There they march, in lines immaculately straight, with gun in hand and hope in heart.
The stamping of boots passing is inaudible – overshadowed by the awe and pride filled cheers of the observing crowd.
There they go, in troops relentlessly trained, with gun in hand and anticipation in heart.
The thrill of battle calling is deafening – smothering the nerves jittering in the stomachs of the honourable men.
There they fight, in blood-drenched fields, with gun in hand and horror in heart.
The piercing sound of gunshots blaring is thunderous – silencing the exhilaration that preceded in the minds of the soldiers.
There they fall, in blood-drenched bodies, with gun in hand and dread in heart.
The whimpers of one dying man are unheard – concealed by the cries of the other soldiers who lay, dying too.