"War does not determine who is right - only who is left."

*This story takes place in a campfire, a platoon of soldiers talkin' up a storm in the border of the Zone.*

"...So, I came up ta' th' bastard, and fuckin' sliced my knife in his damned spine. Then I grabbed his gun, and shot th' next son ofa' bitch I saw." The group laughed, one of them sprouting up. "Whew, Dandy. Shi'. That story is as tall as the heavens. Y'know, I gotta story. So, I was patrolin' and shit, in my tank. A wind comes up...and flushes me away! I go up to the skys, and soon 'nough, I fall down in Freedoms' base! I grabbed my AKM 'ere, and fuckin' shot the fuckers ta' hell! Came out with only but a bullet scrape on my leg. Haha!" The group laughs again in the night air, one of them staying dead quiet. The tall teller perked up at the male, his laughter soon dieing down.
"Ey, bud. You cool? Look like you've seen a ghost." The quiet males turns to him, he clears his throat. The tall teller pats him on the shoulder, "Ey, you got a story?" The quietmen nods, speaking in slight stutters. "A f-few days 'go, I was patrolin'. Some Zoners came out of the blue. I grabbed my gun, and charged the operating rod. I tried...I-I tried ta' shoot them away, but my gun just sprang upward, and they went down. I ran over, I was 'lone. I tried helpin' 'em, tellin' 'em it was alright. That I saw worse. But I was a liar, 'cause their was blood everywhere. I...I had to fuckin' blow their heads off. One of 'em was a kid, one I couldn't even tell by the bullet marks and blood. I turned, and ran off, in the base..." The group stays quiet, all their eyes in shock and fear shooting at the man.