Blood Stained Hands
There was blood on his hands and no matter how hard he scrubbed them Mark couldn’t get the stains off.
During a raid on a Phoenix convoy for supplies he had engaged one of the soldiers in hand to hand combat and the man had drawn a knife. It was a mixture of training and instinct (and a pinch of luck) that allowed Mark to deflect the strike and pull the bladed weapon from his attacker’s hand. In one fluid motion he ducked under a wide swing and came in close enough to see the man’s eyes widen in shock and pain as the knife was plunged into his chest. As the Phoenix soldier dropped to the ground Mark didn’t allow himself to think about the warm liquid coating his hands as he went on to the next soldier as his only concern was giving his men time to get the crates off the trucks and disappear back into the jungle.
Their successful mission was congratulated back at the camp but with the adrenaline rush fading the team was more interested in food and sleep than praise. Once he was sure his team had been seen to Mark slipped away to a nearby creek and dropped to his knees at the edge of the cool water. His hands felt stiff and in the moonlight he could see dark discolorations across his palms and in the cracks of his knuckles. Dipping his fingertips into the creek he watched as the blood created a murky cloud in the once clear water. When he pulled his fingers out drops of water left lines down the back of his hands and it was only then he realized the blood stains reached as far up as his wrists.
Feeling his stomach churn Mark dropped his hands back into the water with little concern for his jacket sleeves getting wet. Using a little bit of soap and some sand he scrubbed at the brownish red spots until his hands turned pink and began to sting from being rubbed raw. He had just finished rinsing off the suds for a third time when he heard boot steps coming towards him. Looking over his shoulder he was surprised to see Commander Taylor standing at the tree line with an unreadable expression on his face.
“If you keep that up your hands are going to crack and bleed.”
Wiping his hands dry on his pants Mark stood at attention only to relax his stance when Commander Taylor waved his hand in an unspoken ‘at ease’. Taking a few steps towards the creek Taylor stopped near a large bolder and took a seat on it before motioning for Mark to join him. Slightly confused but unwilling to disobey even a silent command Mark picked up his riffle and moved away from the creek to sit next to Commander Taylor.
“Corporal Riley told me you took down a man twice your size during the raid.”
Mark shifted uncomfortable on the rock, the movement didn’t go unnoticed.
“Was he your fist kill?”
He didn’t have to elaborate, Mark knew who he was referring to.
“Yes Sir.”
Steeling his courage Mark took a deep breath and spoke before he lost his nerve.
Permission to speak Sir?”
“Granted”
“Will I ever get use to taking man’s life?”
Taylor’s tore his gaze away from the dark trees surrounding the creek to the younger man next to him. Reaching up he set his gloved hand on Mark’s shoulder and chose his words carefully.
“I don’t think you ever get use to it, at least I never have. You just have to find a way to accept it and move on. Think about the people you care about and all the ways he could have hurt them. Picture him putting his hands on Maddy if it helps but always remember that your life and the lives of your fellow soldiers are more important than some hired gun’s whose name you don’t even know.”
He squeezed Mark’s shoulder as he stood.
“Don’t stay out here too long Corporal.”
“Yes Sir.”
Just as quietly as he arrived Commander Taylor slipped away into the woods, leaving Mark to think about what he had said. Looking down at his hands he could still see a faint line across his palm where the blood had refused to be scrubbed off but the urge to clean it off was gone. Grabbing his riffle Mark returned to the camp and found a spot around one of the still burning campfires to get some sleep before his patrol shift.
During a raid on a Phoenix convoy for supplies he had engaged one of the soldiers in hand to hand combat and the man had drawn a knife. It was a mixture of training and instinct (and a pinch of luck) that allowed Mark to deflect the strike and pull the bladed weapon from his attacker’s hand. In one fluid motion he ducked under a wide swing and came in close enough to see the man’s eyes widen in shock and pain as the knife was plunged into his chest. As the Phoenix soldier dropped to the ground Mark didn’t allow himself to think about the warm liquid coating his hands as he went on to the next soldier as his only concern was giving his men time to get the crates off the trucks and disappear back into the jungle.
Their successful mission was congratulated back at the camp but with the adrenaline rush fading the team was more interested in food and sleep than praise. Once he was sure his team had been seen to Mark slipped away to a nearby creek and dropped to his knees at the edge of the cool water. His hands felt stiff and in the moonlight he could see dark discolorations across his palms and in the cracks of his knuckles. Dipping his fingertips into the creek he watched as the blood created a murky cloud in the once clear water. When he pulled his fingers out drops of water left lines down the back of his hands and it was only then he realized the blood stains reached as far up as his wrists.
Feeling his stomach churn Mark dropped his hands back into the water with little concern for his jacket sleeves getting wet. Using a little bit of soap and some sand he scrubbed at the brownish red spots until his hands turned pink and began to sting from being rubbed raw. He had just finished rinsing off the suds for a third time when he heard boot steps coming towards him. Looking over his shoulder he was surprised to see Commander Taylor standing at the tree line with an unreadable expression on his face.
“If you keep that up your hands are going to crack and bleed.”
Wiping his hands dry on his pants Mark stood at attention only to relax his stance when Commander Taylor waved his hand in an unspoken ‘at ease’. Taking a few steps towards the creek Taylor stopped near a large bolder and took a seat on it before motioning for Mark to join him. Slightly confused but unwilling to disobey even a silent command Mark picked up his riffle and moved away from the creek to sit next to Commander Taylor.
“Corporal Riley told me you took down a man twice your size during the raid.”
Mark shifted uncomfortable on the rock, the movement didn’t go unnoticed.
“Was he your fist kill?”
He didn’t have to elaborate, Mark knew who he was referring to.
“Yes Sir.”
Steeling his courage Mark took a deep breath and spoke before he lost his nerve.
Permission to speak Sir?”
“Granted”
“Will I ever get use to taking man’s life?”
Taylor’s tore his gaze away from the dark trees surrounding the creek to the younger man next to him. Reaching up he set his gloved hand on Mark’s shoulder and chose his words carefully.
“I don’t think you ever get use to it, at least I never have. You just have to find a way to accept it and move on. Think about the people you care about and all the ways he could have hurt them. Picture him putting his hands on Maddy if it helps but always remember that your life and the lives of your fellow soldiers are more important than some hired gun’s whose name you don’t even know.”
He squeezed Mark’s shoulder as he stood.
“Don’t stay out here too long Corporal.”
“Yes Sir.”
Just as quietly as he arrived Commander Taylor slipped away into the woods, leaving Mark to think about what he had said. Looking down at his hands he could still see a faint line across his palm where the blood had refused to be scrubbed off but the urge to clean it off was gone. Grabbing his riffle Mark returned to the camp and found a spot around one of the still burning campfires to get some sleep before his patrol shift.