The Good Soldier

In the gathering light he fixed his bayonette and waited. When the whistle blew, he scrambled from his trench and ran into the growing hail of fire. Comrades fell on either side as he pressed onward - his goal now less than twenty yards away. He leapt into the enemy's position and plunged his blade deeply into the machine gunner's chest, then pulled free and fired into the face of the man at his side. He chambered his final round as he spun in the trench and fired into the next soldier in line. And then he stopped.

Long ago he'd understood a good soldier would find himself in a place and time such as this - where duty would require the ultimate sacrifice. He watched the soldier fall, and looked into the face of the next man in line - a man with a wife and two children ... a toy maker in another place and time. He judged fear in those eyes - weakness in his enemy - then leveled his bayonette and charged through the trenches to meet his fate.

And so the tale of the Good Soldier ends. Not because he lived or died, for in the end does that matter? No, the tale ends here because the Good Soldier - knowing some things in life are more important than self - in performance of his duty, did the best he could.