War is a terrible thing. It takes lives, it separates bonds, family. And now... it took my life.
I was just drafted to the Vietnam when it happened. The bombings. But, maybe I should bring this to the beginning of my story.
My name is Henry Kevins. I'm 16 and I was born in England, United Kingdom. (This is when it was only 43 days until my drafting.)
I had a common life up in England. It was simple, I did normal chores. Until it came. The document.
Now back up to speed, we were getting bombed. I rushed down to the subway, and had hid there until the bombs stopped. It was hours 4, maybe 6. I'm too much of a coward to get to the army soon, so I took an extra 30 minutes to get out of the subway.
After I had headed out of the subway, I hailed a taxi and got dropped off about a mile from the military base, so I had to walk. But as soon as I got there I wasn't greeted with the highest remarks. Guns. Pointed diectly at me, or so I thought. I had heard a voice come from behind me, almost a... cry for help. There was a man, in a German outfit, running. No. Limping. He had finally made it to the door when I heard the gunshots.
TWO YEARS LATER
It has been so long on these missions. So long. I'm just wanting to win.
