"Corpses are dropping all around me." This was the only thought in Shane's mind.

He clenches his gun even harder than before and stands up to check his surroundings. Fire, bodies and what was then called "earth's spit" – a mix of dirt, blood and urine are the choice for this hellish landscape.

It has now been four weeks since he took his life to the trenches. The sound of bombs dropping near him and guns being fired all around have long stopped bothering him. "Shell sock" is now more than just a definition for him, it's a lifestyle.

A cadet from squad Zeta loses his bearings when a stray bullet enters his skull through the frontal bone.

"Clean execution. Lucky bastard." thought Shane while tumbling down with the human carcass. The trenches felt like a cozy grave, but not for him. He was determined to get out of this madhouse on his very own two feet.

Over on the enemy lines, corpses are also pilling up, but the rate at which it does so is not satisfying enough for the last soldiers of the resistance.

"Sir, I don't think we can win this." said a private bleeding out his last hope.

"For every enemy we hit, three of our own are wounded." cried another desperate soldier, hiding behind a sand sack.

"Bullshit. The tides of the battle have always been in our favor." said Shane grinning.

Another explosion sends four more allies to what will be their last carnival tour. The gates of heaven have never been as busy as they are today. It was raining, but the droplets were red.

"It looks like we are the last ones here." said the hiding soldier, losing his bladder control.

"Shift onto the next trench line. Air support is on their way." ordered squad commander Shane Kilgore, with a deep voice.

"But sir, he can't move. We should stay with him."

"Did I start the sentence with 'If it pleases your highness'?"

"Sir, no sir!"

Shane clocks his gun, checking for cover. The private follows mechanically.

"Cover fire!"

They stand up and the private begins to shoot. Shane jumps over the barbed wire and reaches for cover. They switch roles and the private follows him to the next trench line. They slide in.

From the back lines, the sound of a jet engine roams through the sky. This sound has always brightened up Shane's face ever since his first deployment as a private. This was the sound of hope.

Bombs start raining over the enemy lines. Their bodies drop back on the ground sluggishly just like the sausages thrown on the plate by a drunk dad on an American Sunday barbecue.

The sound of bombs was never as soothing as it is now.

"I can listen to this beat for days." said Shane, with a triumphing smile on his face.

No more enemy bullets are flying. The allies stop firing as well. Privates following their squad commanders begin to rise from their positions and advance. An order rises from the crowd.

"Take no prisoners! Leave no survivors!"

The privates begin to execute any surviving enemy soldiers. Some of them are living this experience for the first time in their lives.

"You should've emptied your guts before coming down here." said a private to another one, mocking him for throwing up.

Barely half an hour has passed since the first bomb dropped onto the enemy lines and the allied soldiers have already claimed the victory.

[…]

"Quite a battle, huh? It sure looked like this would have been my last."

"Nonsense. It was an easy win." said Shane, looking down at the privates who will surely need a psychiatrist.

With horrified looks and upset stomachs, many of the privates in the armored vehicle were spacing out, trying not to recollect any of the events that happened in the last few weeks.

The expression of sorrow on their faces reminded Shane of his first encounter with the casualties of war, a grim one for any of the weak souls that were in the car with him.

With a blank face, he begins reliving the event that led him to join the army in the first place.

He was only 17 years old when he first encountered the smell of death.

Shane Kilgore lived in the suburbs of a crowded city, in the eastern parts of Switzerland.

His dad owned an archery range, not so far from their house. Being a teenager, Shane Kilgore was curious by nature and spent most of his time at the range, practicing. This was his favorite way of bonding with his father.

His mom was a bartender at that archery range, which the whole family called their second home.

The business began to boom when the war started. Since the only food store in town stopped receiving supplies, every man in town wanted to learn how to shoot an arrow in order to hunt for their families.

One Sunday afternoon, while he was sorting the bows and arrows at the range for the next day, a shockwave sent him flying to the wall.

He tried to get up, to no avail. He looked around and saw the debris from the bar surrounding him. Boulders bigger than his body were now thrown all over the range.

Gathering all his remaining powers, he grabbed a steel rod sticking out of what was once the front facing wall of the bar and used it as leverage to lift himself up. An acute sound resonated in his ears, deafening him.

Shane dragged his numb feet onto the pavement, trying to remain focused and get to his house. People around him were feeling the same effects that he has. Some were crying, some were crushed by pieces of concrete and some were staring peacefully at the air. For these last ones, everything ended quickly.

His concern grew bigger as he approached his own house. Around him, fires began appearing and the damage was more significant. Grim thoughts managed their way into his mind, and he started expecting the worst.

A massive crater was lying in front of him. He looked around, trying to see anything familiar. Every detail of the scene was erased by the bomb that fell over his town.

Judging by the distance, he was now standing near what used to be his home. His eyes teared up.

"Mom…"

The war has reached even the neutral countries. The enemies broke every rule of the war and attacked not only a country that had no affiliation to war, but a residential area with no military enforcements on sight.

Shane was now on his knees, sobbing.

"Dad…"

His whole family was gone, and he had nothing to mourn to. No photos, no memories, nothing that would remind him of his parents. Not even their bodies. The bomb wiped out his neighborhood, his house and his family.

"Bombs tend to do that" said the driver, while stopping the engine.

"What?" said Shane, without realizing he arrived at the camp.

"Bombs guarantee the win, if used efficiently."

"He is right." laughed another squad commander from outside the car. "Good thing the air support came in when they did. Ten more minutes and we would have been a British breakfast."

The driver laughed. A private looked around curious, not getting the joke. "Toast." answered Shane. "It feels like ages since I've had a decent meal." They all get out of their cars and go to the dining room.

"The ones who come first were always the unharmed ones. The injured come in second."

Lavish meals were specially prepared for them. This was a victory that needed to be celebrated.

Shane sits down at the table and begins digging in his plate, along with his fellow squad commanders. Shifting his gaze through the room, he looks at the privates that were staring at their plates unable to eat. Their faces were marked by disgust for the atrocities seen on the battlefield.

"First time is always like this."

"Some of them have seen war before and still can't process it."

"The war is far from over. They'll have time to get used to it." said Shane with his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

[…]

"Squad commander Shane Kilgore. Battle report." resonated from the speakers.

"Go on, Shane. Get this over with so we get to rest while we still can."

Shane stands up and enters the small office door. Inside, the general welcomed him with praises.

He goes over the general details of the battle. He gives him the number of casualties from his squad along with their names.

The general notes down everything and then switches to an informal speech. He pours for both a glass of old scotch, downing it before Shane could even lift his own.

"Man, this war is close to an end."

"Sir, what do you mean?"

"The allied forces launched the first nuclear bomb. If the enemies answer in the same manner, the war is not the only thing that would end."

"This is hard to swallow, sir." said Shane, now downing his own glass of scotch.

The general stared blankly to the wall, then pushes a button.

"Squad commander Klaus Lorenz. Battle report."

[…]

In the barracks, Shane is lying down in his bed, playing with his dog tags. He remembers the determination with which he signed up for the army. He was eager to make someone pay for what happened to his parents.

Now, with the threat of the nuclear war at hand, his whole determination fades to nothing. He is frustrated with the fact that everything that happened was due to something he couldn't control.

He spent years training in the military and now, when he is facing the threat of nuclear power, he is once again powerless.

What felt like a win earlier this day is now nothing but a faint memory. For Shane, all the years that have passed now feel like wasted time. In the end, it's all down to who is stupid enough to abuse a power that no man can control.

He reluctantly closes his eyes. If the army has taught him one thing, it is to never obsess over things that are out of your hand. He never understood this but was wise enough to know that it can be true.

Suddenly, the whole sky brightens up in an orange shade. Everybody was sound asleep, except for Shane. He gets up and goes to the window.

On the night's sky he sees multiple lines that keep appearing. Each of them ends with a blast in the horizon. All except one. That one line has a clear trajectory. It is headed towards the camp.

Merely moments after seeing this, Shane hears a loud bang. The mushroom cloud rises higher than the other ones, torching every building of the camp.

"Did my parents see this?"

This was the last thought before his consciousness fades into the void.