The tank roared to life. Tearing through a game a chicken, crossing paths between mobile howitzers amid their 155 mm high-five, excited their big brothers were speeding toward destination unknown.
To bring the hate.
Someday, they’d grow up and be just as fast. Faster!
Another elevated handshake. Skin replacing repellant as a crew served slapped solid brass.
The choke point fit only one M1A1 Abrahams. It was near-miss, no collision called by their forefathers moments before.
They were a Sherman, and two boys manning a thirty cal.
The trio choked up themselves, wishing God speed and praying those boys would get home safe, just as they did all those years ago.
In fact the event was like a monsoon. Making my heart race at what could be, some leaving the room to make the bass WAVEs go boom.
Explosion. Over tyrants.I’m doing this for my country. The Navy needs those planes.