A Time to Kill
28 January 1942
I seriously don't know where to begin. The past several hours have been the worst of my life, and I can't seem to gather my thoughts together and focus. My mind is just racing in all directions as I try to understand everything that's happened. I knew I would eventually have to deal with this, but I guess I didn't think I would feel things so deeply.
I killed a man. On purpose. With my knife. Up to now, I've mostly been driving the jeep or setting charges to blow up fuel depots or landing strips. On a few occasions, I've had to cover my teammates with a machine gun, but it's been dark enough that I never knew if I had hit anyone, much less whether or not they were injured or killed. I was just doing my job.
Last night was different. We had to enter a German base and steal some plans from the Commander's office. Getting in was easy and we found what we were looking forward without much difficulty. As we were making our escape, I was behind Troy when we were surprised by two guards. Troy quietly took out the first guard and the second was preparing to shoot Sarge in the back. Immediately, I pulled my knife and threw it before the guy could pull the trigger. I lowered him to the ground and pulled him out of sight from other guards. I could see the life leave his eyes. I removed my knife, wiped the blood on his shirt and we continued to successfully escape without being seen.
Adrenaline was pumping through every part of me as we headed back to base. As it worked its way through my system, I began to realize what I had done. My commando training had taken over and I acted without having to think. Part of me says that's a good thing but another part wonders at what cost.
I was doing my duty as a soldier. I've been trained to kill in so many ways. It's a lot different when you're in the actual situation. I couldn't let him kill Sarge. I couldn't let him give away our position. I did what I was trained to do. I did what was expected of me. Why is this tearing me apart inside.
He was just a kid like me. Was he at university before becoming a soldier? Did he have a family A sweetheart? Plans for his future? None of that matters now since his life is over. I managed to make it until we stopped to service the jeeps before walking away from my team and vomiting. The others could tell I was visibly upset but we didn't have time to talk about it since we needed to get the information back to base.
I haven't been able to eat. I tell myself this is a war and being a part of this patrol means there will be a lot more deaths to come. I can't react this way to them all. Will I become desensitized to the killing? Will I hesitate to kill in the future? What if my life or a team member's life are threatened? Do I just let my training take over and kill? Does being a commando translate into being a killer? Has my life been changed forever? Am I now a cold-hearted killer? Oh Zu-Zu, how I wish you were here to tell me everything is going to be okay.
When we reached base, Cotter and Sarge reported to Captain Boggs while Tully and I serviced the jeeps. He tried to talk to me about what I was feeling but I couldn't focus on what he was saying. I just mechanically went about my work. He invited me for a beer when we finished but I declined. Cotter came and tried to tell me he knew what I was going through but I wasn't ready to listen or talk. I sat in the jeep and started writing this account.
Sarge found me a few hours later. He got me to talk about what I was thinking and feeling. He told me about the first guy he had killed. I was surprised he had similar thoughts. He said I was taking it so seriously because I was good person with a strong conscience and understood the finality of my actions. He assured me it would get easier with time but in a war, there was nothing to do unless I came to enjoy the killing. Then it would become a big problem.
He made me realize my actions saved his life and he thanked me. He said I was a credit to my training, and he was proud of the soldier I was becoming. His words helped me let go of some of my self-doubt and guilt. He also asked if I still wanted to be a part of the team or transferred to one that didn't see so much action. I can't imagine not being a part of this patrol and told him so. He's seen me write in this journal before and suggested I record my experiences as a way of dealing with what I'm going through.
He's right. It does help when I write things down. I just don't know if I ever want anyone to read them. I would hate to have someone I loved read about the terrible things I've done in defense of my country. I just hope and pray that if I make it out of here alive, I will be able to put it all behind me and go back to being the person I was before all of this happened. Somehow, I don't think that's possible. I have been forever changed. Maybe this is a part of growing up. Maybe it's the war. Maybe its growing up in the midst of a war. I'll be okay. My team is counting on me and nothing will make me let them down.
Tears were running down Isla's cheeks as she read this post. Her heart was heavy at the pain her beloved friend had gone through. She closed the diary and didn't return to it for several days as she pondered Mark's words. He would never be a ruthless killer. He was still her Tadpole.