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Author: Spider
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It was another cold night in the darkness of the trenches, bootcamp didn't train us for this, our contract didn't warn us for this and god did not create us for this. The evening wind shook our spines with the chill of death and the frost of winter closing in. We rid ourselves of the common luxuries we vaguely remember back home and replaced them with sadistic insight. The nights got longer with each shot in the dark, the days travelled away from us farther for every nightmare we add to the list of the american dream. The aura of the battlefield was blossoming with bloodshed and brutality but the root of it all was of scared men just praying to live through the next sleepless night. Isn't it cruel how we must strike down and stare into the eyes of another who is reaching for the same dream as I? As gunshots rain upon us so do the tears of our brothers and with this, Dj Radish bestows upon me the final words I am blessed to hear in the faint and subtle calm before I pass...

"Cyka blyat"

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