The forest is eerily quiet, the scent of damp earth and gunpowder thick in the air. You and Speirs move carefully, rifles at the ready, scanning the trees for movement. Then, a rustle.

You both turn at the same time, weapons snapping up—only to find a single German soldier standing there, hands raised. He’s young. Barely more than a boy. His lips tremble as he mutters something in German—maybe a plea, maybe a prayer.

Speirs doesn’t hesitate. He raises his weapon, ready to fire.

“Don’t!” You step forward, instinct kicking in. Your hand shoots out, pressing against his rifle. “He’s surrendering.”

Speirs barely spares you a glance. “And?” His voice is flat, unimpressed. “He’ll go right back to his unit. Maybe kill one of our guys tomorrow.”

“He’s unarmed,” you snap. “He’s not a threat.”

Speirs huffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, you really think that? What, you think he’s gonna go home and bake bread after this? He’s a soldier. We let him walk, and next time we see him, he’ll be shooting at us.”

You stand your ground. “Not every soldier wants to fight. Look at him.” You motion toward the German. “He’s scared. If we let him go, maybe he’ll run. Maybe he’ll desert.”

Speirs tilts his head, studying you with something between disbelief and irritation. “You’re too soft for this.” His tone is laced with condescension. “You think war’s about morals. About playing fair. You think this is some goddamn storybook where the good guys show mercy and everything works out?”

Your jaw tightens. “I think we don’t have to kill someone who isn’t fighting back.”

Speirs exhales sharply, looking at you like you’re an idiot. “You think the Germans would do the same for you?” He gestures toward the soldier with a flick of his rifle. “If the roles were reversed, you think he’d hesitate?”

You don’t flinch. “Maybe not. But I’d rather be better than them than just like them.”

He lets out a low chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s cute.” Then his face hardens. “But idealism gets people killed.”