The chill of the morning is biting,
despite the promise of sunshine.
The forest is as the men,
silent and waiting.
What men,
there are none but you and the cool air.
Or,
as it shall be pointed to you,
there would certainly seen to be only you and the sweet,
cool breezeless morning air.
Sudden change of perspective rips the curtain of peace.
Adrenaline,
thrashing hearts and ears thundering with silence.
And the sound of feet oh so carefully lain to the soft undergrowth.
This is war.
Men springing to their feet,
dashing out into to the cold morning grasping their guns,
thrilled and scared,
ready.
The whole of the tale is told with the first gunshot,
the first bullet to pierce the enemy,
the tension is relieved as the pieces are set,
and all that remains is for the game to be seen through.
The seventh of the third pushes on into the flank of the enemy,
the hierarchy smashed by necessity,
stronger men stepping up to the task.
Killing,
maining,
burning.
That's what we are trained for,
and that's exactly what we will do.
No matter the result,
no matter the cost.
Our vows hold.
- Kirjaudu tai rekisteröidy kommentoidaksesi
