James Dawn was currently stationed at the Travis Air Force base, still serving as a fighter pilot. After a previous string of successful missions with his Z-71 Pterodactyl that earned him a shit load of medals and awards, he was called in to meet personally with the airman general regarding a special mission back overseas. It was a classified mission, so classified that no one else but he, the general, and whoever the even-higher ups were, would know the details.
"Sergeant Dawn," the general was a large, stalky man with an angular face that reminded James of the front end of a semi truck. He held a cigar in his fingers as he spoke in his smooth, deep voice.
"You will be the lone airman for this mission. It's a small city but critical for the countries economic maintenance and infrastructure. Instead of your Pterodactyl, you will be adopting a B-24 Nimbafortressthat will allow you to carry the Newton Bombs that you will be dropping on three designated points within the city."
James sat stiffly in the chair. As he heard the mention of "Newton Bombs" in conjunction with "city", he knew the mission was going to be uglier than holy hell. Previous missions he only saw attacks on enemy bases and naval positions. Even when dropped in for a ground mission, he never once had to kill a civilian and he hoped that it stayed that way. This mission required him to kill nothing but civilians, so his next question of concern was surely going to raise the generals eyebrow.
"What about civilians?" James asked, and sure enough, the generals eyebrow went up and he looked at James as if he had just spoken gibberish.
"I'm sorry?" The general said. James shifted in his chair slightly.
"What about the civilians in the city?"
"What about em?" The general stuck his cigar in his mouth.
"Will there be a lot of civilians in these area's that could be harmed or killed in this operation?"
"Of course there'll be civilians in the way. It's a fuckin city." The general answered.
James sat in silence for a moment. A series of thoughts flashed into his head. A thought of a B-24 Nimbafortress soaring through the sky, then images of east asian civilians laying in the streets— blown to pieces, some still screaming and some dead.
"General, I'm going to have to decline this mission." James says finally.
"This isn't a request, sergeant. This is an order."
Another thought pops into James' head. A child cried by his mother who had been blown apart and was nothing but a charred, limbless corpse in front of him. Buildings were crumbled to the ground and some were on fire all around him.
"I'm sorry, general. I refuse the order." James says firmly. The general tapped the front of his cigar on the edge of an ash tray before sticking it back in his mouth and spoke through his teeth.
"You know, you've grown a real, big fuckin head on your shoulders ever since you got that seven on your rank. You think you're a fuckin top gun, don't you? A fuckin big shot that can turn around and spit in the face of his superiors? That's not how it works around here. I'll give you one more try, and if I hear anything other than a yes-sir or it's done, then you'll be packing your bags today and those shiny medals ripped right off your ass."
James sat there in silence as he thought about it. But all he could think was the devastation he would single-handedly cause among hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million or more people. A final thought of him flying that fat, fuckin air fortress through the sky as mushroom clouds of death erupted from the city behind it.
James sped down the street in his suped-up, Musty Dang— his seven hundred horse-power muscle car. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he thought back to all the medals he had earned being ripped off his uniform, and then him stripped out of said uniform. He never thought he would end his career with a dishonorable discharge. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to inadvertently kill a civilian, but not on a scale like that. And not intentionally. Worst of all, by himself. No one else would carry that around, not even the ones giving the order because he was the one dropping the bombs at the end of the day, not them. On an enemy base with nothing but terrorists or other enemy forces, that's a different story. He'll drop bombs on them til' the cows come home.
It didn't matter how Jimmie tried to make sense to himself in his own head after the fact. The fact of the matter was, he was given an order and was expected to carry it out, but he refused, and now he was driving home, speeding through traffic wondering where in the hell he was going to get high now…