A Mission Statement

I still remember clearly my very first mission. How it started... how it ended. I can still feel the glare of the sun against my helmet lining, the sweat permeating through my sleeves and pants. I had no rifle then, so I was issued with 'universal rounds'.
It was a psedo-patrol mission with my whole section knowing nuts about the formations or battle procedures. I can see how my group was ambushed and how the murmur of 'bang-bang's were heard along our sides.
After that, endless mission has had me jaded and worn out. Missions came and went, outfields after outfields. Jungle, mud and grime was everything I was moulded to embrace. Breathe in the uniformity, Our sense of fashion became our sense of survival. Survial was the only fashion we knew.
Finally, our final mission is not figment of our dreams but of our memories. My last mission ended at 0615, November the 3rd, 2006. It was dark. There I stood, against the window, gasping for air from my last burst of energy.
I wasn't planned to engage, I was the load bearer, the camel. The Backpack pressed my shoulders down with the excess night-vision goggles and heavy rations. I had 12 rounds with me... just in case. But the shots rang out and pierced our planning. Floomp- Leonard down. and off goes peds-delivery collecting ammo from dead bodies. ( who was very much interactive)
The pressure on my shoulders, the heat in my helmet against the cold morning air. I can smell the gunpowder in my nose and the recoil of my rifle as I emptied the rest of my mags into the opposite block.
'click'-- The last round is fired off mere seconds before Ceasefire. It ends the way it should.