The first rays of dawn fingered their way slowly over the land. Through the long night, two soldiers had stood watch in a foxhole. Over the course of the night they had grown hungry, tired and punchy.
“What are we doing here, Sarge?” asked Private Billy, for the tenth time.
“It’s war,” replied Sergeant Dick York from behind clenched teeth. “Don’t as me again.”
“Yeah, but…” began Billy, searching for words. “Why is it so nice?”
“Nice?” said the Sergeant.
“Well, yeah…” stammered Billy. “Hot showers every day. All you can eat sushi bar. 3 days on, four days off. I thought war would be… you know… harder…”
“Oh, poor little soldier boy,” yelled the Sergeant. “Thinks war’s too soft! Wishes war hadn’t been unionized!”
“It used to be hard! So we’d stop doing it!” countered Billy. “I mean we’re never even fighting! Why we even carrying guns! They’re not even loaded!”
“Loaded?” roared the Sergeant. “Are you crazy? You could HURT yourself with one of those things!”
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Both men’s voices rose and carried out over the beautiful spring morning. The men were now standing in the foxhole, exposed, poking each other in the chest.
“That was The Great War!” shouted Billy. “No THIS is a Great War!” bellowed the Sergeant. “You’re too soft!” bawled Billy. “You’re too spoiled!” frothed the Sergeant.
A blinding light suddenly shocked them both into silence. They looked around, wide-eyed for a moment. Then, Sergeant grabbed Billy and pulled him back down to the ground.
“Damn it!” he said. “The enemy just took our picture for the yearbook.”
“Sarge, my eyes…” said Billy.
“Are you blinded?” asked Sarge.
“No, they’re just very dry…” said Billy.
