A Hard Thing To Say

The blistering heat was almost as overwhelming as the stock of the rifle that drove into the base of Sergeant Colins' neck. He crumpled to the desert like a sack of bricks and lay motionless with his hands bound behind his back. He was almost used to the headache now. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been captured for but in this case hours seemed like days.

"Up!" hollered the masked man, "On your knees!"

Complying, Colins pressed his face into the sand forcing himself to his knees. The sun was blinding. Certainly wasn't making his headache any better. He squinted and collapsed on himself. The exhaustion was taking its toll. It wasn't long ago he remembers being back at his forward operating base getting ready for the patrol that would change his very reality. Shortly after he and his squad left the safety of their base they were ambushed. Seconds felt like hours as lead rained around him. His group of six were pinned down hard. He pleaded for back up on the radio to no avail. Soon his six man team fell to three and they were at the mercy of the enemy.

Days seemed too had passed. It may not have been that long but when a masked man is holding a cloth over your mouth while another is pouring water over it seconds feel like hours. Coughing and choking on water is not what Colins expected this occupation would be like. After every pail of water he inhaled the masked men drilled him with questions. He of course said nothing; although deep down his being was screaming everything they wanted to know. He didn't want to die and especially not here. Not this way. He would spit what seemed like endless amounts of blood while they beat him. They crushed his body with fists, boots, stocks of guns, and even rocks. It was like a nightmare that he was unable to wake from. He hoped he would wake up and be next to his wife. He longed that he would be in his bed back at home to hear his child crying in her crib and he would be able to hold her. Instead he was here stuck in a hell with no escape.

Kneeling in the sand he watched as his two soldiers dropped to their knees beside him. They were young. He figured they were no older that twenty-five. They both looked at their sergeant with defeat in their eyes.

"This is your last chance," barked the ring leader.

A silence hung in the air.

"Tell us what we want to know and we will spare your lives," he said in a gentler tone.
One of the privates spoke in a rasped voice, "I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything," he turned his head to the men behind them, "but first you have to kiss. My. A-," a shot cracked through the air.

Colins winced as he watched his man lifelessly topple to the ground. His heart sank. He knew that this was it. He and his other man were to share the same fate.
"Talk or you will end up the same!" roared the man. Silence.
Then he heard it; the sound of an automatic pistol chambering a round. Then he felt the cold steel on the back of his head. This was it. He closed his eyes and thought of home. His wife Mary and his daughter Olivia. He would never see them again. His wife would be a widow and his daughter without a father. A single tear rolled down his cheek and dropped to the sand.

"Last chance," came the voice, "Anything you would like to say at all?"
Colins lifted his head slowly, "I do," he said holding back from sobbing, "I want to tell you that," he paused as he almost choked on his words.
"Say it!"

Colins mustered all of his strength, "I... Forgive you,"
A shot rings out. Silence.