Revenge

Armond

Armond is suddenly wrenched back to the present. Spitting out splinters of the chewed-up match stick, he realises that the memories had, yet again, removed him from the tedium of waiting for the allotted time for the ambush. The shrill, gut-wrenching screams, as his mother and sisters were run through by the flaming-hot blades, still make him violently sick. Chewing the match sticks has become a way around the constant vomiting of pure bile. He's not managed to keep any food down in weeks, the smell of cooked meat, instantly transporting him back to the dreadful day when his whole life changed.

His whole outlook on life changed that day. The once peaceful, placid man who believed that love could overcome any disagreement, had turned into a vengeful, vindictive and violently calculating murderer. Now he is lying in wait, knowing that sooner or later, the military convoy which transports General Scarlet, will pass the checkpoint and cross this bridge. That will be the point of no return for the butcher and his protectors. Revenge will be his, and while it will be neither sweet nor bring his family back, it will be just.

The words of his teacher echo through his mind again, 'War is never just; there is no winner, just losers at the end of every battle'.

The irony is not lost on him. He has lost his mother and his sisters; his innocence and his beliefs. There is no way that, even if this mass assassination succeeds, he will ever feel like he had won. Not the battle, and certainly not the war.

Movement catches his eye. It is a man, a refugee, trying to cross the river on a little rowing boat. There was no way he would make it across the river; the current is too strong and the ingress and egress of water - from the mountain streams - make the river too unpredictable.

Looking in the direction of the nearest sniper, he sees the almost imperceptible nod and by the time he looks back at the river, the slumped figure of the refugee is being swept away towards the ocean. The river serves as a reliable sweeper, clearing away any evidence of our activities.

Modern technological advances in weaponry, has a wonderful way of ending up in the hands of rebels before it is even legitimately used by governments. Greed is a wonderful thing. Everything is for sale. Even a soul. Not his though. His soul is incorruptible, or at least, thats what he believed. The deaths of his mother and sisters may have dented that theory. His need for revenge is greater and more corrupting than any offer to join a rebellious cause.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see his mothers smile. Her forgiving and loving nature always enough to forgive any juvenile indiscretion committed by her children. In these dark hours, he holds on to the belief that she is still smiling at him, believing in his choices. Believing that he made the right choice.

The vibration of the approaching convoy brings his wandering mind back to the present. His focus is sharp, fixed resolutely on his target. Theyve measured the time and distance from noticing this kind of vibration for the first time to actual detonation over and over. The precise nature of this operation required meticulous planning and preparation. Precision is vital. Accuracy is required. Calculated risks are inevitable.