“Target ranged at 400 meters, wind coming in at 10 mph due south. Temperature is negative five degrees Celsius; you have a green light, take the shot.”

I quickly turn the knob on the top of my scope, adjusting to the distance accordingly. I train my sights on the silhouette more intently, and aim ahead and above of where it was moving. The target moves underneath a light pole, and the silhouette suddenly becomes a body in combat attire, then a man guarding his post as his face is fully illuminated underneath the sickly yellowish light of the sodium lamp. He looked almost pathetic; shivering against a harsh winter with nothing to warm himself except the red glow of his cigarette dangling haphazardly off of his mouth. His armor, or rather, thick clothing equipped with nothing more than a magazine for his assault rifle and a lighter shines brightly. The man robotically walks back and forth, showing little emotion, and what he does show is a strange mix of fear and numbing boredom. He stops for a second to flick his cigarette into the snow, and quickly lights another, and continues walking again. The smoke rises up and is highlighted by the lamp before it dissipates in the eastern European air. This was the most human thing he has done, and it doesn’t help me when I squeeze the trigger.

As I squeeze (never jerk) the trigger, thoughts flood my mind. My imagination turns from being nearly non-existent to overactive. I think about this poor man. Why is he here?  He must have a family; complete with a mother, father, wife, and child. Or children. Or no mother, or no father, or maybe he is a widow, losing her to the unrelenting weather. Maybe he is poor and is only guarding to make the chump change he needs to eat, to live, to see another day not taken away by the harsh realities of life. It worries me that I think of such a thing. He is nothing more than a target; a red and white circle that is capable of doing nothing more than shooting back. I rid myself of these thoughts and go back to my zen-like state. My mind is clear. I am only thinking of the bullet resting inside of my weapon. My mind is clear. The trigger is fully depressed, and I hear a click immediately followed by an unsympathetic bang.

I see red splashed along the cold grey of the brick wall, and I see the target crumple to the ground.

My mind is clear.