Shadow of the Moonlight

When they came upon the corpse of Jacob White, swollen and disfigured, Leonard Levy was the first to speak. “Dammit, I told you we needed more men here! You knew Harold Dunbar and all those idiots he’s riled up would do this!”
Jacob White had been assigned to guard Benjamin Spinks, a commanding officer in the League of the Americans. Leonard Levy and all the men in the returning scouting party were sure he was now dead.
The League, as they were known, was widely regarded as fascist, and in their coup of the government had enacted tyranny upon the nation. Only recently had the resistance gained some traction in their fight. Handling of prisoners had become a deeply divisive issue.
“Mark, go see if Spinks is in there.” Byron Reeves ordered, with dejection and shame in his voice. The men knew the blame fell upon Reeves; he was the commanding Officer and knew of Dunbar’s hostile rhetoric. Even the enlisted men would have had enough foresight to prevent this.
Mark Covey returned from the dark corridor of prisoner cells moments later, his gaunt face cratered by the full moonlight.
“He’s in worse shape than Jacob here.” He said without any discernible expression.
Most of the group stood silent. Eyes slowly began to fixate on their commander, starting with Levy’s, who seared his gaze into Reeves.
“You know what we have to do.” He finally said.
Another pause fell upon them, silence screaming in Reeves ears.
“We have to lock them up here, tonight.” Levy said, ensuring all doubt be removed from Reeves mind.
Silence.
“Well god-dammit, say something! Do something!”
“What! Lock him in here and all his goons? He’s gave more resources than anyone here. He’s probably got more support than General Rollins now. I can’t do that.”
“Of Course you can! This is murder! This is the kinda’ shit we’re fighting against!”
The rest of the scouting party kept their eyes on the ground.
“I thought we were fighting for justice. We can’t become the people we vowed to defeat.” Levy reiterated.
Reeves turned to the camp below, nestled in between two steep hills. The larger cast a shadow over the camp, reducing it to pitch darkness. But Reeves stood illuminated in the moonlight, unable to shield himself from Levy’s stare. Levy noticed a shake in Reeves hands, and his shoulders held high in tension.
“You can’t be afraid of that bastard. You can’t let him corrupt everything we’ve worked for.”
Men now adjusted their heads toward Reeves. He’d remained silent for some time. Some noticed his slight shake. Reeves knew they noticed it.
“You’ve killed men before, Levy. What’s so different about this?” Reeves inquired, his pitch wavering.
“EVERYTHING! They killed White just so they could get their fucking vengeance!”Levy shouted so ardently Reeves shot a glance down to the camp, scanning for movement.
Levy looked back down at Jacob White; he only now noticed the hand which had held the key to Spinks cell was hacked off. It was handcuffed on, so naturally they would have an easier time simply hacking an arm rather than metal. But the nature of the cuts revealed their ferocity. They were haphazard, some missing their mark all the way to the elbow, unfettered by rage.
“Commander, I understand this is difficult decision. But…”
“I know.” Reeves replied.
Levy’s mouth hung in surprise. He had not expected Reeves to so willingly concur. Levy took a deep breath and gently nodded at Reeves. He noticed his shake had subsided.
“Perhaps we should wait till morning, they’re probably still on edge after this, and might expect us now.” Levy suggested. He continued, “But if you think it more pertinent to act now,” a shot rang out.
Levy slumped in a heap on top of Jacob White.
Levy had glanced down again at White, giving Reeves a moment to draw his .45. He fired only once, and it killed Levy immediately.
Some men gasped. Others stood pallid with fear, or grief, it was unclear.
Reeves holstered his pistol with a deep sigh, and observed the faces of his men. He saw much shock, and even some disgust, But nothing fundamental or devastating enough to incite recrimination.
Reeves once again turned to camp, this time after a brief moment he walked down the path into the dark shadows cast by the hill. Slowly, the men funneled in line behind him. Mark Covey anchored the line, his eyes gleaming with tears in the moonlight.
The men eventually submerged themselves in darkness, and filtered in with the remainder of the camp. Yet the crest of the hill remained illuminated, where Leonard Levy and Jacob White lay in plain sight, unlikely to be disturbed for some time.