The Prisoner

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The private had been brought to the interview room from his cell. He knew why. They were coming to get him. To take him back to fight. He knew he would never fight again. Two years of pointless fighting and killing had had an effect, and had turned him into an anti-war supporter, and he knew nothing could change that. A month in this shithole had given him the time to think about how a war of defence and liberation had turned into one of aggression and conquest. He had come to the conclusion that those at the front getting killed and wounded on a daily basis were being lied to, whilst those running the show back at home were living it up very nicely, thank you very much. The door opened and two people entered, an officer, with the braggadocio of a strutting magpie, and an NCO. The officer spoke.
“Do you not stand to attention and salute an officer, private?”
The private said nothing and remained seated, he had no respect for these people.
“You are going back to the front private, you know the Germans must be stopped.”
The private maintained a stony, sullen silence. The NCO spoke.
“He won’t go sir.”

The officer thought for a moment.
“He doesn’t have a choice, he signed up for it.”
The private shook his head but remained silent. He knew he would rather get himself killed than kill again.
“But he won’t fight, he would rather die.”
The private realised that the NCO understood him, and wondered if the war had turned him too.
“I’ll bet he would if a German officer was over here molesting his wife and taking her away from him.”
“No Sir, he couldn’t.”
“Why the hell not, does he not care for his family?”
“He couldn’t do it Sir, because an English officer has already taken his wife. I’m afraid he would rather shoot you than a German, Sir.”
“Then we are wasting our time, leave him here to rot.”
The private gave this some thought. Now he knew that the NCO somehow knew what he was thinking. The private laughed, and finally spoke in a rather insolent manner.
“Well, if I ever get out of this fucking hellhole, I’ll still have my arms and legs, which is more than most of the other poor bastards will - Sir!”

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