Abstract Target

Dawn was approaching.

In the murky morning light, Taylor gripped his weapon once more. Through his scope, he attentively observed the woman’s morning routine just as he had the day before. This time, she lit no fire in the hearth and brewed no tea — evidently, their meager supplies were entirely exhausted. Picking up a large, worn cloth and a small handmade mattock near the tandoor oven, she set off alone into the vast, arid expanse of the desert.

Walking slowly across the sandy terrain, the woman leaned down, carefully inspecting every thorn and dried shrub. Whenever she spotted a root that seemed edible or useful, she knelt down, dug into the soil with her mattock, and gently wrapped it in the cloth. For safety, she stayed within a reasonable distance from the house, but spent hours wandering the surrounding expanse in search of roots or plants to feed her children.

Meanwhile, activity stirred in the courtyard. Atal rubbed his eyes, woke up, and stepped outside. Still burdened by yesterday’s confrontation, his stomach ached with hunger. The boy wandered around the homestead, searching for his mother.

Standing behind the wooden fence, Atal gazed into the boundless desert. The dry air shimmered, and in the far distance, his mother’s tiny silhouette was barely visible. He recognized her movements: she moved tirelessly from place to place, kneeling to dig up whatever she could find and wrapping it in her cloth.

Atal could not run out to help her. His mother had strictly forbidden him and Lalmo from ever venturing into that specific part of the desert.

He could never understand why. Whenever they gathered firewood or forage for the goats, they always went somewhere entirely different — further away, where plant life was scarce — even though this section of the desert had an abundance of dry bushes and edible roots.

Resting his chin on the fence, Atal silently watched his mother’s grueling labor from afar.

Up on the ridge, Taylor lay watching both the solitary woman in the middle of the desert and Atal leaning against the courtyard fence. The desert wind blew grains of sand against Taylor’s face, but he continued recording every movement in his logbook.

Once the gathered roots filled the cloth, the woman brought the four corners together and tied them in a firm knot. Gathering all her strength, she grasped the bundle tightly and swung it over her shoulder with all her weight. The heavy sack settled against her lower back with a thud. Stumbling a step forward under the weight, she straightened up and began the long walk home.

As his mother approached the courtyard, Atal forgot yesterday’s grievances and ran to meet her. Grasping one corner of the bundle, he helped her carry it. It was remarkably heavy.

Upon reaching the courtyard, Atal eagerly untied the knot. Reaching inside, he pulled out an off-white, strangely shaped root and squinted at it.

“Mother, what are we going to do with this?” he asked, screwing up his face.

“We’re going to enjoy a meal, my son.” The woman wiped the bitter sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

“Eat this?!” Atal was bewildered. The root pulled from the barren desert soil looked bizarre and completely unpalatable to his eyes.

“Yes, eat it. You can boil it, or just wash it and eat it raw if you like. It tastes just like a carrot,” she said, trying to whet her son’s appetite. In truth, the poor woman had no other choice and nothing else to give her children.

Holding the root with visible disgust, Atal uttered a dismissive “Pff…” and tossed it back into the bundle.

The woman placed the roots in a bowl and washed them thoroughly with well water. She then peeled away the outer skin piece by piece. Exposing the crisp, juicy white flesh, she rinsed the roots lightly once more before slicing them into round discs.

She called the children. Sitting together on the small, weathered wooden platform outside, the family gathered around this strange meal.

“Mother, what is this?” Lalmo asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“It’s a root that tastes like a carrot, sweetheart. You can eat it without worry. It’s very delicious!” the woman replied, forcing a reassuring smile.

Lalmo picked up a crisp disc of root and popped it into her mouth without hesitation. Sitting opposite her, Atal watched with an open mouth, a mix of astonishment and mild disgust as his sister chewed.

“Mmm… It really is good! I guess I was just really hungry…” Lalmo said happily. But the slip of her tongue about being hungry made her bite her lip instantly. Looking at her mother, she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. Young as she was, Lalmo possessed a deep sensitivity and understood the family’s dire circumstances; she dreaded causing her mother pain.

Watching the scene through his scope, Taylor felt an involuntary pang of hunger. He pulled another MRE box from his pack. Tearing open the pouch, he began crunching on the dry rations as they were, without even taking time to rehydrate them with water. Every now and then, he took a sip of water through the thin hose running from the hydration bladder on his back to his collar.

As the woman and Lalmo ate the roots with satisfying crunches, the mother noticed Atal hadn’t taken a single bite.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Atal?” his mother asked gently.

“It looks like goat food…”

“If you don’t eat, you’ll fall ill. Here, take a bite,” she said, bringing a piece close to his mouth.

Reluctantly, Atal pouted and took a small bite. He chewed… Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Unappealing as it looked, the root was surprisingly sweet and flavorful. His famished stomach welcomed the nourishment eagerly. Reaching into the bowl himself, Atal took a larger piece and began chewing contentedly.

A sense of relief and quiet tranquility washed over the mother’s face. Seeing her children fed was her greatest reward.

For days, Taylor had been stationed on this dry, scorching ridge, doing little more than observing a simple family. There was no sign of the insurgent fighters, weapons caches, or suspicious activities he had been sent to find. He had gathered virtually no actionable intelligence. A strange emptiness began to take root inside him: he felt like an accidental bystander, a spectator who had arrived in the wrong place entirely.

The aimless surveillance and oppressive desert heat drained him physically and mentally. He rested his sniper rifle gently on the dusty ground.

Leaning his heavy helmet against the dry earth, he lay face down and closed his eyes. He sought a moment of rest, attempting to shut out the relentless military orders in his head and the heavy thoughts of the impoverished family below. Around him, nothing could be heard except the low whistle of the desert wind and the rhythm of his own breathing.

Suddenly, the radio crackled sharply with static. A cold voice from the speaker shattered the silence:

“Point 5, do you copy?” the base operator radioed.

Taylor forced his dust-crusted eyelids open, bleary-eyed and disoriented. Groping across the sand with one hand while keeping his eyes half-shut, he found the receiver:

“Point 5 copies,” he answered hastily, keeping his voice low.

“Satellite imagery indicates an unidentified contact approaching Point 5 from the northwest. Large footprint — possible infantry squad. Verify and report immediately,” the operator instructed in a stern, rigid tone.

“Copy that.”

Setting the radio down, he snatched his sniper rifle. Adjusting his helmet, he swung the scope toward the specified direction and scanned the horizon. Thermal haze shivered over the desert floor, distorting the image. Although the satellite had detected movement from above, it couldn’t provide a clear visual. Taylor slipped his finger near the trigger, concentrating all his focus on the blurry figure moving through his optic.

Through the lens, he saw a young shepherd boy mounted on a snow-white camel, driving a herd of nearly forty sheep. He picked up the receiver:

“Base, this is Point 5. Target identified. One shepherd boy driving a flock of roughly forty sheep toward the homestead at Point 5.”

“Solid copy, Point 5. If the boy exchanges any intelligence with the family, report immediately,” the operator replied.

“Understood.”

Taylor switched off the radio. Then, with genuine fascination, he began watching the shepherd boy’s movements — and especially his pristine white camel — through his rifle scope.

The boy drove the flock slowly past the homestead. A couple of sheep broke away from the herd and strayed to the side. The boy blew a short whistle to his massive, formidable dog. The hound understood instantly, sprinting alongside the stray sheep and barking to drive them back into the fold.

Hearing the noise outside, Atal dashed out of the house. From behind the wooden fence, he watched the shepherd boy, his sheep, and especially the magnificent dog in utter awe. Atal looked at the shepherd boy with deep envy: the boy could go anywhere he pleased, as if he alone held the freedom to roam the entire world.

Just then, Atal felt something soft brush against his ankles. Looking down, he startled at the sight of a strange golden shadow and took a step back. A moment later, he realized it was a small puppy that had fallen behind the herd.

Standing behind the fence, Atal longed to play with the adorable pup. He blew short whistles, calling it closer. The puppy frisked about playfully, as if signaling to Atal, “Come out and play!”

Atal sat on the ground and reached through the gap in the fence to stroke the puppy. As he scratched behind its ears, the puppy froze in delight, instinctively leaning into his palm.

Moments later, the mother dog’s sharp bark echoed from the distant herd. The puppy scampered off in a hurry. Atal remained behind the fence, his hand still outstretched, watching the gentle creature disappear into the distance.

To Taylor, these events seemed insignificant. A shepherd boy, some sheep, a puppy, a white camel… None of it had any bearing on the mission, so he saw no reason to report it to base. He simply lay back, gazing at the sky. Near midday, the dry bushes on the ridge offered a sliver of shade from the harsh sun. Taylor watched the bush leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze. The rhythmic swaying had a soothing, almost lulling effect.

When even this dull distraction grew tiring, he picked up his rifle again and spent hours silently monitoring the courtyard and its surroundings. Feeling his throat parched, he raised the thin hydration tube to his lips and took a deep pull. But nothing came from the bladder inside his vest except air and a hollow gurgle — his water was out.

Unbuttoning his outer vest, he pulled out the empty reservoir. Taking a larger reserve canteen from his pack, he unscrewed the cap and began pouring water into the bladder with a soft splash.

At that exact moment, a figure suddenly materialized from behind the massive boulder behind him!

Taylor’s heart leaped into his throat. Almost dropping the canteen, he lunged frantically for the rifle resting on the ground.

“Don’t move!” a familiar voice commanded from behind.

Before his hand could reach the rifle, Taylor froze and turned his gaze toward the figure pointing a pistol at him. To his utter shock, the person holding the gun… was Atal! Yes, the young boy!

He glared at Taylor, repeating with childhood bravado and fierce determination:

“Don’t move!”

Taylor stood paralyzed for a second, unsure how to react. Moving quickly to disarm the boy was out of the question — the distance was three to four meters. As a precaution, he mentally prepared to draw the sidearm holstered on his hip. But from his military experience, Taylor knew one thing all too well: never trust a child with a gun! A single wrong or sudden move, and the panicked boy might pull the trigger.

“My father taught me how to shoot!” Atal threatened, his hands trembling slightly, though the barrel remained trained squarely on Taylor.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Taylor nodded slowly. To calm the boy and signal total surrender, he raised both hands slowly to shoulder height, then lowered them deliberately while watching the boy’s every movement.

“Why are you watching us?” Atal demanded.

“How long have you known?”

“A week. Am I right?” Atal muttered.

“That’s right. You’re sharp,” Taylor said, inwardly admiring the boy’s vigilance.

“You didn’t answer my question! Why did you come to our land?!” Atal demanded, his brow furrowed, refusing to break eye contact for even a second.

“To protect children like you… and your mothers. To help you,” Taylor answered, though a heavy pang of guilt gnawed at his conscience.

“To protect us? From who?”

Taylor hesitated for a moment before answering:

“To protect you from the insurgent militants.”

“They aren’t insurgents! They are Freedom Fighters!” Atal raised his voice fiercely.

Taylor was taken aback by the sudden surge of deep pride on the boy’s young face. Trying to correct him, Taylor said:

“That’s what they taught you to believe. They aren’t on the right path. They took up arms, shot civilians, set off bombs, and destroyed whole towns.”

“Those people you talk about are a rogue group! My father fights against them too!”

“Your father is a fighter?”

“Yes… But my father considered you Americans to be enemies too! Because you invaded our country!” Atal gripped the pistol tighter with both hands.

Taylor’s mind raced. The weapon in the boy’s hands could go off at any second.

“Hey, take it easy! Like I said, we have no ill intentions. We came here simply to bring peace to your land. We want to help,” Taylor urged, moving his hands slowly.

“We didn’t ask for your help! Besides, your people killed everyone too! My father told me. You killed many of my father’s comrades!”

“Your name is Atal, right? How can I explain this to you… When we entered this country to establish peace, they might have opened fire on us first. Our men only shot back to defend themselves,” Taylor tried to reason.

“You shouldn’t have come in the first place!” Atal spat, every word laced with venom. Filled with hatred, he switched off the pistol’s safety catch.

The sharp metallic click echoed unnaturally loud in Taylor’s ears. A cold sweat broke out across his body. The situation had turned lethal…

Then Taylor’s eyes caught sight of Atal’s left leg — from his thigh down to his ankle, it was soaked in thick blood.

“What happened to your leg?!” he gasped in horror.

“This happened because of you!”

Taylor’s eyes widened in terror. In that split second, a flash of fire erupted from the barrel of Atal’s pistol, and a deafening roar thundered across the desert… These were the final seconds witnessed by Taylor’s eyes and ears.

Taylor bolted upright with a bloodcurdling scream.

Around him was a blanket of deep twilight blue. It had all been a terrible nightmare… Sleep had overtaken him while he was lying on his back, watching the leaves flicker in the breeze. Sweat poured down Taylor’s face and forehead; his chest heaved rapidly as he gasped for air. No matter how deeply he inhaled, his lungs felt starved of oxygen.

He hurriedly put on his earpiece, grabbed his rifle, and peer through the scope down at the house.

Everything was bathed in absolute silence. In one room of the house, the flickering light of a kerosene lamp gleamed behind a curtain. Moments later, the woman’s silhouette appeared against the curtain — she blew into the lamp, extinguishing the flame. No other movement followed.

Enveloped in darkness and the howling of the dry desert wind, Taylor was left utterly and completely alone once more. This nightmare was merely the first echo of the remorse that had already taken root deep within his soul.

The Shadow of the Past

At the bottom of his rucksack, Taylor pulled out his very last MRE ration. His food and water reserves would barely stretch to cover two days. A few days ago, he had radioed the base to report the shortage, but the operator informed him that resupplying the area on the ground was virtually impossible — the supply roads had fallen entirely under insurgent control. The only ray of hope was an aerial drop via drone, but even that remained uncertain. Beyond the pressing issue of logistics, abandoning his post to return to base presented a fatal risk in itself.

Down in the courtyard below, the family’s situation was far dire than Taylor’s. Starvation was slowly eroding their strength day by day. This morning, the woman could not even manage her usual household chores, performing her prayers with what little strength she had left. As the hours slipped by, the desert sun began to scorch the arid earth with increasing intensity.

His lips cracked and parched from thirst, Atal turned to his mother in the courtyard.

“Mother, what are we going to do now?”

The woman understood all too well what her son was asking.

“I don’t know, my son… God will provide our sustenance,” she replied softly.

“What if we go back to the city?” Atal asked, taking a seat beside his mother on the wooden platform.

“To the city?.. It lies in ruins now. There might be food there, but there is no peace, no quiet sleep, Atal,” the woman said, taking a tiny sip of water from the bowl in her hands.

“Still, the important thing is that there’s food! People will help us, and our relatives are there too…”

“Atal! There is a war raging there right now. War means people… each other…” She broke off, choosing not to finish the sentence. She refused to let such cruelty and brutality become familiar concepts to her young son.

After a brief silence, Atal set off to find forage for the goat. Hours later, he returned carrying a much smaller bundle of wild green herbs over his shoulder. He set the bundle down in a shaded spot near the pen. Just then, a faint, rhythmic whimpering caught his attention.

Atal searched every corner of the courtyard. Squinting beneath the elevated wooden platform, he discovered the shepherd boy’s tiny puppy from a few days prior! Atal’s eyes sparkled with joy. Reaching out his hand, he whistled softly to coax the pup forward. But the frightened puppy pressed itself further against the mud wall under the platform. Atal could have crawled under to pull it out by force, but he refused to use aggression.

“I need to give him something,” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him! Atal immediately darted into the woodshed, reaching into the hidden nook where he had stashed the military MRE ration. Uncapping the container, he pulled out the paper food pouch and tore it open in a single hasty motion. In his rush, several dry food pellets spilled onto the dirt. Fearing his mother might discover he hadn’t returned the package as instructed, he quickly gathered the fallen grains into his palm. He tucked the ration box back into the nook, concealing it beneath the old rags once more.

Clutching the dry food pellets in his hand, he hurried back to the platform where the puppy cowered. Bending down, he tossed a couple of pellets toward the pup. At first, the puppy ignored the food. Driven by hunger, it eventually crept closer and sniffed the pellets, its eyes never leaving Atal. Smelling the rich food, the puppy lapped up the pellets, crunching on the dry rations contentedly.

Seemingly enjoying the treat, the puppy perked its ears and stared at Atal with hopeful eyes, as if asking, “Are you going to drop any more?” Understanding the gesture, Atal tossed two more pellets — this time a little closer to himself. The puppy hesitated, then stepped forward and ate those as well. Atal’s hand could not reach the pup yet, but the distance between them was steadily closing.

Once again, those perked ears and pleading eyes fixed on the boy… Atal tossed two more pellets much closer to his knees. Remaining crouched under the platform, the puppy stretched its neck to gauge the distance. It realized that reaching the food meant stepping closer to the boy.

Up on the ridge, Taylor watched through his binoculars in silence as Atal fed his own stashed military rations to the little pup, gently building trust between them.

Reluctantly, the puppy stepped closer, narrowing the gap even further. Though it couldn’t reach all the pellets at once, it stretched its neck, savoring the scent of the food. It tilted its head up at Atal, letting out a soft whimper as if asking, “Are you tricking me?” Hunger, however, won over fear. Taking a leap of faith, the puppy stepped out, crunching down the remaining pellets. Although Atal had the chance to grab the puppy, he refrained, careful not to startle it. Wagging its tail slightly, the pup began to relax. Atal poured the rest of the pellets directly beneath his feet. The puppy trotted over, crunching happily on the food. Their reacquaintance was going smoothly.

Observing through his optic as his final reserve of military rations was devoured by a puppy beneath the platform, Taylor pursed his lips in quiet amusement.

Just then, Atal’s mother emerged from the house.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking down at her son.

Atal pointed to the puppy at his feet; luckily, it had already polished off every last pellet.

The woman let out a soft sigh. “So you’ve finally made a friend…” Walking over to the well, she lowered the bucket, turned the wooden winch, and began hauling up fresh water.

In those very seconds, Taylor spotted a dark SUV kicking up a massive cloud of dust as it sped toward the homestead from across the desert expanse. He immediately raised his radio.

“Base, Base! This is Point 5, I have an update!”

“Base receives you. Point 5, report status,” the operator responded.

“An unidentified SUV is approaching Point 5 at high speed. Possible insurgent vehicle.”

“Identify vehicle occupants. Stand by on this frequency and provide continuous updates.”

The heavy SUV pulled up right outside the courtyard wall, grinding to a halt in a swirl of dust. Four armed insurgents clad in tactical gear dismounted hastily from the vehicle.

At the sight of the armed men, the mother instinctively shielded her son behind her back. One of the insurgents approached with aggressive posture, questioning her sharply.

“Where is your husband?!”

“I don’t know… He left with you!” the woman stammered in fear, covering her face with her veil.

One insurgent brushed past her and barged into the house, while another began inspecting the perimeter of the courtyard.

“You’re lying! There’s been no word from your husband for a week. He deserted his post,” the interrogating insurgent barked.

Meanwhile, the insurgent who had entered the house dragged little Lalmo outside by her arm. Seeing this, the woman rushed forward, snatched her daughter from the man’s grip, and pulled her behind her alongside Atal.

Taylor reported the situation over the radio.

“Is the commander among them?” the operator inquired.

Taylor quickly scanned each insurgent through his sniper scope.

“Negative. He is not present.”

“Hold fire. Maintain surveillance from your position. They may simply be clearing the sector,” the operator instructed cold-bloodedly.

Taylor continued monitoring the confrontation below.