Freund said, "So that's what a million men look like "
They were coming. They came on though artillery pounded them. Miles off, I felt the thuds.
Then they started in on us. Dug in as we were we wanted to dig deeper. Dig all the way to hell, but hell was upon us. Someone shit themselves, or their shit got blown away. I hugged my .
It stopped. I knew we hadn't killed them all. They hadn't killed me neither.
Freund screamed some ungodly oath and opened fire. I unburied myself, set up. They were right in front of us. Time to kill.
Me and my .50 went to work. We blew them to pieces. The hillside turned red with their blood. Freund's brains hit the side of my face . I reloaded, kept firing. Focused. Zen.
We killed them all. All million. A mound of corpses lay in front of me. Now you could hear the screams of the wounded. We survivors crawled out, covered in gore.
A sergeant stumbled over to me, veteran of other battles. He looked at my work - humans transformed to the grossest garbage.
"Good job," the sergeant said.
" Fuck you," I said, and stared at the bastard.
The sergeant stared back, a twisted grin appearing on his blackened face.
"You're an artist," he said, motioning toward the death I had caused.
I walked away to take a shit, the last stroke of my artistry.