"ETA, 30 seconds, drop the rope!" bellowed the pilot as men pushed a thick rope from the side of the MH-60. As the door gunner spun up the minigun, he thought to himself, "94 times. 94 times I've done this. Every drop, new men, new weapons, new objective. We're getting to desperate to fight a war. Boys as young my my kids are being shipped of to fight for the glory of our country. People back home all think the war is going well, that the fight is ours, but they haven't seen the real fights. It's a miracle we haven't been shot down yet, all the RPG's... I've wondered why we survived, why I survived... My original pilot was shot by an anti-material rifle but nothing happened to me. All of the soldiers say they're going to win the was and drive them from our home, but there's nothing left. Only the men who come back know how the war is, they know we aren't going to win. But still I drag boys to their fate, everyday a flag gets sent home, everyday a new letter home, everyday a new report of how we're winning on the news. Of how "casualties are down" and "It's projected that it'll be over soon". We all know it'll be over, but it just won't be the ending we all want... My" "Corporal! What are you doing! RPG team by the..."