It's 4 o'clock in the afternoon. I sit in my chair at the base, the Syrian heat seeping through the walls. But that isn't why I'm sweating. I worked my entire life to be here. General. Decision maker. Unwavering thought and will. But if this is supposed to be true, why do I struggle now? I look at the screen. I see him. The man who killed so many that didn't deserve to die. Who killed people caring for children, parents, spouses. Who killed entire families, cities, dreams. But he is one of them too. One who cares for his children, parents, wife. A man who has dreams.

He is surrounded by his friends and family. Ones who have done nothing but see the good in a horrible person. What have they done to deserve death? A timer starts. Ten minutes put on the clock. Ten minutes. That's all the time I have. I have ten minutes to decide the amount of time all those people have left on Earth. I shouldn't be the one here. I am not the giver an taker of life.

The screen changes. The man, and all his entourage, are moving. They are no longer talking. Their faces have become somber. They walk into a mosque. I can no longer see them. Maybe this is for the best. The less I know about these people, the better. The timer beeps. Nine minutes left. How long one minute can take. I feel my mind wandering. Thinking now about hours, minutes, seconds. But then they come back out. Their heads down. Not a sound comes from them. But the tears still fall.

I watch. Tears start to fall from my face too. Then I see four men carrying something. Someone. It is a body. A small body. They are burying a child. I cannot do it. This is not me. I cannot press the button. They are surely dead on the inside from this loss. How could I kill them on the outside as well. It is a long procession. Walking past buildings. Walking past houses. Food, flowers, toys lining the balconies. The brown sand, the brown houses. The dullness is eerily fitting. Eight minutes. The phone rings.

It's a call from the States. A man talks. Tells me that an American fighter is dead. Tells me that he was under my command. Tells me that I have to make the call. To tell his family that their beloved son has died. Tell them that the man on the screen in front of me is to blame. Seven minutes.

I spend an entire minute crying over this loss. Over the decision I will have to make in six minutes. Now, when I look at that screen, I see evil. I see a killer. I see a man who holds no remorse. I see a town banding around him, helping him accomplish his evil deeds. A beep. Five minutes left.

Time begins to speed up. The people walk faster. A hole is dug. The crying grows louder. The faces get sadder. A man starts to chant and give some sort of blessing to the dead child. Four minutes.

They lower the body. Now the crying has become wailing. Two cars pull up. These are armored cars. My window is quickly closing. I must chose. Three minutes.

The hole fills with dirt. The crying does not die out. Men get out of the cars. I see guns. My hand moves closer. Two minutes.

The crying goes on. But I notice something. The man shows no emotion. No sadness, no grief, nothing. He walks away from the burial. One minute.

He gives his prayers to the family and I see a tear running down his cheek. I waver. I see the normal man. I see the dreams. I see the timer. 30 seconds.

He is feet away from the car. The men around him open the door. But he never gets in the car. I press the button. the missile fires. The man is blown to smithereens. But then I look. The others around him. The ones who buried the child. They are hurt. They are dead. I and I alone have killed them. What gives me this right? Unwavering thought and will. Decision maker. I am a general. But why don't feel like one?