually narrowed into full penetrating focus. They bore into Jake until he was satisfied that he was not seeing anything he recognized as human. Then he looked off.

"Fuck you," he said.

Jake opened his hands in deferment, one hand holding the half-peeled chocolate bar. "Have it your way, buddy. We still gotta get back and get the others to come out here." He stood up, turned around and took a bite. He started walking back to the Jeep.

Scott slowly got off his knees, looked at the girl one last time, then plodded behind.

What's eating him? thought Jake, munching. What did he come down on me for? It's only chocolate, for Christ's sake.

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Not sure what it is I just read. This being an Objectivist community I'm looking for the moral of the story.

That someone in these parts could be brave enough to use art to tell the truth as it is seems positively incredible.

I liked the story.

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Michael:

We had a poster on OL some two years ago who described a similar situation in the days following the bombing of the Marine barracks in Lebanon.

Some things never change.

I have come to the conclusion after a lot of thought over the last few months that we should withdraw from Afghanistan. I am in the process of writing the whys and wherefores before I post it in a new thread.

It relies on several sources, including Michael Vlahos who teaches at one of our war colleges as well as the videos that you provided last weekend.

Anyone who has been in combat knows the flat out horror that exists. There is no explanation for what folks will do for their God, or their neighborhood, be it in Brooklyn, or, an outskirt of Kabul.

Thanks for this post.

Adam

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Lethal Guilt

Jake and Scott, two American soldiers, pulled their Jeep to a stop on the side of the dirt road. They looked at the plain white Afghan hut sitting alone a slight ways off. There was a pretty little girl with long black hair playing out front. It was a beautiful day, but something didn't look right.

"Check that out," said Scott. "Where are the adults? God, I'll be glad when we're done with this damn country."

They both got out of the Jeep and looked around, squinting.

"Be careful," whispered Jake. "I don't see any place to hide except that hut, but those Taliban suckers are sneaky as all hell."

Crouching and zigzagging, they approached the hut. Jake was bigger than Scott. Taller. Thick muscles. But clumsier. The little girl, hearing a noise, suddenly looked up. They were about 15 yards away. Her eyes widened in surprise and fright.

"Boo!" said Jake, right before he stumbled. The girl shrieked.

Jake tried to get his grip back on his M-4 rifle as a shot came from inside the hut. It slammed into the rifle's stock and spun the weapon right out of his hands. Both Jake and Scott hit the ground seeking cover.

"Allahu Akbar!" cried a turbaned man who emerged wielding an AK-47 in his right hand. He grabbed the girl and pinned her body in front of him with his left arm. He started spraying bursts of fire at them as he backed toward the hut.

"Shoot him!" shouted Jake. "Shoot that bastard!"

Scott, feeling calmer than he thought he ever would, took careful aim and emptied his magazine in a small gentle sweep of lethal sputtering. He knew he was lucky to be alive at this range. He tried to avoid the girl, but it was no use.

As the turbaned man started falling and dropping the girl, a blazing detonation roared from inside the hut. One of Scott's bullets had hit a cache of explosives. As the thunderclap filled the air, the man and girl wrenched around in an awkward position like puppets being yanked. They tumbled to the ground.

Then it was over.

Everything stopped. There was a long silence broken only by the crackle of the fire burning the hut.

"Hey, buddy," whispered Jake. "You OK?"

Silence.

"That was a hell of a kill," he said. "When you do it, you do it right." He looked over at Scott, who was staring at something on the ground in front of them.

"Wrong... That's wrong," said Scott, getting up as if in a trance. "That's wrong..."

"What's wrong?" asked Jake. "God damn it, get down!"

But Scott was beyond hearing. He drifted almost like a ghost to the spot he was staring at. He leaned over and picked up a small dismembered arm.

Looking back at Jake, he said woodenly, "That's wrong. Little girl needs her arm."

Jake tried to control himself. "You'll get us both killed!" he seethed in a whisper.

"Little girl needs her arm."

Scott walked slowly, zombi-like, to the dead girl. Her body was mangled, but her face had not been hit. It stared back at him, lovely and surprised. He placed the arm next to the red bleeding stump. Then he backed away and fell to his knees.

Jake, glancing around furtively, came up to Scott.

"I don't think there's any more of them, but we gotta get back," he said.

Scott was gazing at the ground. "I killed a child," he said softly.

Jake looked at him with slight irritation. "Come on, we gotta go."

Scott didn't move. He just kept staring. Jake let out a long breath and knelt down to get eye-level with Scott.

"Listen, buddy," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I shot a little girl," whispered Scott.

"No you didn't!"

Scott looked up, distantly perplexed, but starting to come out of it.

"Well," said Jake "I guess you might see it that way. But it isn't your fault."

"What isn't?"

"The collateral damage."

Scott didn't say anything. He didn't show any emotion. A tear started forming at the corner of his right eye.

"We're in a war, buddy," said Jake. "Shit happens."

"This little girl lost her arm," said Scott, trance-like. "I tried to put it back, but she's dead."

"You got that right. So's the enemy. Now, let's get out of here."

Scott didn't move.

"Stop feeling bad!" said Jake. "It's not your fault she's dead."

"Whose fault is it?"

"The Taliban. Don't you know the unwritten rule? The aggressor bears the moral guilt for all innocent victims. Your guilt is that you took out the bad guy. You did that real good. You saved lives."

Scott looked down at the girl. Her innocent face was so pretty. "I didn't save hers," he said. "I shot her."

"So what?" asked Jake annoyed. "That's not your problem. It's theirs. They made you do it, so they killed her. Not you. Forget about her."

Jake stuck his hand in a pocket and pulled out a small item. "Here, have some chocolate."

Scott missed a long beat, then asked, "Whaaaaat?" He was coming out of it fast.

"I'm busting out a bar of chocolate," said Jake. "I'll give you half. Go on. Eat it. It'll make you feel better."

Scott's eyes gradually narrowed into full penetrating focus. They bore into Jake until he was satisfied that he was not seeing anything he recognized as human. Then he looked off.

"Fuck you," he said.

Jake opened his hands in deferment, one hand holding the half-peeled chocolate bar. "Have it your way, buddy. We still gotta get back and get the others to come out here." He stood up, turned around and took a bite. He started walking back to the Jeep.

Scott slowly got off his knees, looked at the girl one last time, then plodded behind.

What's eating him? thought Jake, munching. What did he come down on me for? It's only chocolate, for Christ's sake.

Paul Tibbets and the crew of -Enola Gay- killed lots of children. Bless them all, each and every one.

In war, kids get killed. It is the nature of the enterprise.

Ba'al Chatzaf

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Earth to Ba'aly Bob: The story is not about war, children or Afghanistan although probably they were part of the thoughts that spurred Michael to write it.

It's about individuals and what they value most and how they deal with that in a world full of other individuals.

It's about (among other things) OBJECTIVISM.

CJ Stuart

Socialist

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Thank you for those who read and liked this work. This is my first totally fiction short story.

And look how I started. I now have two kills under my belt. :)

Daunce,

You got a handle on it all the way to the core.

This could have been two Israeli soldiers, two members of Hamas, two DEA officers fighting a drug cartel, two police officers, and so on against respective relevant enemies.

I sought to explore universal human values prompted by a thorny Objectivist issue, not propaganda.

Michael

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Thank you for those who read and liked this work. This is my first totally fiction short story.

And look how I started. I now have two kills under my belt. :)

Daunce,

You got a handle on it all the way to the core.

This could have been two Israeli soldiers, two members of Hamas, two DEA officers fighting a drug cartel, two police officers, and so on against respective relevant enemies.

I sought to explore universal human values prompted by a thorny Objectivist issue, not propaganda.

Michael

I like your universal human values. As one who lives and works with humans from nearly every part of the universe, I can tell you that they are both universal and local.

Big NAFTA group hug!(it's a start)

Edited by daunce lynam
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Daunce,

What do NAFTA and socialism have to do with you?

You have said you are socialist, but your posts do not lean in that direction.

Michael

I hope my posts lean to my strong belief in individual rights. But I am a socialist, in that I believe that governments need to exist, and that the best guardian of those rights is the kind of socialist system in which I have lived all my life.

I admire many things about Rand and Objectivism, and especially the quality of followers they attract.

But I dance with the one that brung me.

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Daunce,

What do NAFTA and socialism have to do with you?

You have said you are socialist, but your posts do not lean in that direction.

Michael

I hope my posts lean to my strong belief in individual rights. But I am a socialist, in that I believe that governments need to exist, and that the best guardian of those rights is the kind of socialist system in which I have lived all my life.

I admire many things about Rand and Objectivism, and especially the quality of followers they attract.

But I dance with the one that brung me.

Socialism ultimately produces mediocrity. Any productive system has to be minimally unfair and reward the best and brightest preferentially over the dullest and the laziest. In short, there have to be Winners and Losers.

Ba'al Chatzaf

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Daunce,

What do NAFTA and socialism have to do with you?

You have said you are socialist, but your posts do not lean in that direction.

Michael

I hope my posts lean to my strong belief in individual rights. But I am a socialist, in that I believe that governments need to exist, and that the best guardian of those rights is the kind of socialist system in which I have lived all my life.

I admire many things about Rand and Objectivism, and especially the quality of followers they attract.

But I dance with the one that brung me.

Socialism ultimately produces mediocrity. Any productive system has to be minimally unfair and reward the best and brightest preferentially over the dullest and the laziest. In short, there have to be Winners and Losers.

Ba'al Chatzaf

I guess you are looking at the evidence.

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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 2 months later...

Been there done that. Sadly I was not objective at the time. Carried around a lot of misplaced guilt till I got my values sorted out.

I applaud you for for nailing the emotions as well as the ideas perfectly. Thank you for putting the correct words to a story I have struggled to tell for years.

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