You've managed to survive, by the skin of your teeth. Despite your ringing head and the incredibly deafening throbbing of your head, you are sure that you are indeed alive and well, as bloodied dirt doesn't exist in the afterlife, probably. Your entire body screams of hurt, so that might be be a telling sign, too. You need a moment to take it in, to regain your senses. Where are you? What the hell just happened?
As you think about these things, it comes back to you. Your head did hurt from hitting the ground, but the chattering of gunfire was what made the throbbing noises. The blood on the dirt - yours. You wanted to get away from it, but instincts kicked in and you kept your head down from the torrent of lead flying down the field. A blast. An artillery shell or something had sent you flying. Fortunately, you landed in a hole, safe and tucked away.
What to do? There was no point in charging out, as that was suicide. As readily as you had signed up for the army, you weren't ready to die quite yet. No, instead you pulled out your handy barbecue pack and set it down in the middle of the crater you found yourself in. In went charcoal, in went the grenade, and boom. Fire. Pick up a stray cow, a stray hand, slam it down onto the grill. The sizzle of the fire dancing under the juices of the plethora of meats you've collected consumed all.
The firing stopped. The fire roared.
Soldiers from both sides came around and stood at the edge of the crater, like the prophets once said. No more bullets, till the embers are dead. Your friend from Delta Company rolled out his cooler - the blue one that always had beer and soda, but never water - and pulled out juice boxes. Handed them around. Juice boxes for everyone. Apple juice, orange juice, cranberry juice. I don't even know if cranberry juice comes in juice boxes.
Everyone was getting excited. Hell, there was even some chocolate and strawberry milk mixed in. What a legend, your buddy from Delta Company was. Grab some bread and bam, you got yourself some buns. Stick a steak on there and you got yourself a bloody hamburger. Hamburgers for everyone. Pass them 'round. Hand 'em out.
And that was how the Seventh Defense of the Waterpike Plains was resolved. It was the end of the war. Burgers for everyone, burgers for the generals and for the townspeople and for the soldiers and for the monarchs. Through burgers, unity.
As you think about these things, it comes back to you. Your head did hurt from hitting the ground, but the chattering of gunfire was what made the throbbing noises. The blood on the dirt - yours. You wanted to get away from it, but instincts kicked in and you kept your head down from the torrent of lead flying down the field. A blast. An artillery shell or something had sent you flying. Fortunately, you landed in a hole, safe and tucked away.
What to do? There was no point in charging out, as that was suicide. As readily as you had signed up for the army, you weren't ready to die quite yet. No, instead you pulled out your handy barbecue pack and set it down in the middle of the crater you found yourself in. In went charcoal, in went the grenade, and boom. Fire. Pick up a stray cow, a stray hand, slam it down onto the grill. The sizzle of the fire dancing under the juices of the plethora of meats you've collected consumed all.
The firing stopped. The fire roared.
Soldiers from both sides came around and stood at the edge of the crater, like the prophets once said. No more bullets, till the embers are dead. Your friend from Delta Company rolled out his cooler - the blue one that always had beer and soda, but never water - and pulled out juice boxes. Handed them around. Juice boxes for everyone. Apple juice, orange juice, cranberry juice. I don't even know if cranberry juice comes in juice boxes.
Everyone was getting excited. Hell, there was even some chocolate and strawberry milk mixed in. What a legend, your buddy from Delta Company was. Grab some bread and bam, you got yourself some buns. Stick a steak on there and you got yourself a bloody hamburger. Hamburgers for everyone. Pass them 'round. Hand 'em out.
And that was how the Seventh Defense of the Waterpike Plains was resolved. It was the end of the war. Burgers for everyone, burgers for the generals and for the townspeople and for the soldiers and for the monarchs. Through burgers, unity.
