I might run into a bit of trouble for the themes presented in this.
Prompt: "Heroes of the Storm." (In honor of the Blizzard franchises featured in the Heroes of Storm game). May use the words "storm" or "hero" (or both) as theme or wording, or can feature any of the Blizzard franchises. I chose to use the word, "hero."
Words: 486
It was a sin to shoot a man in the back.
Knee-deep in swamp water, Cole found that it was one of the first rules he had been forced to break.
Admittedly, his switch in tactics was a reaction to what he and his troops suffered, men in his company falling from an unseen foe that seemed to fire from out of nowhere. To fall the monster, he had to become him, vanishing into the leaves and shadows. Face black, and blue eyes coldly scanning the area, he was a phantom to be feared.
"Watch," the Japanese soldier whispered to his companion.
"Have you enough ammunition?" The other whispered back.
"I should," he replied evasively, dropping his rifle to the ground in order to hide it from sight.
Cole's shoulders rose at the motion.
The second man snorted. "You can't fool me, Ren. Here," he glanced toward his pack, and Cole, taking advantage of his distraction, raised his rifle into position.
Ren grabbed his comrade's hand. "I said w—"
The rest of his order was cut off as he fell to the ground, blood trailing from out of the side of his head.
The second man whirled about with a gasp, his rifle in hand, only to receive three shells in his chest cavity. His body shook violently as it crashed to the ground.
Rising slowly, Phelps scooted toward the bodies. He knew Japanese fluently, and communicated with prisoners of war, yet he shot these men in the back.
"My kingdom for a horse!" My country for scruples.
He was in big trouble now, and like a child hiding a stolen toy behind his back, he kept beneath the dense trees, out of sight. Clipboard in hand, he'd declared how much Kelso had failed to meet the standards of leadership, and now he wondered how he himself would fare, shooting an enemy in the back.
He heard the rumors that the Japanese regarded prisoners they took as lower than scum. In the same vein, Phelps knew that the prisoners that he took were considered dead by their homeland, having failed to uphold the code of the samurai. Probably the best thing he could have done for them was kill them.
Phelps knew that his opinion on the war was badly disliked. Perhaps the idealized image of his enemy, the honorable warrior, was not what he had first thought it to be, as displayed by the atrocities of mutilated bodies his men uncovered. Yet, at, the same time, those same men beat and spit upon Japanese prisoners.
So here he was, dragging the unsuspecting into the shadows. To become the knight, he had to wear the skin of the monster. The beast would crawl into bed with the beauty, and kiss his daughters good night. Would he turn back from this beast into a hero? Could he?
A chill ran down his spine despite the heat.