C Battery Sitting under an old fly, my buddies and I shoot the bull. The lights arc out, the night is black, and the talk carries me back to home.
Somebody cracks a dirty joke.
We all laugh. Suddenly, as if someone else had spoken, my mind rebels, thoughts change, and I wonder why in the hell this bloody war goes on. This morning six big birds and four times as many men awoke. The birds grumbled among themselves. The men spoke in tense, quiet terms.