The Commander (Show Don't Tell)

          The Commander stood straight with his shoulders back as he stared into the barrel of the gun with a grim smile. Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed and the roar of a planes engines as it took to the air reverberated through his eardrums. Spattered blood shone fresh and wet against his dark uniform, and on the floor around them lay the men of his unit, crumpled and scattered across the ground like so much rubbish. 
          A cracked and broken voice asked why, why this had happened to so many decent men? Men who had fought honorably for the country they wished so deeply to protect. How could they be rewarded in such a way? If this was their purpose then why had they been gathered in the first place?
          The barrel in front of his face shifted, lowered from his face by trembling hands of a man years younger than him. This other fellows eyes were swamped by tears and he wiped desperately at them in an attempt to hide his weakness. Before slowly, very deliberately raising the black barrel to his head and raising his other hand in a salute to the boss. As his hand fell a crack echoed around them, his head was shattered, broken by the sheer force of the bullet. His blood fell like streamers through the air before settling on his body, which now lay among the other bodies, settled on the ground like the next piece of rubbish.
          The Commander leaned forward and with a wet squelching sound released a volley of saliva at the man who'd nearly killed him. The grim smile on his face stretching to something disproportionate and wrong, an expression no average person would expect to see on the face of a human. His eyes where wide and glinting with a touch of emotion that was not quite sane.
          "I knew you couldn't do it." His voice was rough and laced with the pleasure of a man who'd just proved to himself  that he could never be wrong. "Your just as spineless as the rest of them, unwilling to stick up to yer ole boss, eh?"
          He released a sharp bark of laughter that echoed as the crack of the bullet had earlier and turned his back on the resting place of the men he had killed, walking leisurely away from the scene as though he'd simply been taking out the trash. "What's one more World War in the light of things? We all lose the battle eventually."
          And sometimes people were needed to speed things up, people like him. Because good men, truly good men, did not belong in the atrocities war brought.