Somewhere in every army, there is a godless soldier—if not two, if not three, if not many more.

Most soldiers turn to God the second they realise the bullets they’re firing aren’t just piercing a dot on cardboard but flesh just like theirs. It’s not like hunting deer in the woods behind your house. No, you’re killing something that looks just like you. And when you realise that, you need God. You need His voice in your head to keep you from turning the gun on yourself. Because heaven knows, you could.

But not everyone wants to listen. Not everyone wants God.

That’s why they call them godless.

Their real names wither away, forgotten, because they’ll always be known as that.

I remember them, though. I remember them all.

One especially—Lachlan Bridgers. The godless soldier who saved everyone’s life.

The story of how it happened is a good one. Sad, but good.

Let me tell you:

The entire day felt like the credits scene at the end of a movie. The fight was over, for now, but everyone was still sitting around, watching, waiting for the bonus scene somewhere in the middle.

Lachlan sat a little apart from the rest, staring at the trees that surrounded them, as though he could see something no one else could.

He always looked that way. That’s why a lot of people hated him, too. He—in their words—thought he was better than them.

He didn’t share their prayers, didn’t speak what they spoke. He was more shadow than man to them, something untouchable.

That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. No one could deny it: when things were at their worst, Lachlan was the one they ended up looking to. With his unbreakable stare, he walked into danger with a kind of recklessness no one else was brave enough to have.

He was fearless. Or maybe he just had nothing to fear.

To call him godless is one thing, but faithless? No. He had faith. He had faith in the gun he held, in the army he walked with.

As he sat there, watching the trees, he was the first to notice it.

The flock of birds, hundreds, that suddenly rose and flew westward. The sky darkened as they left.

Lachlan stood, his eyes narrowing. “Everyone up.” he commanded. “They’re coming.”

“What?” one of the younger soldiers, nicknamed Boom, stammered. “You heard something…?”

“No.” Lachlan replied. “But they did.” He pointed upward, and everyone looked just in time to see the last of the birds disappearing.

Everyone scrambled to their feet, worried looks on all their faces.

Lachlan simply sighed. “East and south. Set up cover and load your rounds. We hold them there.”

The men obeyed. This wasn’t a time to distrust.

Hearts were pounding in heavy chests.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet in horror movies right before a jump scare.

All they could do was wait… until a flash in the distance—the first shot.

Chaos erupted.

Enemy soldiers emerged from the trees like moss, bullets pouring from their guns.

Lachlan fired back. He was everywhere at once, giving orders, dragging men to cover.

His voice was the loudest, the only one anyone could listen to. The others clung to it like a lifeline.

The ground trembled beneath them; they saw the red tracers flying at them with unforgiving speed. But somehow, even though every moment felt like their last, they held the line.

The shooting slowed; the last body fell. The men breathed again. They looked at each other and breathed some more. Battered, bloody, but alive.

Lachlan stood in the middle, sweat, dirt, and blood painting his face. He scanned the surroundings, ready for any threat that dared come, but nothing did.

Boom approached him, his mouth twitching as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Lachlan just nodded.

Words weren’t needed.

Just a faint smile from both of them—from all of them.

Then, in the distance, something caught Lachlan’s eye. A glint of silver amid the darkness. Instinctively, he shouted, “Sniper!” and lunged forward, grabbing Boom by the shoulder and throwing him down.

Everyone else dropped down too.

It was the few seconds Lachlan took to make sure nobody was still standing that would cost him his life.

A red stain bloomed across his chest, and he dropped to his knees.

“No!” Boom cried, about to stand up, but someone held him down, reminding him a sniper was still out there.

“But—” He looked to the others for help, but they offered nothing. Just a detached, helpless look.

Tears burned at the corner of Lachlan’s eyes. He blinked a few times, turning his head. Boom crawled to him, tried to apply pressure to his chest before realising it was hopeless, and cried with him.

“Y-You know what? You’re a great man. You’re a great soldier—you know? You’re like—you’re like the _one_ light that doesn’t flicker. The light that leads us away from darkness.”

He paused, almost waiting for a response.

He didn’t get one.

Lachlan’s eyes remained open. They would stay that way forever, even when laid to rest in his casket. And he would be, forever, that godless soldier.

The godless soldier who saved many, many lives.

He didn’t need God for that.