Mixpov

My younger brother and I belong to battalion number 18, known to everyone as «The Angels.» Today we were called the second wave of containment against the protests, which, according to my commander, were out of control and had turned into hotbeds of violence throughout the city. The orders were clear: contain and detain in case of any hostile situation.

Anxiety is with me. Despite my rank, I understand the struggle; I almost agree with the protesters. But I also know my place, responsibilities, and the honor my uniform symbolizes. The army and my brother mean everything to me; they are the only family I know, the only one I have left. We approach the epicenter of the protest, and my heart rate quickens in a mix of excitement and nervousness. There is no time to think. The situation is completely out of control.

The avenues are the work of the security convoy, but we have to navigate through the surrounding streets, boiling over with outbursts and disturbances like an infectious disease. Maintaining formation is important but almost impossible. The pressure, euphoria, and violence are effervescent. I don’t know how, but we slowly keep advancing steadily through the streets to a government building that has been taken over. The building is the stronghold of a hooded group throwing homemade bombs at a squad walking ahead of ours.

«The situation is critical, but with these reinforcements and in formation, we can advance,» said the commander in charge of the unit already in the area. In an attempt to maintain order, we advanced against the hostiles. A few meters from the side entrance, a combination of explosions and what seemed like a barrage of debris and stones split the group. My brother and I managed to get inside. Amid the tear gas and chaos, we reached the third floor in a main hall.

«Get down!» I shout, barely having time to take cover behind the widest column in the room before the explosion from the back left me momentarily deaf. I frantically searched for my brother, who was lying right next to me, covered by a pile of debris. He was dead. My tears fogged up my helmet—»Soldier down, to the left, third-floor hall,» I communicate through my radio, trying to contain my sobs. I’m alone in what’s left of the hall. I manage to see two protesters fleeing down the stairs, and filled with rage, I follow them. The more agile one leaps over the railing, and the other slips down the stairs turns right, and enters an office.

I run after the last guy, gritting my teeth. I have trouble breathing, and the office is dark. I try the light, but it doesn’t work, so I turn on my helmet’s flashlight. Just behind the first desk, I hear something. In two strides, I aim and, to my surprise, see a soldier lying on the ground. I don’t recognize him. He had my build, had removed his helmet, was dirty, but his deep blue eyes stood out. I try to see his uniform to know the number and name of his battalion, but the dust and darkness of the room only let me see something resembling a scorpion on his badge.

«I’ve been attacked, I’m wounded,» the guy on the floor points out, showing his side, just below his ribs where blood is oozing, but he continues speaking, «You’re cornered, yes, we have you trapped, damned agitator! We’ve caught you!» my strange companion yells, referring to someone else. Rage blinds me, I can’t stop thinking about my brother dead on the floor above. I advance to the center of the room, and another guy comes out from behind and hits me on the back with a piece of wood. I fall and lose my weapon. «Damned coward, attacking from behind,» my new companion shouts, still on the ground. My training kicks in quickly; spinning on my axis on the floor, I manage to hit the attacker’s ankles, making him fall. In a leap, I’m on him, exchanging a few blows, ribs, and stomach, but in the end, he’s pinned face down.

With him secured and ready for arrest, I apply more force than necessary. «Mercy… help!» he murmurs, his face against the floor. «Show the same mercy they had when they threw the bomb, yes, he deserves the same mercy, your brother is dead, right?» says the wounded.

«I beg you, it wasn’t me, the bomb came from outside, we’ve lost people too,» the mutineer screams desperately, crying against the floor. «The law of an eye for an eye, yes, he doesn’t deserve to live, instigator, who wants anarchy instead of order, who took a good soldier from your battalion, who took your family from you, yes, you have the power to make them suffer, to return it all,» I hear almost as a whisper behind me from the injured soldier.

«You killed my brother!» I scream at my captive, and as a reflex, I draw my knife with my left hand and plunge it into his side, once, twice, three times… I can feel the knife piercing the flesh, tearing it, the sound of his breathing diminishing, the screams of pain blending with those from the crowd outside.

The blood reaches the handkerchief covering his face. As I remove the piece of cloth, I realize he’s just a boy: like me, like my brother… I feel dizzy, nauseous, drenched in someone else’s blood, and I can’t stop crying.

«Very good, yes,» I hear cheerfully behind me. I quickly turn to see the strange soldier, now standing with a macabre smile, and he walks out of the room into the shadows.