It was odd for a soldier, but Hawley was actually superstitious about killing someone. He couldn’t imagine that there wasn’t any retribution for squeezing one off and dropping someone, even if they couldn’t see you, even if they never knew. Wouldn’t they be pissed? If there was something that was left, call it a soul, or spirit, or just fine particles of electricity, wouldn’t they follow you around, buzzing around your ears, asking why the fuck did you do that? It was one thing to fire back when someone was shooting at you, but to drop someone sipping tea at a thousand yards, right after they set down their cup and smiled to the lowly lieutenant sitting next to him, to kill that man who wasn’t fighting at all, wasn’t there something that happened for doing that?
Hawley didn’t see the answer in the beer he was holding. He sipped it and set it down, looking at it as if it were somehow changed. Willie was still talking up the shot to all those who would listen, and Jaybird was just grinning the way Jaybird did, finally punching Hawley’s shoulder and saying, “Broke your cherry today!”
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I always love the way you get into your character's heads, and the way you always surprise me when you do. They're never thinking what I expect they're thinking. And yet, once I read what you've written,I always wind up thinking, 'yes, of course, what else could it have been?'
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