Four of Swords [Reversed]

On The Front Lines—LATER

Next thing that I know is that I am on some sort of makeshift gallows platform on the advanced front of the battle performing some sort of Kafkaesque play for the officer’s entertainment and distraction from the raging war all around us. The mysterious redhead acts opposite me, handing me a sack which I assume no-doubt contains the boar-woman’s head. The text of the play talks about Jungian archetypes and monsters, and I study some of the South American artifacts on the stage. Many feature creatures with big white heads and almond eyes? I think, is this whole weird war dictated by some alien race?

But this thought is cut short by the roar of engines overhead. I do not know if it is one of our aircraft or if we

are under attack. I leap off the stage. The redhead follows. A private hands me the small pistol, saying, “I found this in the field.”

In what is an inordinate amount of trust, I hand the gun off to the redhead who stares at it.

“Who has the caps for it?” I ask, half-joking at its size. In the roar of its engines, I get no reply.

The private, along with most of everyone else, is running into a nearby bank. I decide follow. Perhaps the idea is to seek safety from the bombers in the vault.

Inside, we cross the lobby quickly to the surprise of the tellers, customers, and bankers. But across, there is a glass window looking out into the heart of the city, where we can still see the weird jet. And everyone is eerily silent, waiting for anything.

I am still looking for a way out of the country when the soldiers start streaming in, our and theirs from both sides. Ours talk about just surrendering but fight on only because of the fear that the other side isn’t taking prisoners. I alternately pick up a surrendering rifle as its dropped.

I turn on two young soldiers. Theirs. Resting near a counter in the back and approach. I call to them shaking the gun in air to look alive. I am capturing them.

They come to attention and instead quickly train their guns on me. Outnumbered, I slowly motion that I am putting the rifle on the counter. One of the soldiers grins.

“Of course you don’t know if we both will just shoot you. Or shoot you, capture you and torture you. So you have to decide if you’re really going to risk putting that gun down.”

I don’t hesitate.

I snatch it back and shoot both of them.