MEN OF GOOD AND EVIL

Although fighting the most intense exhaustion of his life, Doctor Anton Koval hurried down the crowded hallway of the largest children’s hospital in the war-ravaged country. Knowing there were no minutes to spare for rest, he forced himself to keep moving because too many lives depended on him. He tried to remember how long it had been since he’d had any sleep. Was it thirty hours, or was it more?

The hospital stood as the last glimmer of hope amid the raging conflict. The destruction was widespread throughout the city, and there was nowhere else for the wounded to go. But this was not just a facility where children were struggling to stay alive. It was also the workplace of a man whose unrelenting devotion to those he treated was hard to comprehend.

Koval had been on staff for nine years. He was widely regarded as one of the premier pediatric surgeons on the continent, who had saved hundreds of children that otherwise would have been lost. But, while his surgical skills were greatly admired, what set him apart from others in his field was the immense compassion he had for his young patients. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them and their families when they were in his care.

The doctor, often regarded as a saint, was a guiding light to the medical community as he quietly led by example. He was tenacious in his desire to provide health care to every child, no matter their circumstances, because his vision of the world was one in which no one was deprived of the medical attention they deserved.

However, his humanitarian values had come at a personal price that none of his colleagues were aware of. Not even the nurses he had worked alongside for almost a decade knew that the motivation that drove Koval to become a doctor, and specifically a pediatric surgeon, was his younger brother, who was born with Down syndrome.

When Koval’s sibling was thirteen years old, he needed surgery to correct a heart condition. It was a common procedure that should have been performed promptly. But the surgery kept being put off until, eventually, it was too late. In those days, a person with that diagnosis was not considered a priority. The anguish of his brother’s passing changed Koval forever, leading to his lifelong commitment to care for those who were most vulnerable. And that path had led him to the present, where he remained locked in the most extreme life-and-death struggle of his medical career.

For reasons that could not begin to be justified by any rational individual, his homeland had been viciously attacked without provocation by a neighboring nation five times its size. The surprise and swiftness of the massive assault had shocked the global community. With one of the largest and best-equipped armies in the world, the aggressor had swept across the border and had begun to systematically crush what resistance the small country was able to mount.

Despite the desperate situation he now found himself in, since the start of the war, Koval, like always, had demonstrated total dedication and selflessness to his job. He had done everything in his power to save as many children as possible. Working under primitive conditions, he had fought valiantly against death, sometimes winning but often losing. However, it was a fight that he refused to give up.

The relentless misery tore at his heart. Attempting to put together young bodies that had been ripped apart by shrapnel and burned within an inch of their lives was a daily struggle that wore him down physically, mentally, and emotionally.

The enormous medical facility currently had more than 500 patients, some battling serious illnesses that would be difficult to survive no matter what. But the five-month-old invasion, launched by a bloodthirsty dictator with a wave of his hand, had devastated the once proud nation that had stood for democracy in this region, but that now seemed abandoned by the rest of the world. The hospital that so many depended on for their very existence was one of the few untouched structures in a city battered into submission.

However, geopolitics, international posturing, and the insatiable need for military conquest were not issues that Koval had the luxury of considering. Maybe there would be time for that later, but right now those in his care occupied every bit of his consciousness, and despite his heroic efforts, they were dying, and there was little he could do to save them.

His despair had escalated each day as the war generated new patients, most with horrific wounds that he often did not have the blood or supplies to treat. He had watched helplessly as child after child died from the crude conditions imposed by the invaders. But he had no choice but to carry on in what had become a series of hopeless attempts to create miracles inside a living hell.

The entire complex had been surrounded and sealed off by the advancing army. Electricity was intermittent, and fuel for the generators was dwindling. Meanwhile, the world’s press had turned its attention to the fierce battles in other parts of the country. It was common knowledge among broadcasters that monitoring a stalemate, even one involving children, eventually drives viewers to change the channel, so executives had decided that violent conflict was preferable in their never-ending desire to boost ratings.

The fighting had raged around the facility for weeks, becoming increasingly barbaric as the casualties mounted. However, the civilians trapped between the warring factions paid the highest price. The nonstop artillery bombardment and rocket attacks had drawn closer and closer, terrifying those in its path. But when the hospital came within range, the shelling mercifully stopped.

Because there was absolutely no military value associated with the destruction of a sanctuary whose sole purpose was to extend the lives of the critically ill and injured, not even a ruthless autocrat who had laid waste to a peaceful nation without guilt or shame could bring himself to slaughter innocent children.

But that was not true for one of his commanders.

***

Koval turned a corner and walked briskly down a long corridor when he heard a nurse behind him, her voice filled with panic, cry out to him. “Doctor, please! Come quickly. It’s his breathing.” He knew which patient she was referring to and that she would not be pleading for his assistance if it was not an emergency.

Despite all the daily death and suffering Koval had dealt with, there was one child in particular who had touched his heart.

Three weeks earlier, just before the hospital was finally cut off, several men volunteering as Aid workers had brought the boy into the triage area along with other victims. When Koval looked at the child, the memory of his brother instantly flooded his mind.

Although it was almost impossible to believe the youngster was still alive, the surgeon started examining the horrific wounds to determine what he would need to do to give the boy any chance at all. One of the aid workers, seemingly numb to so much misery, was surprised the doctor even bothered. Calmly, the man said, “Don’t waste your time with this boy.”

Without looking up from his patient, Koval asked, “What do you mean?”

The aid worker explained, “I know this child. We live in the same area. His home was destroyed, and his parents and all four of his siblings were killed. He was the youngest.” Then with some hesitation, he added, “But he is not worth saving.”

“You are wrong,” Koval muttered as he continued to assess the damage inflicted on the small body.

“Doctor, listen to me. There has always been a problem with him. He’s eight or nine, and he never learned to talk. He could barely walk before this happened. He didn’t go to school because he wasn’t smart enough. Mentally, there is something wrong with him. Just look at his face.”

Taking his eyes off the child for only a split second, Koval glared at the man and growled. “He has a chromosomal disorder called Down syndrome. You said you know him. What’s his name?”

“His first name is Stefan. I’m not sure what his surname is. But even if you could save him, his existence would have no meaning.”

Koval tried to control his anger at the man’s ignorance. As he applied pressure in an attempt to slow the bleeding from the boy’s chest, he said firmly, “This child’s life matters just as much as that of any other patient in this hospital, and he will receive the same care that every child deserves.”

The aid worker shook his head in disagreement. “Well, there’s no sense arguing about it. Judging from his condition, he’s not going to last long anyway. We’ve got to get back out there.”

The man was right about one thing: Stefan’s condition was grave. Koval spent the next four hours in surgery trying once again to do the impossible. When he was finished, he was less than confident that the little boy would live through the night.

But now, three weeks later, thanks to the skill of the pediatric surgeon, Stefan was still clinging to life.

The invasion had upended the world as Koval struggled day and night to save everyone he could. But the emotional toll had been even worse than the physical weariness. He could not begin to keep track of how many children he had watched die, some of them as he held them in his arms, and the sheer weight of the relentless tragedy was grinding him down.

But in Koval’s mind, Stefan represented the true degradation of war. Less than a month ago, he was an innocent child with a large family, but then he was hit by shrapnel from an errant rocket that tore his body apart. He was now a critical patient in agony as his dreadful wounds left him with internal bleeding that the surgeon kept struggling to control.

Forgetting their exhaustion, the doctor and nurse sprinted to the ICU bed of the young boy. Taking one look at Stefan’s color and erratic breathing, Koval realized he would have to open up the boy’s chest again. It was a necessary lifesaving procedure that, under the crude circumstances, did not guarantee the child’s survival.

***

Viktor Garin, the regional commander of the invading forces, stood outside his makeshift headquarters and flicked the ash from his cigarette. As he stared at the looming pediatric hospital, he knew what had to be done.

Consumed by his massive ego, Garin was a total narcissist and vain to the extreme. His every waking thought was about himself and how to advance his military career – and over the years, anyone foolish enough to get in his way had paid a frightful price. He had always believed himself to be destined for greatness. And he was willing to do whatever it took, no matter how ruthless, to fulfill his destiny.

The 53-year-old combat veteran understood better than the political puppets he served that there was immense tactical value in terrorizing the civilian population. The citizenry must be shown that his army was merciless, and most importantly, they must be convinced that further resistance was futile. Garin was confident that nothing would drive home that point with more traumatizing power than murdering hundreds of children.

To his way of thinking, the medical complex was the perfect target. To obliterate it was not a choice but a necessity because he was sure the enemy could be defeated much quicker if the spirit of the people in this so-called “democracy” was crushed. Others, constrained by their conscience and sense of morality, held strong reservations about such actions. But the commander was not troubled with such weakness. He was a soldier leading thousands of troops, and he had been tasked with taking control of a major city. But he felt hamstrung by his superiors, who drew the line at destroying a building designed to treat the sick and wounded.

His formidable ability as a strategist had brought the metropolitan area to its knees as his troops and armor decimated all opposition with shocking speed and efficiency. Consequently, his forces had surrounded the children’s hospital weeks ago, and yet he had been forbidden to attack it. But Garin craved the attention that came with military action, and he was tired of waiting. Therefore, the commander needed a pretext that would grant him permission to strike. He had to demonstrate, in the clearest possible way, that the medical facility was not the benign structure his superiors thought it to be, but that it was being used as a military asset, making it a suitable target for the enormous stockpile of weaponry at his disposal.

Meticulous as ever, and leaving nothing to chance, he had formulated a plan to prove that the five-story structure was being used as a vantage point for snipers. All he required was a skilled marksman he could threaten and bully into committing an intentional act of friendly fire.

At first glance, that seemed to be an impossible role to fill, but Victor Garin could be viciously persuasive.

Once the mission was accomplished, the commander was certain he would be given the go-ahead to level the facility. He was not concerned in the least about the loss of life that would result from his perfect plan. It was just a matter of time before more children would be born to replace those who were killed. After all, he believed the one thing this disgusting population knew how to do was to breed prolifically at an alarming rate. It was among the many reasons he despised the peasants of this pathetic nation.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it out with his boot. After studying the hospital for several seconds, Garin decided that tonight, under the cover of darkness, he would put his plan into action.

***

Dr. Koval quickly examined Stefan and determined that unless he took immediate action, the child had only minutes to live. The situation was desperate because he would have to tolerate yet another surgery to control the latest internal bleeding that threatened to kill him at any moment.

Koval’s ability as a surgeon was diminished by his crippling fatigue, but there was no one else available to perform a complicated procedure that would give the boy even the slimmest odds of survival. So, for over three hours, he probed and stitched everything he possibly could in what he feared was a hopeless effort to prolong Stefan’s life.

As he walked out of the OR, the doctor had never felt so helpless. All his skill and training had been brought to bear during the last few months, but it just wasn’t enough. The patients were so young and the wounds so severe that even if the facility had been fully staffed with the proper equipment and an adequate blood supply, the death count would have been heartbreaking. But with these conditions, the struggle seemed futile. Losing child after child was exacting a grim toll on everyone, especially the exhausted surgeon.

***

Commander Garin was a man who tended to detail. Having experienced the gruesome reality of war on numerous occasions, he knew that preparation was crucial to success. That was certainly true of the objective he was about to set in motion. Every necessary step had been taken. He now felt confident that he could take the conflict in such a dramatically different direction that those in power would soon realize that the hospital was a legitimate target. And the resulting carnage would horrify the country and break their will to fight.

The most important decision he had to make was who he chose to pull the trigger. After doing a significant amount of research, Garin picked a soldier who was a skilled marksman with an exemplary military record. But there was something else that made him a good choice. The man had a wife and family.

As dusk descended on the city, the soldier reported to headquarters as ordered. For reasons he did not understand, he was forced to surrender his rifle, sidearm, and knife while inside with the commander. Stepping into the small office, he saluted. Garin ignored the salute and said, “At ease.”

He took a moment to size up the man. Nothing about his appearance made an impression. The soldier was of average weight and height and had no distinguishing features that were memorable. The commander stood and walked around his desk until he was directly in front of the individual he was going to force to commit an atrocity on his behalf. An atrocity that would alter the course of the war.

Measuring his words, the commander spoke slowly, “I have personally chosen you for a highly sensitive mission that you will carry out alone. In fact, it is imperative that no one ever learns of your actions.” Garin paused to light another cigarette as a look of confusion flickered across the man’s face.

He tossed the matches on his desk and said, “Listen carefully.” The commander’s order was blunt. “You will be given a sniper rifle and a 10-round magazine. Both were confiscated from the enemy. They cannot be traced back to us. Then you’ll find a suitable vantage point on the roof of the hospital where you can make the best use of your skills.”

Garin watched as the man struggled to comprehend what he was being ordered to do.

With all emotion draining from his voice, the commander said, “You will have one hour to perform your assigned task. When in position, you are to fire on one of our patrols that will be exposed in the open. You will kill at least four of your fellow soldiers.”

The sniper swallowed hard as he tried in vain to convince himself this wasn’t really happening.

“When you have completed your task, you’ll move to the southwest corner of the roof where there is adequate cover and remain out of sight until you are extricated by our team. They will be sent immediately when the kills are confirmed. Under no circumstances are you to leave the roof on your own. They will come for you.”

Though he tried, the soldier could not hide his revulsion at the thought of shooting a comrade, but Garin had anticipated such a reaction.

Staring into the eyes of the sickened soldier, he said, “You cannot bear to think about killing our men. But you need to understand there are other lives at risk as well.”

The decorated sniper could not begin to know what his commander was talking about, and, in his panic, it crossed his mind that perhaps the pressures of the war had caused his superior to lose his grip on reality. But that was not the case.

Garin was in complete control of his faculties, including having a plan to ensure the sniper would do his bidding. Before having the soldier brought to him, he had placed a call to the homeland and had gotten the man’s family on the phone. They were hardly willing participants. The commander had a trusted accomplice who was holding them at gunpoint. It was a form of persuasion that he knew would convince the sniper to carry out the unthinkable.

Garin stepped forward until his face was inches from the soldier’s. “You will follow my order, or you will be responsible for the deaths of those you love.”

Now, the soldier understood why he had been disarmed before entering. His muscles tensed as he tried to hold back the adrenaline surge that compelled him to grab his superior by the throat. He wanted this insanity to stop.

The commander only smirked as he took a step back. Holding up a phone, he calmly explained, “At this moment, your wife and both of your children are being held at gunpoint. If you refuse to accept this assignment, each of your loved ones will be shot through the head. But I suspect you will do what is asked of you.”

Garin stared at the soldier, who was visibly trembling with hatred, and congratulated himself on the brilliance of his plan.

Shifting to a calm voice, he said, “Once you have fulfilled your duty, your family will be safe – but if you ever divulge this mission at any point in the future, you and your family will be hunted down and executed. And I assure you, there will be no place on earth you can hide.”

The commander’s eyes bore into the soldier, and his tone hardened. “However, if you fail to kill four of your comrades, not only will your wife and children die, but you will be brought here to me, and I will personally put a bullet in your brain.”

The soldier, trying to control his shaking, had no doubt that Garin would do exactly as he said.

The mastermind of the real-life nightmare took another drag off his cigarette. “Do your job, and all will be well. But if you do not obey this direct order, your wife and children will be dead within minutes. I’ll then move on to the next soldier who will, most certainly, love his family more than you love yours.”

The commander paused long enough to stub the cigarette out in an ashtray on the corner of his desk. Then, smiling pleasantly, he told the sniper, “The decision is yours.” Glancing at his watch, he said matter-of-factly, “You have 30 seconds to accept – or your youngest child will be shot first.”

To help the marksman make up his mind, Garin showed him the number he had called, and then he put the phone on speaker so he could hear his terrified children screaming. As he studied the rage that swept over the soldier, he knew his sadistic threat would soon produce the desired outcome.

***

A short time later, the sniper carefully made his way to the roof of the hospital without detection and positioned himself in the perfect spot to take the fateful shots. Concealed by darkness, he tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on the awful task at hand and not on the sound of his crying children. With his tortured mind reeling with the realization of what he was to do, and with the lives of his family hanging in the balance, he would somehow have to force himself to rely on his training and make the shots. But for now, all he could do was wait.

Meanwhile, the commander remained in the comfort of his temporary headquarters, enjoying a steaming hot cup of coffee, confident that events would soon be set in motion that would have catastrophic consequences.

Thinking about how the night would unfold, the man who had spent his military career killing as efficiently as possible was not pleased that he would have to destroy the hospital using rockets and artillery. Missiles and drones would be preferable, but the current stockpiles were depleted because they had been employed around the nation in such vast numbers that the homeland was struggling to resupply the army.

However, there was a more lethal weapon that could easily do the job. If he had his way, Garin would pull his troops back and use a tactical nuke to destroy the medical complex. But he knew his politically sensitive superiors would never approve of such a suitable use of force. As far as he was concerned, they cared far too much about world opinion. It was a weakness he could not comprehend. Why have such valuable options if you are afraid to use them?

At the same time, the commander was plotting his annihilation of the facility, the other individual in the twisted scenario tried to remain perfectly still. But it was impossible to keep his hands from shaking. For the shooter, the waiting was excruciating, and it seemed to drag on forever. But, eventually, the targets on the ground slowly came into view as the squad moved into the open. After weeks of evening patrols with no enemy activity, the men had no reason to suspect that they would soon be under attack.

He held his fire until the entire squad was clearly visible, and then with crippling fear for the safety of his family and intense self-loathing for what he was about to do, the sniper took a final deep breath and squeezed the trigger unleashing the bullet from the 7.62x51mm cartridge. With a muzzle velocity of 3,000 fps, the first soldier was struck in the back of the head, vaporizing bone and brain tissue as the shock of the impact drove him off his feet. A thick red mist sprayed several soldiers standing near him as the boldness of the ambush took the squad by surprise.

In the immediate confusion, the others scrambled to find cover, except for a single soldier who made the fatal mistake of showing compassion and rushing to the side of the victim. Kneeling next to him, he was an easy shot for the skilled marksman. With another squeeze of the trigger, the bullet entered the target squarely between the shoulder blades. His chest exploded outwards as the exit wound tore apart his upper torso.

In the ensuing chaos, the soldiers tried to return fire, but they were not certain which direction the shots were coming from. The squad leader ordered five of his men to move to the right and five others to go left. That was the opportunity the sniper needed. He fired three more rounds, killing two fellow soldiers. With four dead, the mission was completed. But before he could slip away to the designated extraction spot, the distraught gunman, who had been forced to snuff out the lives of his fellow countrymen, began to retch and vomit.

With lethal precision, the horrific task had been accomplished. Garin’s sniper had killed unsuspecting soldiers whose families would never learn the truth that their loved ones were purposely targeted by friendly fire to sanction the destruction of a children’s hospital.

When an aide burst into his office and informed the commander about the sniper, Garin dismissed him. Then he calmly called the phone number to reach the sniper’s family and spoke just three words to the individual who answered, “Execute them all.”

There had never been any intention of allowing them to live because, although everything had gone as planned, there could be no loose ends. The commander broke into a broad smile when he heard the gunshots that stopped their screaming forever. If it had been possible, he would have happily pulled the trigger himself.

***

Koval dropped into a chair, still wearing the scrubs covered with Stefan’s blood. For the moment, the child was clinging to life, but the doctor had grave doubts about how much longer the young boy could hang on. The physical damage was so extensive that it seemed almost inevitable that his struggle would soon end.

A short time earlier, there had been gunshots that sounded like they came from the roof, but that was followed by silence, so he dismissed it as insignificant compared to the massive explosions that regularly occurred near the hospital.

Feeling utterly despondent, but with his body charged with adrenaline, Koval knew it would be a while until he could sleep, so he decided to steal a few minutes to do what he always did when he felt overwhelmed. He would put his thoughts on paper. Before the death of his brother and his passion for medicine became all-consuming, he had briefly flirted with a career in journalism, and he still enjoyed writing. He even had the fleeting idea that someday he might try to get something published that would show what conflict was like from the point of view of the victims and those who cared for them.

As far as writing was concerned, Koval was old school. He did not like to use a computer, preferring to write by hand. There was something about painstakingly putting words down on paper that helped to stimulate his thinking. Rummaging through the clutter on the desk, he found a yellow legal pad and a pen.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, and then he began to describe in vivid detail the death all around him. As the anger began to flow from him, his hand could hardly keep up with the torrent of despair that he felt about what this unjust war had done to the innocent.

Collateral damage is considered an acceptable part of the foreign policy of many nations, as well as assorted terrorist organizations and rogue states.

When it is felt that the time is appropriate, bombs and missiles are unleashed with the full knowledge that women and children will be blown to pieces, burned beyond recognition, or maimed for life.

The horror rains down in an attempt to score political points, to force a country to change its form of government against its will, or simply so that a world leader can try to intimidate his perceived enemy.

The desire of one state to impose its will on another state shreds the lives of those who have done nothing wrong. It creates refugees who flee what is left of their homes. It tears apart families and destroys livelihoods all in the name of “national interest”. Unbearable agony and suffering are the results of ego, the lust for power, the refusal to negotiate, and the unwillingness to live and let live.

Perhaps that sounds trite and naïve, but the victims do not understand, nor do they care, why a nation believes its point of view is so important that it is willing to bomb another country into submission to win an international disagreement. Mothers and fathers just want the aggression to stop so they don’t have to bury their sons and daughters.

Most people are naturally protective of the young and the vulnerable. We feel an obligation to take care of those who are defenseless. That is why we recoil in disgust at the injustice of a young child being eviscerated by super-heated shrapnel. We are heartbroken as distraught families dig graves for their loved ones whose twisted bodies were dug out of the rubble of what was once their homes. We feel guilt when we see orphans in agony, enduring multiple skin grafts to replace the flesh that was seared by the blast of an errant warhead.

But even though we experience these emotions, shattered lives, and needless deaths are still tolerated because governments claim it is simply the price of war. Those caught in the crossfire are deemed expendable. Dismembered, charred, and maimed women and children are just grim statistics. They are not accepted as human beings.

As Koval feverishly churned out words to release his frustration and outrage, he was unaware of the extensive military preparations that were in progress all around the doomed hospital. As advanced state-of-the-art weaponry was being strategically positioned, the surgeon could not begin to imagine the carnage that was about to be unleashed.

Even though sleep was creeping up, he wanted to finish recording his thoughts. After rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed heavily and continued to scribble in the indecipherable longhand that physicians are well known for.

The need for one group to dominate another is as old as history. As long as there have been human beings, they have fought with each other over land, resources, political views, ethnicity, religious beliefs, and anything else they could think of.

However, the problem has increased in severity because present-day munitions are far more powerful. Now, aggressors can kill efficiently from a safe distance without exposing themselves to any unnecessary risks. They can strike suddenly with the element of surprise on their side, and they can lay waste to vast areas. All of these factors make governments inclined to be more aggressive because there is less danger to them.

Although civilians may not be purposely targeted, that does not keep them from becoming victims all the same. The little girl who is hemorrhaging after having both legs blown off doesn’t care which prime objective the missile was aimed at. The father who holds his mangled son isn’t concerned with another country’s vital national interests. The mothers who wail over dead schoolchildren, riddled with broken glass, do not understand the importance of having a tactical advantage. Those left behind to clean up the grisly remains of pre-emptive strikes do not appreciate the intricacies of military planning and implementation.  

Shockingly, the killing of noncombatants is a risk nations are more than willing to take to push their agenda. They can vehemently deny that statement, but their actions prove otherwise.

Collateral damage is considered to be the “accidental” death of innocent human beings. But, in reality, it is the politically correct term for a child whose future has been zipped shut in a body bag.

That is why the world must know the truth about the atrocities that are occurring in our country. They must acknowledge our need for immediate assistance to spare the lives of countless –

At that moment, Anton Koval flinched when the silence was suddenly pierced by the shrill screech of rockets being fired in rapid succession. It was a terrifying sound that the weary civilian population knew was the precursor to death and destruction. The hellish nightmare scenario the doctor had long feared could happen had now come true.

The initial salvo struck the other side of the hospital, violently shaking the entire structure. Instantly realizing that he had to get the children before the damage to the building was too great, the surgeon had the presence of mind to yank open a drawer and grab a flashlight inside his desk, scattering the papers he had been writing in every direction. Knowing this could be the end, he burst from the room and sprinted for the ICU floor that housed the most vulnerable, but all he could think about was Stefan.

With the elevators out of commission, the stairs were the only option. Auxiliary generators kicked in and struggled to provide meager power as the lighting flickered on and off, creating a ghostly strobe effect. With utter exhaustion replaced by surging adrenaline, Koval fought his way past throngs of terrified staff and made it down two flights with the roar of additional rockets impacting the far side of the facility ringing in his ears.

When the doctor reached the intensive care unit, there was chaos as medical personnel desperately tried to protect patients while fearing for their own lives. Koval rushed to Stefan’s bed and scooped the nearly lifeless child up in his arms. In shock, the on-duty nurse momentarily froze until the doctor’s urgent voice broke through her daze. “Disconnect everything from him. His only chance is to get him to the basement.” Instinctively, she shook her head because unhooking the machines that were keeping the boy alive was almost assuredly a death sentence. But as she was about to protest, more rockets struck the building closer to their area. With debris cascading from the ceiling, Koval yelled, “Do it!” Struggling against the horror descending around them, she quickly did as asked. With one hand tightly gripping the boy, the surgeon grabbed the flashlight in the pocket of his scrubs and gave it to the nurse.

It was only a heartbeat until the next barrage hit the nearest corner of the medical complex. The violent shaking of the enormous hospital was growing more severe as the blasts proved too much for the 55-year-old complex to withstand. When the electricity blinked off for good, the distraught nurse began to scream as the pitch-black room filled with acidic smoke. Koval’s lungs began to burn as he gasped, “We’ve got to go now! Lead the way with the flashlight.”

Clutching Stefan to his chest in a futile effort to protect the child, the doctor followed the nurse into the darkened hallway that was filling with frantic souls who realized with grim certainty that death was imminent.

It was only a matter of seconds before another series of rockets were launched. Utilizing the deadly accuracy that had been ingeniously designed into the latest cutting-edge killing technology, they scored a direct hit on the ICU wing. In a flash of blinding light and searing heat, the deafening explosions decimated the ward that was dedicated to caring for children who depended on the goodness of human beings for their survival.

As the walls began to crumble, there were no life-or-death struggles played out. There were no tormented pleas for help or shrieking cries for those they loved, because there was no one left alive to scream.

Over the previous weeks, Koval had operated on Stefan five times, each a desperate attempt to give him a future.

His heartfelt compassion for a child who had never spoken a word had driven him to do everything possible to save him, but not even the gifted surgeon could defy the insanity unleashed by a psychotic leader who would willingly kill his own men and hundreds of children just to advance his military career.

In an instant, every person on the ICU floor, including the doctor and the child in his arms, entered eternity.

Never again would Anton Koval be on the front line fighting to heal the damage inflicted by an unjust war. Never again would he perform miracles, snatching young lives from the brink of death. Never again would he provide the last hope in a world gone mad.

The loss of such a man was incalculable.

***

The hospital had been attacked on all sides, and the horrendous damage was spreading throughout the medical center as one withering wave of rockets after another found their mark with devastating effect, indiscriminately slaughtering patients and staff.

To be sure that no one would ever discover his elaborate plan, Commander Garin had ordered that the sniper’s designated location be targeted. Because his cruelty had no limits, there had never been any intention of allowing the marksman to leave the roof alive.

But as it turned out, the rockets were not needed.

The moment he safely arrived at the extraction point, the soldier decided he could not live with what he had just done. Thinking about the families of the comrades he had killed, he couldn’t begin to imagine their pain when they were informed that their husbands, brothers, and sons would be coming home in a casket.

But it was his family that made him want to die. How could he ever face them now that he was a cold-blooded murderer? The shame and remorse he felt overwhelmed him. He began to pray with all his might that his wife and children would never learn the truth of the crime he had committed to protect them, and then, with his hands shaking, he put the barrel of his sidearm in his mouth, and without any hesitation, pulled the trigger. The popping sound five stories up was ignored in all the confusion on the ground.

The unprovoked assault had lasted for only minutes, but it seemed as if it had gone on for hours. On Garin’s command, the firing was paused while the results were assessed. Several rockets had strayed into a nearby neighborhood, killing dozens and injuring hundreds. But that was a small price to pay for achieving a glorious victory.

A short time later, it was determined that the enormous medical complex was still not sufficiently neutralized, so a massive artillery bombardment was ordered to finish the job. By now, the residents of the city realized the latest target of the invading army’s brutality was the children’s hospital, and, thanks to social media, the horrifying news quickly spread around the world.

***

When the shelling finally stopped, Victor Garin stepped out of his headquarters and calmly surveyed the collapsed structure in the distance. Though it was difficult to see some details in the darkness, he was convinced that complete demolition had been achieved.

Buried under the massive heaps of smoldering rubble were the dead children, the courageous men and women who had risked their lives to care for them, and the sniper who was forced to set the tragedy in motion. The commander was more than pleased with the results.

An accurate assessment of the total number of dead would never be made. But conservative estimates placed it between 750 and 950. No one survived the sadistic cruelty of Victor Garin, who would soon be considered a military genius, all because he was willing to methodically kill in a selfish quest for personal glory.

As he admired the devastation inflicted by his weapons, isolated pockets of flames crackled to life. They grew slowly at first, but before long, towers of thick smoke were billowing into the night sky as the fire turned into a conflagration that engulfed what remained of the health center. The huge, blazing pile of twisted steel and concrete was unrecognizable.

The corpses that had not been vaporized by the onslaught were eventually bulldozed into an unmarked mass grave. Consequently, they died without the dignity of a proper burial. But it was a fate shared by many others throughout the besieged country as they succumbed to the mounting atrocities resulting from the senseless invasion.

As he toured the rubble of the medical facility the next day, the commander, always the narcissist, made sure that his every move was painstakingly documented. Extensive photos and video were taken as he examined the aftermath of his brilliant strategy.

Because the victims were massacred at his command, Viktor Garin was hailed as a national hero for his decision to butcher men, women, and children by the hundreds. The arrogant leader, who had absolutely no regard for human life, was immediately promoted to Supreme Commander of all forces and decorated with his nation’s highest honor for bravery and valor.

It seemed he was now fulfilling his egotistical destiny – but at an awful price.

Back home, boulevards and schools were soon renamed after Garin. His growing popularity was exploited by those with political clout who quickly aligned themselves with the victorious commander. Most of all, his countrymen were enthralled by him because they knew their sons would soon be coming home after crushing their despised enemy.

Predictably, freedom-loving countries responded to the “military action” as usual, self-righteously condemning the criminal behavior in the harshest possible terms as they levied weak economic sanctions that would have no effect on the aggressors. After all, no country wanted to jeopardize its trade deals with the attacker. While they felt compelled to put on a public display of moral indignation, they still needed access to the oil, grain, and other commodities of the savage regime.

The prevailing reasoning was that even though the war’s body count was rising at a sickening rate, there was no need for it to harm the global economy. Therefore, no matter how outraged the world’s politicians supposedly claimed to be, it was mostly theatrical bombast that would soon pass. After all, there was not a thing they could do that would bring back a single life lost, and very little they were willing to do to prevent the next atrocity from occurring.

Ultimately, Garin’s plan worked to perfection. The sheer horror of annihilating the children’s hospital shocked the country to the point that their spirit was broken because they realized that the invaders would stop at nothing to conquer them. Just as the commander had predicted, their will to fight while suffering catastrophic losses ebbed away, and within weeks, the nation collapsed as they lost control of the population centers. Eventually, the peace-loving democracy was forced to accept total surrender to end the relentless bloodshed.

Garin’s glorious victory was complete. The small country had been driven to its knees and left in ruins. And, of course, a huge percentage of the death toll was comprised of noncombatants.

Still a relatively young man, Supreme Commander Garin could look forward to decades of living comfortably with the trappings of fame and enjoying the respect and admiration of a grateful nation. They would be years that he had stolen from the men, women, and children in the hospital.

Tragically, his barbaric actions provided grim evidence that far too often those who commit unspeakable evil go unpunished and are even rewarded for their cruelty, while good people pay the ultimate price for attempting to do what is right.

Neither Anton Koval nor Victor Garin had any specific knowledge of the other because they existed in different worlds. But those worlds had collided with heartbreaking results, linking them together for all time. A sociopathic military commander was decorated for taking life, and a brilliant, compassionate doctor was brutally murdered trying to preserve life.

Insanely cruel orders issued by a madman had erased hundreds of innocent lives. But history has shown time and again that innocence is always the victim of war. The heart-wrenching proof lay in a mass unmarked grave that served as the final resting place for the mutilated remains of a pediatric surgeon and the young patient he desperately tried to save.