A/N: So, I got to thinking, how could anyone kill a little kid like Gavroche? And this is what I came up with. Read and Review, please!

"Fire!" he shouts. We obey without a word, shooting at anything that moved. This fight doesn't seem fair – they sent, what, 500 of us to take care of 100 rebels? It's like cheating. Still, orders are orders, and it pays the bills. I have to keep a roof over Gabrielle's head, and send some francs to her sister in Calais. So I fire, barely missing a bald man.

All this bloodshed is starting to sicken me. Sure, it's fine when we're up against an actual enemy, someone who could actually fight. Why do they insist on throwing their lives away? They have no chance. There's no one to take their spots once the last one's dead. I'm surprised they've made it this far, really.

I wish I had that, a cause to believe in. Something that I was willing to die for. I guess there's Gabrielle, and the baby on the way, but that's not a cause. Those are people. It's pretty stupid to be in the army if you aren't patriotic enough to die for your country. But I don't have a name for myself yet, no family business to inherit, and everyone's got to start out somehow. Maybe if I do well in this battle, I'll get promoted.

The captain shouts out that we have a target, pointing with the bayonet of his rifle. There's a little boy out there. What the hell is he doing? I must have said this out loud, because Louis says that he's collecting the ammunition from the dead. It's clever, I'll give him that. But it's still so stupid!

"Fire at will!" the captain cries. I take my aim at the boy, but miss anyhow. I hear a comrade's shot, corroborated by the gamin's cry. Is he . . . is he singing? The captain won't be pleased that he's still alive. "Fire!" he roars again. Another shot clips him, and he still staggers on.

It's as though something has died inside of me. There's no emotion, no noise. All I feel is the butt of the rifle, the cold metal of the trigger. My eyes zone in on the gamin and I take careful aim. It's automatic now, nothing more consuming than putting on my shoes. I pull the trigger and know my bullet is going to ring true. I see the boy crumple, and yet I don't feel a thing. The deed is done.