STORIES: Only the Battle

Dead of night, belly-crawling over slimy wet and sour-smelling moss and God-knows-what amphibious and reptilian life-forms that this evil country harbors in its netherworld of darkness.  If not for the bombs and ammo whizzing by that explode in bursts that light up the jungle like a strobe show blinking real and blinking not, scaring with their flash of vision of what’s around me and the few of my buddies I can see, their faces grey and punctured by white eyes like giant panic buttons, I would gladly stop and lay where I am and let the creatures of the foul hell come up and eat me alive just to end this mindless pushing forward.

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