“I hope you don’t imagine,” he began soberly to the men seated before him, “that you will be able to save yourselves.”

The armored men remained silent; if they had no helmets one might have thought they were exchanging glances. The whirring of the helicopter’s blade could be heard droning in the backgroud— pulsating. The helicopter itself, on the inside, was spacious with steel walls and black floors. There were boxes of ammo, boots, and guns arranged neatly on the walls. It appeared crammed, but that was only so because of the men inside. They all sat together in suits of plated black armor that made them look invisible on the floor, and in the darkness of the room. It reeked of sweat. Every soldier seemed to pick at his armour and twitch. Some began to cry, and they all sat with lowered heads.

The man at the front swallowed. He had olive skin, and long black hair that he tied behind his head. He looked at the soldiers with an earnestnest that demanded their attention. “We are the dead; understand this.” He stated. “We cannot and will not save ourselves. But comrades, do not lose courage. This fight is not for ourselves, this is for our posterity; for our sons and daughter who deserve a better future!” The men lifted their heads. “We have no future. We have been starved, worked, and beaten beyond recompence; we cannot be saved. It is not for our future that we fight, it is theirs; it belongs to the young, and for the young we shall ride with strengh— for their freedom, for their health, for their land, food, and their prosperity. Every drop of bled we shed will be their drink; their clean and uninfected waters— every rotting body will fertilize the land they will inherit. I bid thee, men of the North, stand; fight— for our death! For their life!” With this he raised his fist. “Death! Death!” The men roared, their voices swelling in chant-like corollary with his.

The helicopter’s door burst open, and the men flung on their parachutes and jumped.