Sniper Files #1 Sniper Dream

The life of a sniper is a solitary one, filled with the weight of careful planning as well as decisions made in fractions of a second. Those decisions alter the course of lives forever.    
   
I was a soldier, trained to eliminate threats and neutralize targets that pose danger to my comrades and our mission. Enemy leaders, spies, it didn’t matter. If they stood in opposition to our cause, they became my prey.    
   
But with each pull of the trigger, a small part of me died. Every death was a tragedy to someone. Now I ask, what potential was left untapped in the lives I’ve shortened? What loves might those have known? How many must have grieved their passing?    
   
To kill, it’s necessary to dehumanize the enemy, to see them as faceless adversaries to be eliminated without remorse. But I could not afford such luxury. They were all individuals to me. Among those I've taken down, some were women. Yes, even women can be spies.    
   
The weight of that knowledge is a heavy burden. Some of those women had families whose children might never understand why their mothers disappeared.    
   
In one assignment, I knew the woman spy would be obviously pregnant. From the photos I received her beauty was undeniable. She was highly educated and kept up appearances by living with her husband. Intelligence reports indicated that she was pregnant and that was one of the physical traits to help confirm her identity.    
   
As part of my planning, I learned that during the second trimester, the fetus has auditory awareness. My plan was to limit alarm and suffering by placing my first shot to the woman's abdomen. Instant abortion if you will. My second shot would be to her chest and hopefully her heart.    
   
When I first saw the woman in person, her face carried a subtle smile as she made preparations for a shower unaware of my presence in her home. She loosened her pony tail and let her hair flow down as she brushed in smooth strokes. Then she untied and opened her robe. The shape and contours of her body captured me. She was beautiful.    
   
She closed the shower curtain and I waited in her bedroom while listening to the water. After a minute I heard singing. Her alto voice was clear as the words drifted through the curtain, "Here’s to you / Are you pink or blue? / You'll be everything I'd ever want  / Now here’s to you."    
   
Her sense of pitch was impeccable. The song made me sad sung with such joy from one so unaware of her future. But still, I could not entertain any second thoughts. My assignment was clear.    
   
When the water stopped, I aimed at the curtain as it swayed slightly. I saw her towel come off of the curtain rod and could hear it rubbing against her skin. She sang another phrase, "are you pink or are you blue," and then placed the towel back over the rod.    
   
Finally, the curtain slid open giving me a clear view. Her eyes did not meet mine as she stepped out of the shower being careful not to slip. I watched her face.    
   
Her eyes looked at the mirror to her left and then to the doorway where I knelt. I caught a hint of confusion in her face as she squinted without her glasses.    
   
It was time. I placed my first shot to her abdomen as planned. She fell back awkwardly and I heard her head thump against the back of the shower stall. She let out a loud scream that rose in pitch until my second shot to her chest brought silence. She tumbled to the shower floor.    
   
I stood and looked at the stillness of her. I felt sadness for her, sadness for her baby and her husband.    
   
I stepped over to her and checked her neck for pulse. There was none. I let my hand linger on her neck where moments before there had been singing. She was so quiet and still.    
   
She was laying curled tightly on her left side in the small space. I lifted her right breast to inspect her chest wound. There was very little blood so I knew her heart had stopped instantly.    
   
I looked at her breast and thought of the loves she must have known. I thought of the men who must have placed careful kisses there over the course of her life. I thought of the child who would have one day been nourished by her.    
   
Was this woman's scream from pain or a sense of loss? As she died, did she wonder what her child might have become?    
   
The beautiful women like this young mother-to-be haunt my dreams. As I let my hand caress her lifeless breasts I thought what a cruel irony it was to feel lust for someone I've silenced. In the stillness of the night, her body will appear to me, naked and beautiful. Sometimes the women speak, always asking why they had to die.    
   
When I wake to a new day and new task, I rationalized to myself. I was just following orders. If their deaths served to save the lives of my comrades, to protect innocent civilians, then perhaps my actions are justified. Justified. That word is little cold comfort to the darkness in my soul.