(revision 2; 9/15/06)
The front has been held, but only by the blood of those most precious. Tired soldiers gaze the gaze of indifference as the ground again rumbles with the enemies renewed offensive. One soldier; battered, bloodied, broken...kneels beside his gently rested rifle and bades his eyes to once again shield him from vistas of death. Marrow laden blood seeps from wounds that won't seem to heal. Air laden with the smell of sweat and fear pass resolutely through his lungs. Spirit torn, heart held together by precious tendrils of love given freely together shiver quietly in the wake of pounding fire. Bullets scream around him, but they find no refuge from their ballistic torment here in this ragged life. Even bullets respect sacrifice.