THERE BE DRAGONS by Peter Hallett Page B

didn’t even know the names of them. I’ve been trying to decide if that makes it easier and in a funny way … it does. The guilt is less personal. It’s different to the feelings I felt after Cook’s death. I’d known his name, had spoken to him, spoken to him in a less than friendly manner. I’d seen his death up close and that made a difference to the taste of culpability in my gut. It was sourer, had more of a sting. The men I lost in the firefight last night had been like living pawns in a game of chess I’d been playing. I can’t believe I’ve thought of them like that. I can’t believe I’ve equated them to pawns. How could I think of living, breathing creatures—human beings—as just expendable chess pieces?”
    “I think you are starting to understand what it takes to command,” said Maxwell.
    “If so, why am I so confused?”
    “Perhaps that’s what it feels like to have this kind of responsibility.”
    “I’ve now also got to process the fact that I’ve killed. I choked a man to death. I looked in his eyes as the life left him. I felt his last breath on my cheek.” Jacobs took another drag.
    Maxwell swallowed.
    “A friend of mine, Lynch, had asked me if I could kill a man. I have the answer to that now. The same friend had said some men in training didn’t refer to the enemy as human beings. They only thought of them as targets. I guess I have already started to do the same.”
    “You’ve got to justify the killing anyway you can. If you don’t find a way to do that, you could lose your mind. It will eat you up. Thinking of them as only targets is sound advice,” said Maxwell.
    “Have I begun to turn into what Stephens predicted? Maybe I have.”
    “I’ve told you, you will not become like him.”
    “I can’t deny the facts for much longer. I can’t hide from myself. I’ve got to accept the change, or end the change. End it in the way Stephens had said it was possible to end it,” said Jacobs.
    “Give yourself time to process last night’s events. Once you’ve had breathing room, you’ll be fine. You’ll realize how far off the mark Stephens is.”
    “That course of action, the way to end it, is becoming more attractive as the morning progresses. I also have a final set of information I’ve got to process, the information in this letter.” Jacobs waved the paper in front of the reporter’s face.
    “What’s in the letter?” asked Maxwell.
    “I wish I could have died in the firefight. It would have spared me all this pain,” said Jacobs.
    “Don’t talk like that, Ethan.”
    “It’s the way I feel.”
    “Excuse me, sir.”
    Jacobs and Maxwell looked up and saw Diaz.
    “Not now, Private,” said Jacobs.
    “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s really important,” said Diaz.
    “I don’t think I’m the right person to be discussing important matters with at the moment.”
    “Are you okay, LT?” Diaz kept his voice low so none of the other men could hear. The rest of the platoon were scattered about the LZ, most of them chowing down.
    “I’ll be honest, Private. I’m pretty far from okay right now.”
    Diaz took a seat on the foxhole next to Jacobs. “I remember after my first firefight. I was pretty shaken up. I was in a bad way. Then I started to think, I’m alive. It hadn’t crossed my mind for some reason, that I had managed to survive, as odd as that might sound. I then realized I’d get to write home and keep my loved ones’ hearts warm. I’d get to bring them the hope I might return home someday. Hope is a powerful thing. So now after a firefight, I always try to think about how pleased the people back home will be that I’m still ticking.”
    “You have people back home who care for you?” asked Jacobs.
    “I have my parents and two young sisters.”
    “No girlfriend? No wife?”
    “No. No girl,” said Diaz.
    “You’re lucky.”
    “Why’s that? Do you not have loved ones back home?”
    “I have my parents,” said Jacobs.
    “Then