When a war begins, regardless of who it may happen to be, people have the human tendency to believe that it will end in some great battle between both sides. Sadly, this is not the case behind enemy lines, with there possibly being a few hundred thousand enemy combatants between them and home. Malic or his platoon could not help but feel the arrival of a swift end.

"Sir, we have no new orders from command. It seems the enemy is continuing to jam comms beyond our present location. Also, I am getting sporadic chatter from the other platoons. Things are developing into a real mess right now." 

The communications officer gave his report quickly because if he was in error now, that could lead to all dying here.

"Well damn, just what we need, lost comms with HQ, the operation is going to shit. Malic, how many tactical nukes were we supplied with?"

The commanding officer's question hung in the air like poison. No one present wanted to speak for fear of breathing it in. Everyone looks to the explosive expert Malic Olsfeld, standing alone, facing the only wall of the bombed-out structure. Their platoon had managed to take cover before Allied forces unleashed a massive surface bombardment of the surrounding area. If anything was living, they did not know.

"Well?"

Malic did not move from his position, still facing away from everyone else. Malic arranged his tools of destruction and death before him on a small table, the only furniture still standing. These weapons were to be placed in strategic positions throughout the battlefield by five expertly trained platoons of five or more. However, it seemed now that everything had gone out of their control. Over the radio, The platoon could hear the sounds of screams for help from the other platoons. They were likely all dead or soon to be. 

"Well, what? How many do we have? We must damage the enemy now, or they will find us, and we will become like all the others."

The Commanding Officers' voice betrays him. He is very much frightened, like everyone else present. With the sound of death around them, Malic turns to his platoon sergeant.

"Sir, we have four armed tactical nukes prepared for as much destruction as you would wish to bring to bear upon the enemy." 

His answer was firm and hard, quickly returning everyone from despair.

"Four, you say."

Everyone present looked at one another. The mission had been written off even by senior staff as a suicide. Now, it looked like that was the case. One could feel the emotions of all in the small space. They felt fear and anger, as well as many others. However, the determination of all present to finish the mission stilled all other emotions.

"Very well, as of now, the original mission plan will be scrapped entirely. Our objective is to infiltrate the enemy artillery positions, plant our explosives and render them entirely useless afterwards. Any who survive should make their way back to our lines."

All present nodded in agreement with this plan. This action was going to result in a maximum loss. It could just put the allied forces in a position to counter-attack strongly and severely cripple the enemy. Since this was the original goal, the unit being here, no one doubted the order or made any arguments against it.

The orders were simple advances at all costs; survival was a secondary thought. Loss of this battle would mean the enslavement of thousands. If not more, as well as death. So, the unmovable desire to succeed was in all the platoon members' minds.

20-minutes after the briefing. Per the Commanding Officer's predictions, the entire platoon is prepared to advance. The enemy guns were not far from The platoon's current position. Running as fast as they could, and with some luck, they could make it. Being behind enemy lines, as well as their artillery, gave them an advantage. However, one wrong step at the wrong time could cause them to be blasted to oblivion. 

"Malic, you are clear."

With this instruction, Malic ran with all the strength he could muster. Just over 200 yards to the guns, he could feel the weight of the explosive as he ran. Looking to his left, he could see his comrades running as fast as they could. At 50 yards, what seemed like a short distance, but carrying these damn things was a pain. There was good cover, and the platoon took full advantage of it. An old system of trenches and cover. You got to love that, which was such a hindrance to the enemy just months earlier, would allow the platoon to advance. The guns could be seen from Malic's position, only 20 yards away.

'Okay, I look at these bloody things, and I feel like these Tacticals aren't going to cut it; there are batteries of them.' 

Malic thought as he looked over the trench line. An endless line of heavy guns stretched before him to his immediate left. He could see the CO giving the order to advance with a quick jump from his position in the trench. Malic moved with all the strength he could muster.

"Enemy incoming, from behind. Quickly defend the guns." 

A voice from a scout atop one of the guns spotted Malic and his platoon advancing at a threatening speed. Hundreds of soldiers met his call. Suddenly, an intense fire rained down on them.

"Shit, I am just about there."

Bang

"What?" 

An enemy round had struck him in the shoulder, not only Shredding his combat suit but nearly taking off his arm. A moment later, a second round hit the same spot despite his attempts to make himself less of a target by zigzagging towards his target. However, against any firearm, this tactic will likely not work when the opponent is an excellent shot.

His right arm was gone, blown away, and blood poured from this wound profusely. He had only seconds to execute his mission. He was already dead now to finish the job and end everything. So finally, Malic reached the lower platform of the artillery piece he had chosen as his target; he would die here. Opening his pack, he placed his nuke on the platform and set the timer.

"Now, just to protect it till it goes off." 

He could barely feel anything. Almost out of time and blood, he just stood there waiting for death or for someone to try to disarm the bomb. Sadly, a poor soul wandered on him, thrusting his bayonet into Malic's side, piercing both his lungs in one thrust. Not a second before this attack landed, Malic planted his combat-issue assault knife. A solid 7 inches of blade, into the base of his attacker's chin, straight through his brain, killing him instantly.

As his opponent fell, the bayonet withdrew from his side. The pain was tremendous, altogether mind-numbing. He fell to the floor on which he stood. The timer on the bomb read less than 10 seconds till detonation. 

"So, will this be victory or defeat?" 

With this final thought, Malic passed, and not long after all, four explosives detonated as was intended.

Was this courageous action successful in ending the war? We may not know; however, for Malic Olsfeld, it was not the end.