https://Voice.club - The young Carabiniere stared at the group of shaking men against the dilapidated wall, their limbs trembling in their shabby clothes. He turned to look at the unreadable icy-blue eyes of the Hauptsturmführer.
“Why them? Why so many? Only one of your men was killed…" the young man gently queried.
“One of us is worth more than this nest of rats,” the Hauptsturmführer spitefully replied.
“We are all men…nobody on this earth can judge the worth of a life, the weight of a soul. They are just country people, fathers, brothers, sons…look at them…” the Carabiniere insisted.
The German shifted slightly, his mouth a thin line. “I suppose you are going to ask for mercy. There will be none; I need to follow my orders. Beside, this is your fault: if you’d done your job and captured those bloody terrorists who caused the death of my man, this wouldn’t need to happen!”
“But it did, Sir, and these men are innocent. How could you live with this on your conscience?”
The Hauptsturmführer regarded the young man with interest, a modicum of new respect tinging his clipped voice.
“I can. Why bother? I need to show that we did our job here. Don’t get involved, they are not worth it, I’m telling you!”
“Is part of your job showing that you took life to avenge death?” The Carabiniere’s voice was so low that the German had to lean nearer.
“You can say that…”
“Then you can have mine instead of theirs…”
“You can’t mean it!”
The young soldier didn’t reply. He only walked to the wall and helped an old man to his feet, before pushing the rest of the group away. He stood alone, his chin up, his hazel eyes watching the small platoon with their raised weapons. He looked at the azure sky and thought of his mother, hearing an almost forgotten lullaby in his mind.
The stunned Hauptsturmführer took his cap off, nodding at the young man, before shouting “Fire!”
The noise of the discharged guns covered the German’s sob, while the smoke hid his tears.