Lamentations
The air circulates. Grasses, brown and arid in this semi-desert land, move with the breeze. Inside body armour it matters not a jot. Sweat trickles down your back, your chest ... irritatingly around your groin. So you wait. Stand as ordered, formed in a regulation square. And wait to hear what platitudes shall be offered. Crap, of course. Total crap. We were told that we would be holding the line. A very fresh faced young officer, doing the telling, still looking rumpled from the brief...