As Jordan's lifeless body hung limp in his comrades arms, Mike saw Joe's body gently shaking as he wept. He wept from grief, exhaustion, anger, and a hundred other emotions. A war that shouldn't have been fought killed people that should still be alive. He should be sleeping until noon, going out at night, doing stuff that people normally do in the summer, but instead he was holding half the body of a friend of his, fighting a meaningless war, killing innocent men with cold, metallic, tiny shells.
"Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events."
- Winston Churchill
"Men, its time to move." Commanded Alex.
Joe slowly got off the ground, picking up his helmet which was on the ground next to him, and put it on his head. His mind was in a daze, he tried to sleep but the few hours of sleep he had, were filled with nightmares and grotesque images. He felt sapped of any emotions, like a machine. He didn't care whether he lived or died, where he was headed now, or about the people in his squad.