Third Light

July moon, third quarter, patrols the night. Pierces smoky haze, phosphor and cordite. No crump of shell or rattle of gunfire just stillness, man made brambles, wooden posts and wire. Not so much a breeze, more a draught carries distant murmurs. Someone laughed. A sudden spark, and glow- sentry had lit a match. Breathe slowly. Unlock the safety catch. Flame moves left to right as he watched. Gaze down the barrel, through the sight, line up the V-shaped notch. A brief flicker of face, then silhouette, not quite time to pull the trigger yet. Light moves right to left, match handed back. Face number three aglow, and then- crack. Extinguished.