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The Horrors of War
by Christopher Silva

The battle raged on and I was on the ground and in the middle of the fray.

I'm a hardened officer and bring many years of experience with me to the battlefield. The campaign had gone well and we were advancing rapidly, goal in sight. My squad leaders, veterans all, were doing a hell of a job and the cadence quick and clear.

The casualties were mounting though, and worry flared its ugly head. I choked it down and we pounded forward, leading my battalion, swinging left and right, the enemy just a red blur.

The hand to hand fighting is the ugliest, and I was knee deep in it.

The tie wearing enemy blinded me, flashing my eyes with the red optical beam of his Microsoft mouse; I parry and throw my notebook, like a scythe it hits his chest. He goes down; I shake my head, trying to get my vision back, beads of sweat flying around me. I feel a staple bounce off what is left of my armor, the tweed saves me again. With a roar, I leap with all my might, and attain the desktop, felling one after the other, keyboard whipping at the end of the cable a blur of Black Death.

In the background, I hear my propaganda team beating away, sending belittling print jobs, chipping slowly at the moral of the enemy.

Something ricochets off my scull. I see stars and begin to fall. Hitting the ground with a thump my breath goes out of me, I pull a damaged flat screen over me to protect against their jarring blows trying and scurry under the concealment of the desk, holding the flat screen before me as a shield.

I get a moment's repast from the melee and quickly asses the situation. My Department is doing well, and two or three of my special operators are struggling with an enemy giant. The giant is swinging a multifunctional device and one of my operators goes down in a curtain of crimson.

I struggle to my feet, avoiding the cable traps, and move toward the Giant. I hurl my PDA with what little strength I have left and it catches him in the throat. The move motivates my operators and they bring him down with multiple blows from jagged thin clients.

We've done well and championed the day. My battalion completes the mop up and deletes the access of the fallen.

Clocking out, I smile, for tomorrow morning the battle begins again at nine!