Ben imagined in his mind he was shooting a deer when he pulled the trigger. He had never killed a human before. The moral dilemma of killing another human hit him shortly after the sounds of gunfire diminished. The adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt himself breathing heavy; panting. His eyes may have been slightly widened. Then he grew awareness of his expression, his behavior and chose to rein it in. Given his immediate audience it would be wiser to conceal his feelings; put up a poker face. He should deal with the pain later. At least Preston didn’t have to see the carnage this close. He was lucky, even with a scope.

“Shall I dig out the bullet, then?” Ben asked Dan. He holstered his pistol and retrieved his hunting knife. This was a tool he used many times before when field stripping deer. He continued to trick his mind, convincing himself this was a deer and not a human. He could follow the path of the round, given the range and knew roughly where it would come to rest. He quickly estimated it was in the muscle of his chest, on the right-side closer to the armpit. He knew he could find it. He gripped the nine-inch blade and moved toward the corpse. He knelt down in front of the man. He ran his hand over the man's chest and could feel the metallic object. It was jagged and marred; must have struck a bone. The projectile was lower than he expected, but it was there. He dug into the flesh, cutting away at sinews. The projectile was bared and easy to dig out after a few proddings. “We don’t need to give up my brother’s handiwork to the fucking KGB.” Ben retained a cool demeanor not wanting to betray his true feelings. Inside he freaked out; literally screaming inside. The adrenaline was overwhelming. He pocketed the bullet and stepped back behind Dan as he returned the blade to its scabbard after wiping the blood on his trousers.

Several minutes later, Preston walked into the area where Dan, Joe and Gigger stood dealing with the corpses they would leave for the KGB to inspect. Like his brother, Preston remained reticent. The rifle slung over his right shoulder like a hunter fresh out of the woods. His right hand instinctively gripped the sling about chest high. His left hand tucked into a pocket. Upon his head rested a dingy green and yellow baseball cap with the “John Deere” logo imprinted upon the face. His green and black plaid chamois shirt, untucked from a pair of olive drab green cargo pants. The left leg of the trousers was tucked into the top of his tan construction boot while the right pant leg remained down, covering the boot itself.

Preston wanted to ask what they were going to do next, until he saw his brother’s face. Ben gave him that look. The look only a brother would understand. It spoke volumes. He knew they were in over their heads now. It didn’t matter what happened now. They were killers and knew there would be more. He didn’t like it. It was a long path they had meandered along from boyhood until now and they finally stepped over that fine line between killing animals and killing men. He knew there would be more. Oh sadly, there would be many more.

It was true…[i]They were at war.[/i]