Wasted
An American pickup truck pulled into the driveway, its bed filled with American prisoners. Winston inched closer to the driveway to get a better look. When the prisoners emerged, Winston immediately recognized them, and his heart sank.
“Damn,” he cursed.
May, who had almost finished reading On the Beach, put the book down and peered out the lower slit that faced the driveway when she heard the truck.
“That’s ol’ Ben,” she gasped, “and George Calef, and the Morse brothers.”
“That’s who they are, the Morse brothers,” Winston whispered to himself.
“And that’s Margaret O’Leary’s boy,” May said, “oh, and Scotty.”
“…and Med’s brother, Scotty,” Winston whispered. His head and eyes darted toward Med’s head, still anchored to the iron post — his face was no longer recognizable, for which Winston was grateful.
“What are they doing with them?” May wondered aloud.
Winston was somewhat relieved that he wasn’t witnessing this with May because he still didn’t have the courage to tell her that he knew about these men being held captive all along. He wouldn’t have been able to lie to her any longer, and deep down in his heart, he knew what was about to happen, recalling what Ben had told him three days ago. The rain was their temporary stay.
The soldiers, who spoke English, pushed the American prisoners toward the port-a-potties, yelling and cursing at them, and ordered them to sit near the toilets. The prisoners, still wearing only their soiled underwear, obeyed and kept silent. As the PLA soldiers talked softly about their fate, Major Chaek spewed hateful rhetoric about the men and America in general. The soldiers, who now only numbered about thirty, huddled around the six American prisoners, taunting them and spitting on them. Woo-jin, at the rear of the swarm, only mouthed insults when he found himself being scrutinized. He did not like the way the American prisoners were being treated, and prayed that their suffering would come to a quick and painless end.
One of the Russian soldiers who had delivered the prisoners disappeared inside the house, where the three generals were gathered over a large map of downtown Atlanta. There were twenty red dots plotted on the map, spread out in a pattern. Sophisticated equipment whirred and blinked, and the PLA soldiers performing complex military calculations in the living room belied the banal goings-on outside. The Russian soldier stood at attention, awaiting acknowledgement, while the generals spoke.
“Twelve drones will strike these inner perimeter positions,” said Russian General Geiman, while pointing, “eight martyrs will hand carry the Tabaris into these highly-populated civilian territories. While the Americans insist on fighting a conventional warfare on their own land, we have delivered nuclear warfare to them.”
“Excellent,” said North Korean General Kim Kyok-Chun, “Honorable Marshal Kim Jong-un pledges the DPRK’s enduring support in this most important endeavor.”
Iranian General Shateri acknowledged the Russian soldier without looking up from the map, “you have delivered the prisoners?”
“Yes, sir,” the Russian soldier replied.
“I have decided to no longer keep them. Have Major Chaek kill them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winston’s vantage point did not give him a clear view of the soldiers. He saw mostly legs, and his head was probably three feet from the barn’s outer wall. He didn’t want to risk being seen by the PLA, so he stayed put, though he could see his Johnsonville friends while they were seated. He hoped they couldn’t see his face under the barn. The Russian soldier emerged from the house and he relayed the instructions from the general. Major Chaek was pleased.
“Line them up,” he ordered the Russian soldier, and thumbed toward the barn. Soldiers pulled the prisoners to their feet — most of who could barely stand — and lined them up against the barn at the corner nearest the house. Ben held his position at the corner of the barn proudly and without any assistance.
Winston’s heart sank into his stomach, speculating at what might happen if they killed these men right there on his property, while training their weapons towards May and the nuclear arsenal stored directly behind her.
May, upon realizing the grave danger that she was in, hurried to the rear corner of the apartment — as far as she could physically move away from the bullets — and crouched in the corner to wait out the gunfire.
“According to the Geneva Convention, you can’t kill us,” George Calef coughed, his voice raspy and rough, “we’re prisoners of war. We have rights.”
Major Chaek unsheathed his blade and strolled over to George, pressed the cold steel into his neck, and advised, “if I slit your throat and watch you die, the Geneva Convention will not save you. Nor will your military or anybody else. But I am a reasonable man and therefore I will not kill you.”
The Major sheathed his knife and addressed his quieted soldiers. “Comrades, these men are the leaders of this community. They have sacrificed their lives and livelihoods for the greater good of the public. I, for one, admire such an honorable sacrifice. They fought valiantly and honorably, attempting to fend off the might of the awesome solidarity of this People’s Liberating Army!”
The soldiers cheered loudly, shoving their rifles high in the air.
“Six volunteers step forward to assist these men in achieving glory,” Major Chaek ordered. Almost before he had finished the statement, he had his six volunteers.
“Not you,” he said, singling out a North Korean soldier, “give your weapon to Lance Corporal Yong.”
The soldier found Woo-jin hiding from Major Chaek in the rear of the pack and handed him an ancient AK-47 rifle. Woo-jin walked forward and presented himself to Major Chaek.
Major Chaek said, “I must presume you know how to use this weapon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Line up.”
The six soldiers lined up across from the six prisoners, Woo-jin aligned with Ben. Suddenly, Captain Jennings crashed out of the house and marched up to Major Chaek. They saluted each another and Captain Jennings whispered in Major Chaek’s ear. They saluted each another again, and the captain marched back inside the house.
Major Chaek chuckled and addressed the entire assembly, “please forgive me. I must demonstrate humility for a moment. It seems that I have neglected the delicate contents that are currently stored inside the barn. Line them up along the driveway.”
Soldiers who were not on the firing squad shuffled the American prisoners along the driveway and parallel to the tree line and the razor-wire fence. The firing squad repositioned. Ben was still standing next to the barn, still aligned to Woo-jin, who was anxious and tense.
A hush fell as Major Chaek readied his signal.
Suddenly, Ben stood at attention, placed his right hand over his heart, and loudly sang, “mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…”