You make your approach through the brush, taking care not to make a sound, not to make any movement that might betray you. You scout the area around the stronghold and village, finding the spot where you will wait for that one moment that you know will come, that moment when you will end another's life. You know it is your duty, you know it must be done, but you wish it could be otherwise, you wish it could be someone else who will fire the shot, but there is only you, and this is what you are trained for, this is your mission and you must complete it. You know this mission is important, that it will hurt the enemy's ability to resist, but still you wish it could be some other way.
You lay upon the hill, hidden in the brush your gear makes you almost invisible, but you keep wondering when you will be discovered by some patrol or just some farmer from the village. You lay without moving until every muscle hurts, till you feel you will be unable to move. You want a drink, but you know you can't have one, for you have left your canteen and any thing that might make a noise hidden, to be retrieved when the mission is completed, and the small water bag you have in your shirt must last until then.
You watch for your target to present itself, and you watch the people of the village going about their lives, if it weren't for the guards and weapons emplacements you would think they didn't know that a war was being fought around them. A war where it is hard to tell who the real enemy is!
The Warlord walks from the gate of the stronghold and enters the square and you line up your shot, you lay the crosshairs of your scope right in the center of his chest, the line of sight is perfect, you slowly caress the trigger, you squeeze it gently, you feel the kick-back and you see the impact, a perfect shot. You feel the rush that comes with a perfect kill. Then you see the small girl that runs screaming to the Warlord, the small child with a look in her eyes and on her face that says you have just taken her life from her.
You sneak away from that place and you leave it behind and you tell yourself it was a perfect mission, and you did well, but that young girl's face and the look in her eyes go with you, reminding you always that it wasn't just a target that you hit that day, it was a person, a father who was loved by at least one small child. A child who must now grow up without the father you killed, and she will carry the image of his death with her. It will be a memory that will always be with you.