All’s Fair

116

Originally written for the following challenge on the Starsky and Hutch bRomance FB page:

“Wanted For the Murder of Ken Hutchinson: David Starsky.”

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I have a gladiator’s heart and am feeling fearless. I’m like a pack animal, carrying the weight of several pounds of gear, my heavy combat boots feeling like stones around my feet. My helmet is heavy upon my head. I wish I had more water, but I drank it greedily before we headed out. My previous experience should have taught me better.

I inspect my firearm. Again. I feel like an amateur with it, although I am not sure why. I’ve been called an “ace shot” due to my extensive training. Maybe it’s because I know my foe will be equally skilled.

I calm my nerves as I remind myself my adversaries have no better weapons than I do. The expertise of the soldier, not the weapon, is what matters most.

Although I have yet to fire my gun, I am ashamed to admit that if required, I am not frightened to do so. Not because I enjoy the concept of murder—that is the last resort. It is simply because I know that killing is inevitable. If not life-saving.

I’ve already lost three allies. Young lads who haven’t yet matured into men. When I heard the snap of a twig under an enemy’s boot, I tried to warn them to get down, but it was too late.

I ran for cover as I watched my comrades get hit, their jackets oozing red at the onslaught. The enemy was relentless, firing excessively when only one shot would have been necessary for the kill. After all, extra shots were against the unwritten rules, but our opponents didn’t care. They cheered when my brothers-in-arms fell. They were devoid of sympathy.

I heard them plotting last night when they thought I slept. The thin blanket pulled over my head could not drown out their whispering voices. They spoke in another language, but I instinctively knew what they were saying. To succeed, they had to catch me. They would use every trick in the book to make me think I was free, but they would corner me and attack when I least expected it.

I was ready for them, or more precisely, for him. The one who said he could be trusted.

Their self-appointed leader made the plans like he thought he could predict my every move. I can’t wait to show him who’s in charge. If I have to shoot him, so be it. I didn’t start this war.

The gravel crunches under my feet as I reach a gathering of trees. My ammunition is still fully intact—I call them my golden bullets. Once fired, they will be the only proof of my victory.

I skulk behind the trees, with a full view of the dirt path flanked by large rocks and bushes that we call a battleground. I settle in to do what I do best. Wait.

It’s not long before I see a figure emerge from behind a rock. At first, he moves cautiously in a crouching run, then stands upright as he tries to reach a safe space behind a tree.

The figure is undeniably the leader. His trademark blond hair peeks out from beneath his helmet.

I lift my firearm and aim it at his torso.

I pull the trigger and the golden bullets do not disappoint. One hits him squarely over the heart, a smear of damage visible on his clothing.

As he falls backward, he almost appears graceful in his defeat. I lose focus as I internalize my triumph, and for a moment fantasize about the fabled spoils of victory.

I then feel it—a rifle thrust into my back.

“Don’t move,” I hear the voice from behind. “Raise your hands and turn around.”

I rise as instructed, meeting the eyes of my opponent. He is just a kid, caught in an age between boy and man.

“Either you surrender, or I kill you now,” he says with confidence despite his young age. “The rest of your troop is already dead.”

I have no choice but to drop my gun and raise my hands over my head. “You win,” I say, and then ask, “Just how old are you anyway?”

He laughs. “It’s my thirteenth birthday today—you know that, Starsky.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Kiko.”

The fallen leader walks up and joins the laughter. My heart flips at the sight. His helmet is pulled off and his blond hair is damp, a splash of yellow paint on his jacket.

He reaches out to shake the hand of my captor, “Good job Kiko. The red team wins!”

A group of young kids with paint stains on their clothes all gather around and cheer Kiko. I console Pete, one of my teammates, along with the rest of my team who share in my defeat.

Mrs. Ramos walks over to the crowd. “Time to clean up and have birthday cake and ice cream back at the main building.” The kids cheer and start to run, laughing together in harmony as they head towards the party room.

Hutch and I hang back, his smile melting my heart. “At least I got to kill you, Hutch.” I reach over and touch the yellow splotch on his jacket.

“I took one for the team, Starsk. Kiko and I had it all planned out last night.”

I shake my head and whisper, “Well, a bet’s a bet. We said the winner would let the loser be…you know…in charge tonight.”

His eyes reflect a promise of what is to come. “All’s fair in love and war. Take me away, Starsk. I’m your prisoner.”

I chuckle and put my arm around his shoulder as we head toward the birthday celebration.

My strategy was successful.

It is going to be a night to remember.