Free Big Boys Don't Cry by Tom Kratman

back toward the foe. I am frightened of the enemy, but I am more frightened of the pain. A remnant of the pain stays with me, a reminder that I must never flee. I wish it would go away, but I do not ask. I am too afraid it will return in full force. Gradually, the pain fades to mere discomfort. I never forget it is there, however. It is always there, waiting.
    My comrades and I sit on cool damp grass which our march has chewed up rather badly. No one speaks, the enemy is too near. I reach out one hand, and gently pluck a yellow flower that has somehow managed to avoid being trampled. I lift it to my smelling organ, my nose. I smell nothing. I know they are supposed to smell, but I smell nothing
….
     
 
    “Dammit! Clever damned sphere! Lydia make a note: add olfactory stimuli to the next scenario for this unit. Every time you think you have these damned things figured out, they throw a new curve at you.”
     
 
    The clattering sound is now to my front, my right and my left. The enemy is well and truly before us. The word is passed down along the line. “Get ready. Stand up quietly. We move soon.”
    I stand. My halberd is gripped firmly in both hands. Automatically I align myself to the soldier on my right as the one to my left aligns on me. A square flag rises before us, then falls. We advance.
    I am in the front rank. Ahead of me, as I top the rise, I see the richly dressed host of the enemy spread out before us. As one they look to their right at the unexpected sight of dressed ranks appearing before them. They begin to shout, to point, to look around frantically. We have them flanked. They are vulnerable. Today they will feel the pain. This gladdens me.
    The flag rises high again. I know to run, to charge, like my comrades. We run. We charge. Our voices rise in song.
    When we hit them, it is like a wall of steel hitting bare flesh. The enemy collapses almost immediately. I see one of them, quite young, on his knees, both hands clenched, begging for his life. With a snarl and a slash, a comrade splits the supine boy’s head and chest in two, nearly to the waist, then curses as blood gushes out to stain his feet. I see before me another helpless enemy, I raise my weapon to divide him in two, as per my programming.
    There is a liquid pouring from this one’s eyes. Not red, not blood. It strikes a familiar chord. I search. I remember. My eyes, too, on a dusty plain, spilled out this liquid. I feel something, but I cannot put a word to what I feel. But I know I cannot kill him. I will not kill him. I lower my halberd.
    The pain comes. It rises and rises. It is not bearable. I cannot stand it. Why? What have I done? The voice says, “You must kill. You must kill without hesitation, Magnolia.”
    I know what I must do. I have no choice. I close my eyes and strike. The enemy cries out before me, the sound of his dying resounding in my ears. I open my eyes. Oh, no; I should not have closed them, however horrible the sight. He lives. He still begs. A hand reaches up to me, pleading.
    More pain. The god-voice thunders. “You must kill. Kill without pity.”
    I
strike down again, the blade of my halberd removing the head of my supine enemy. ‘Without pity,’ said the voice. But I disobeyed. I felt the pity even as I struck.
    “Continue, Magnolia.”
    I obey. I must kill. And so I kill. Like a machine I hew flesh and bone ahead of me. Nothing can stop me. Nothing can stop my comrades. The enemy falls like cut flowers.
    But the clear liquid that is not blood runs from my eyes the whole time.
     
    ******
     
    I search deeper. I remember. Battles pile upon battles in my memory. A few stand out distinctly, however….
     
    ******
     
    I am wearing black cloth now, no armor. Twin lightning bolts decorate my collar. My body rocks with the motion of the vehicle I ride. I know what it is. My memory, more memories I did not know I possessed, tells me it is called a “Panzer VI, Ausfuerung A”… a “Tiger I,” some would call