Of Monsters and Heroes

A soldier makes a startling discovery on patrol and learns a tragic lesson about warfare

          PFC Warf's heavy boot crushed something beneath as he walked through the ruins of the train station. It felt smooth and unnatural, not like the rocks or ruins that he felt for the past four hours on patrol. Bending down, he grabbed the flat, smooth object. Triangular gray ears folded down in sadness and disgust as he read the remnants of the sign. All hybrid pets must be kept on leash at all times. He snorted as he tossed the sign away. Typical human hatred. The former rulers of this planet were vicious killers. Racist angry apes throwing stones at everything and everyone different. "Huh, better that they're dead," he grumbled, bringing his weapon back to the low ready position. If need be, it would take him less than a second to bring the rifle up to his shoulder and destroy anything who dared attack him. Not that anything was alive left to attack him.
          His ears scanned for movement in the rubble as his eyes kept a watch on the terrain. The last of the resistance had been crushed, but you still got one or two trouble makers who would take pot shots at soldiers. Out there though, was nothing but rubble and carnage. The chaos left in the wake of their final victory.
          They had been hit hard. The missiles had come in first, followed by armored divisions and drone strikes. The back of the human resistance had been broken months ago. The last remnants of any fighting force had fled or been destroyed on the battlefield. The ones left hardly put up any fight. It was almost like they saw the barrel of the gun on their entire species and was waiting for someone to pull...
          tap tap tap plunk.
          The distinctive sound of a pebble being kicked. The soft hush whisper of a human, a sound like a rat morph running their claws over paper. His ear turned towards it and listened, the PFC's weapon at his shoulder, ready to throw hot lead, explosive shells, and deadly lasers at anyone dumb enough to challenge him. A growl barely held in check in the back of his throat. Tail held down and still.
          A soft shushing sound was heard. It was a typical honey pot scenario. Humans lured unsuspecting soldiers in with a child. Or the sounds of a child. Soldier moves in for retrieval and destruction, then blam! That soldier winds up missing a head. The PFC had seen it happen several times, both in training videos and twice in the battlefield. Won't happen to me, he thought as he studied the door frame of the destroyed train depot.
          The roof had been blown off. The back wall was missing. It had become a tangled mess of Rebar, broken bricks and scorched wood. His nose twitched as he worked the air. The faint scent of human sweat tinged with fear hung beneath the layers of burnt gunpowder, burnt flesh and old blood. "Come out slow. You're captured now, don't make this difficult."
          A soft shushing sound came from within. It sounded...young. The growl built in his throat and spilled outward onto the snarl on his face. He swung the rifle forward. Small humans meant larger killers later. Training was clear. None left alive. No quarter given to any enemy. It was a difficult and bloody duty but it had to be done. Marching forward slow, his tail twitching softly with each step, PFC Warf moved silently across the remnants of the train station. He stopped outside the door, and looked outward one last time as he trained one ear on the door itself, listening for any trouble.
          He looked up, and briefly wondered what the buildings looked like before. Before they had brought judgment and damnation to the last of their outposts and civilizations. Before there was snarls and curses. Before the hatred, bigotry. Had the trees beyond held buildings instead of death? Had the yards held laughter instead of ghosts? Had they held life? Or was there always a whisper of death waiting for them? Was nature holding it's breath for someone to come and destroy the vile creatures before it was too late?
          There was no movement on the horizon. No other sounds in the yard. His sector only held this one combatant. This one target. This one young creature that he must subdue and destroy. His nose worked again, he could tell it was young. It was female. Young humans means death later, he thought as he steeled himself for the carnage. Twisting around the corner, he brought his weapon down.
          The high pitched scream made him fold his ears back. His black and gray furred hands shook. Tears stung his eyes.
          "They found us dolly! The monsters found us! The monsters will eat us!"
          His finger shook on the trigger. One click back for bullets. Second click for lasers. It was the easiest weapon in the world to operate. He'd done it a thousand times in training and a hundred thousand more on the battlefield killing combatants. Adult humans with weapons of their own aimed at him to kill him. It would take less than four pounds of pressure to destroy her. Less than seven to vaporize her remnants with the laser attachment Vaporize it, he chastized himself, aiming down the sights of the barrel at the creature. Vaporize it.
          The small, dirty face with her hair plastered to her skin in sweat stared up at the barrel, holding the dirty, torn remnants of a rag doll in front of her face to protect herself. His weapon shook. Less than for pounds of pressure. Tears stung his eyes, his ears folded back in anguish. The snarl on his muzzle had died with the growl. His weapon shook and slowly lowered.
          He couldn't do it. He stared down at the blond haired girl, and beneath the grime, beneath the torn and tattered clothing he just saw his own pup at home. Scared that the bald monsters would come. That daddy would never make it home. My God, my God, why have we forsaken thee.
          "Where are your parents, girl?"
          The child shivered in fear. PFC Warf's ears twisted around, listening for anything and anyone as he knelt in front of her. Other humans. Other hybrids. In the back of his throat, he gave a soft, comforting whine, the kind of sound that shushed his own pup on dark, stormy nights. The sound that told him no bald monsters were coming. That his daddy was there to protect him.
          The girl stopped shivering and looked at him. "You gonna to kill me?"
          PFC Warf shook his head.
          Slowly, her hand shook as she pointed out the destroyed wall. "You killed them over there."
          He remembered the battle. After the buildings fell, the walls crumbled easily beneath tank treads and tires. The humans had no where else left to go. The hybrids they had used as their own slave labor, as property had risen up, taken everything from them. That last outpost was all that was left, hidden from the world in the remnants of their own forgotten civilization.
          The humans tried setting up traps. IEDs hidden in vehicles and the like. Those explosives were no match for the hybrids own noses, their own hearing. They must have known that by then. But the humans, they had lost so much. Driven from the very tech they held dear. Driven into the woods and crumbling places like the base itself. As if waiting for death.
          When the walls fell, many tried slowing them down in the streets. Desperately shooting and throwing any explosive they could find. He remembered how much fun it was to hunt them through the alleyways. How much fun it was to tear them apart. How heroic he felt after successfully going against their blades with nothing more than teeth and claw. PFC Warf felt sick to his stomach. It wasn't fun anymore. It didn't feel heroic. It was barbaric. Beneath even the animals and humans the hybrids proclaimed themselves to be better than.
          "It was war, sweet pup," he whispered. "We had a job to do."
          In sincere and anguished confusion the human child said, "why? We just wanted to live. Why do we have to die?"
          He knew all of the reasons. All of the propaganda society had given him. They had fired the first shots. Had imprisoned them. Had created them and bred them to do horrific work. It was justified. They were only taking what was rightfully given them by nature. by God. They were...
          All of those excuses died in the tears of the small human child. A child old enough to not know the peace and turmoil before. To not know the horrors that PFC Warf himself and his family had suffered. A child, who like his own pup, should only know innocence. But instead, only knew heartbreak. My God, my God, why have we forsaken thee.
          "I don't know," Warf said. "I simply don't know. Countries argue, then people die. That's war. We wanted freedom. To not be anyone's pet." He looked down at the ground, fighting back tears himself. "We only wanted...to live."
          "So did we. Why do we have to die for that?" He looked down at her tearful face. He was supposed to terminate her. No human was supposed to be alive in this sector. Young humans meant fierce soldiers later. His orders was simple: anything without a pelt on two legs must not live, regardless of age. PFC Warf rejected the order and put his weapon down. He held her close as she cried into his shoulder. It was like holding his own pup back home.
          He pulled his own cell phone out, and photographed the young child. "Sarge, keeping her."
          If he didn't get permission, the young child was going to be taken away and killed. He'd get reprimanded. He didn't hear anything back for several minutes. It felt like hours, as he held her and tried to comfort the child. Then his phone buzzed.
          "Okay, soldiers are authorized one human child. Bring them back to the FOB, and get it registered. Your pet must be kept on a leash at all times, or it will be confiscated."
          His ears folded down as he stood. His tail hung low. He felt sick to his stomach. "Come pup. Let's get you back safe. We've get a hot meal for you." The knot he felt forming in his stomach tightened. "We'll get you showered too."
          On his way out of the ruined train station, he almost stepped over a familiar sign. He stopped and picked it up. All hybrid pets must be kept on leash at all times. Tucking it under his arm, he held the small human tight as she clutched to his leg. She had nowhere else to go. She had nothing left. "Just like we did," he murmured to himself as he turned back towards what was left of the main road. He gazed down at her face and wondered, how long would it be before her people yearned to be free? How long until the first shots of revolution rung out again? PFC Warf hadn't been in church since he threw down his collar. Still, strangely, he found himself whispering a single soft prayer as they made the long walk back to their base. "My God, My God. Why have we forsaken thee."