We fight in Afghanistan, upholding freedom or so they say. The soldiers hoping to be hero's of the war, carrying their flags with honour and pride. One day, early in their war they come under fire, bullets surround them as these frightened youngsters fire back in panic and terror. Through the smoke and fire comes a woman and a man, the soldier orders them to stop but how can they stop with bullets all around, they make for the shelter of the armoured car but the soldier of war shoots anyway.
The contact over the smoke lifts and the soldier sees the woman and the man, she lies dying, baby unborn, blood drying in the sand and the man is crying. He takes the man and they beat him with batons, one soldier tells them to stop but they hit him one last time with a gun. They find out she was in labour, these hero's of war, carrying their flags with honour and pride, laugh at the man and move on. The man now lies dying on the sand, his injuries finally take him. One soldier stands guard, watching the man die, tears running down his broken face. THEY COME BACK HOME, BROKEN HEROS OF WAR.
Granny June once said, there will always be war, man has to kill. I am pleased she is spared the disgrace of man. Keep your children away from war if you can, the glamour has faded, the chivalry is lost, gentleman no longer play this game.
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