Lessons of war. 2,400. adult. (standard:adventure, 2429 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 19 2020	Views/Reads: 1374/1004	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An ex-sniper goes rogue and is executed.

Just three steps to the table -- the last three steps of my life.  Its
slim surface is too narrow to make even a twin-bed like in my cell.  
Bearing only a thin plastic-covered pad with white paper on top it 
beckons me with a slim arm extending from each side.  It also contains 
leather straps for chest, legs, arms, and wrists. 

A bright row of sodium lamps hangs from the ceiling, enhancing normal
florescent prison lighting.  I stand, silently, my attention riveted to 
it and surrounding equipment.  I hardly notice, nor hear, clanking as 
restraints are taken off, nor the lightness of my arms as those heavy 
cuffs and chains drop to the guard's side. 

A smaller square table, covered with a white cloth, stands near the
other.  It holds only a hypodermic kit and two small bottles. I can't 
take my eyes off those bottles. Those deadly bottles. Softer than a 
bullet but just as certain. 

So far I've managed to keep my composure, showing a blank face and with
no obvious sweat or shaking.  Mike, the friendliest guard on death-row, 
has slipped me a strong sedative which helps ... one hell of a lot. 

All avenues have been taken, not many in my case.  There were no
extenuating circumstances, no one to plead for me. Certainly not an 
uninterested defense lawyer.  I have to smile inwardly.  I have been a 
very, very bad boy.  But not for much longer.  It probably started the 
first time I fired  my grandfather's shotgun.... 

*** 

“No!  Hold it pressed tightly against your shoulder, Tommy.  Don't be
afraid of the gun. It's only a tool to put food on the table,” he 
instructed, shoving the butt roughly against my ten-year-old shoulder.  
“If you hold it loose, it'll bruise your arm and ruin your shot,” he 
finished. 

We settled into the warmth and comfort of a duck blind.  It was a cold
morning, any shelter from the wind welcome.  I remember the camaraderie 
of my grandfather, a hard man to get close to. 

“The geese're flying south for the winter, the best time to get them,”
he whispered, trying to make me feel his excitement. Grandpa adjusted 
his own position, smiling at me at the same time.  I could feel the 
cold bark of a tree against my back as I waited.  He lit his pipe, the 
sweet manly odor of tobacco smoke drifting in my direction to mix with 
that of moss and dead wood. The portable duck blind, however, kept out 
a cold damp wind. 

“Just do as I do, and don't squeeze on the trigger until you hear my gun
go off, all right?” he instructed as I peered over a sheltering log. 
"And, whatever you do, don't lean against that tree when you shoot. You 
don't want a busted shoulder."  Which, of course, I didn't. 

I remember nodding, holding the heavy tool, a .410 Mossberg shotgun,
uneasily while searching the sky for flying fowl.   Before long, a dot 
on the horizon rapidly spread out into a flight of geese.  A spat of 
honking came to my ears as they flew closer, turning from a blob to 
individual birds. 

The boom of Grandpa's double-barreled over and under shotgun woke me
from my revelry.  As he pulled his second trigger, I raised my own gun 
and fired into the flock. 

We bagged six geese that day and I acquired a liking for and
appreciation of firearms.  An appreciation that led to frequent target 
practice and a hobby of gun collecting.  Not new, only old pistols and 
rifles I could buy cheaply from pawn shops, newspaper ads, and army 
surplus stores. 

More than once I bought old “tools,” as I still thought of them, and
couldn't even shoot the things.  The ammunition was no longer made or 
cost more for a single round than for the gun itself.  Some were so 
cheap because they were unsafe to fire.  But I spent most of my excess 
money on ammunition and became a very good shot.  At that time, soon 
after WWII, the market was flooded with cheap war surplus firearms and 
little regulation.  Even a young boy could buy them easily from small 


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