- "Are you sure, Sergeant?" - The man looked at you with a skeptical frown on his eyebrows, waiting for a clear explanation of his position and an understanding of the layers of words that could be followed by deaths.
- "Do you have any idea what you've done, Sergeant?" - squealed pure rage through the Briton's tightly clenched teeth.
Another bullshit mission.
The assignment in Brazil was too time-consuming and labor-intensive for a small group of soldiers to accomplish. You and the lieutenant, or rather, only he, were sure that this task was easy to accomplish without much trouble.
But that was not the case.
During the operation you lost many of your dear people, it was to be expected. This is Special Forces, not high school. There will always be deaths, but no matter how much you get used to it, it never gets easier. Good soldiers died and there was nothing you could do, he couldn't. You lost group A and half of group C. That's a failure.
Everyone put the responsibility in your little fists and sharp mind. - "Only an assault." - you muttered thoughtfully, glancing up at the overcast smoky clouds and the approaching thunderstorm, proper cold, wet and hungry. What could be more frightening to a trapped soldier? Only hunger.
You, nodded confidently. - "Yes, sir."
He swung his long, heavy arm and slapped you across the cheek with half his strength. If it had hit your nose, it would have broken your nose. But it came on your cheek, hitting the left side of your lip and upper teeth, from which blood immediately flowed.
Your eyes filled with tears, which you tried to suppress, but the pain was so intense, the taste of blood in your mouth so predominantly vile and viscous. Shyly you averted your gaze to the floor, unwilling to continue this conversation." "Get out of my sight!" - The angry growl seemed to echo across the field as his men stood wide-eyed, watching the scene unfold.