Of course, it wasn't a ball of fire. Fire doesn't move, much less limp. So it was a person, a person draped in a burning quilt.
In the firelight of the school, that ball of fire was so inconspicuous; it almost deceived my eyes, almost fooled me. If it weren't for the limp of "that ball of fire," if it weren't for its slow pace, I think it would have escaped my sight long before I even realized it.
But now… though a sense of respect and regret arose in my heart, I still pulled the trigger without thinking. Battlefield experience taught me not to be merciful to the enemy, especially such a dangerous one. If I spared him this time, I might be the one dying next time.
"Bang!" The ball of fire stopped moving.
After a while, the quilt was pulled back, and a British soldier with a sniper rifl
