Alexander Polawski
Location: North Of Newnan (Spring & St. Clair)
"...Really, what's the point?" The words escaped Alexander's lips, almost without him realizing what he was saying. That question, The Question had come back to haunt him many times those last years. His whole life actually, when the thought about it. Sometimes he would find himself crouched beside the bed in the middle of the night, just staring out the window at the cloudy sky, tears rolling down his cheeks. Why? Because that question kept coming back to him, again and again. Especially when he the Dreams;
They were similar to the one he had had that very night, save from the image of his burning wife embracing him and biting. One would revolve around the air-strike he called in a village, burning it to the ground. And yet, for all the reinsurances he gave himself; all the times he was told it was the right thing to do by his superiors; even for the explainations and mind-exercises his shrink gave him, he couldn't the images out of his head...
Out of the midst of the green jungle, an opening appears before him. Small structures, built out of wood, bamboo and leaves stand amidst small patches of rice fields. People in Oriental clothing dot the landscape, minding their own business and paying little to no attention to the strange, tall men in green military fatigues who approach them. The army men armed to the teeth with assault rifles, grenades, and a policy of "Bomb first, ask questions later".
They never find out who fired the first shot, but within seconds, the squad of American soldiers open fire with everything they have at the villagers. They don't stand a chance, not even those armed with Soviet and Chinese hardware. Alexander himself asks for orders. He's told to call in an air-strike "...before shit hits the fan and they're FUBAR." Alexander get's on the radio, asking for confirmation of the order. He get's his confirmation.
Then the village is no more. Only an inferno of fire and smoke envelopes the small patch of open land in the jungle. At first a small patch of Paradise, they have turned it all to the Seventh realm of Hell. He, Alexander, have done so. Silhouettes appear from the burning hellfire, themselves engulfed in an orange glow that no amounth of water can extinguish, no amounth of booze or pills drown out.Then he would feel the warm touch of a hand on his shoulder, and turn around to see her there, looking worriedly at him. Alexander would smile, gently squeezing it back and going back to back. She would make it feel all right again. She cold make him forget and forgive, drowning out The Question. But she was gone, and he was alone.
The tank rolled onwards, the two tank women presumably oblivious to the old man's little piece of Hell. Perhaps it was better that way, no need to drag them down into the ground with him. He didn't pay attention to the tank driving away from the smoke for a moment, before returning to course. He simply sat there, wanting to cheer up and push those dark thoughts away, but knowing neither of them wanted to talk with him.
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