he's having awful dreams, nightmares
there is fifteen to a team,
his longshot calls support to the weak, slow individual in this instance suffering to gain experience. "your ways are altruistic, lets show these sorry fucks what it means..."
we will knock the paintings off their metal springs in this hallway.
in five minutes, we are alone. the radio is blasting static emergency signals. there is noxious smoke and the gunner can't see straight, the rowhouses ahead are crumbling violently marking the passage of time, each minute another block implodes less than a dozen meters ahead of our retreating position and the loader in his spare time tries to follow the smoke tracer...
the heavy bait. we are outgunned but never outnumbered.
i realize i am alone. though my comrades, my country may claim victory i am already inhaling smoke with no way to call home i can only hope these shorting wires allow me one last shot...
the klaxons the church with our munition stash is lowering the flag at least the groundmen have set their snares i hear the plink one second before impact i have knocked down several majestic pillars to find a position in the mail stop enough time to fire one more shell the tread buckles and there is no time to dig in,
i see motherland flag raised a few kilometers and salute it burning to death
today is a good day to die.