Bellicose: Having or showing a ready disposition to fight

I sallied my gun the moment I was beaconed back to the battlefield. Gun smoke permeated the entire area, and I almost forgot where I was until a large shell blasted my trench somewhere beyond me. I quickly shuffled around for my wears and realized that the only thing I still had was my rifle. I dared to peak my head, but I knew that it wouldn’t last long. I shuffled around the trench, avoiding dead bodies and other hiding soldiers. Gunfire from above rained hell on the battlefield, no matter if I could see it or not. Once I arrived at the end of the trench, I slowly peaked my head once, and then, counted. After ten seconds, I rushed out of the battle field and slipped into the trees. I steadied my breathing, and then slung my rifle out. No one on the other side had spotted me yet. I advanced slowly. My pulse was racing, my hands were shaking, and the smell of the battlefield forced me into a strange lucrative trance. The only thing that brought me back were the mortars. Damned things blow dirt straight to heaven. I shook my head, and watched my finger tremble on the trigger. Hadn’t had a shot in weeks, I repeated to myself. I then got out of cover, and looked again. Not a single damn body coming up my way. Almost wished at this point that I be placed in a battery. Another mortar goes off near me and my hands grip even harder on my rifle this time. I peaked out for the last time before heading back to my trench. Two other soldiers are slowly encroaching their way up. I smiled, my entire body calms to a steady, and it feels like I’m puffing smoke and injecting morphine into my body. Everything around me becomes faded, shrouded in black, and raised my gun to my face. I almost can’t stop myself from laughing.


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