`Behind enemy lines

Enemy in sight, trying not to feed off a glimmer of light.
Nocturnal images dance around the flickers of shell impact in the night.
We’re outnumbered, outgunned and stand no ground of prevailing.
But our Marshal pushes our limits, and our morale continues its sailing.
Bombs plummet, and cascades of soil rise above us, blinding me.
Enemy was on the move, in OUR direction, or so it seems.
Our team begins to sweat, swallowing our pride hard and willing to die.
Destruction looms, and winds around my emotions, thoughts, and my eye.
Stirring motions amongst us, inspire anxiety to dominate silence, and bloom.
Shaken images of our death riddles my mind, will I persevere through this doom?
Our location is unknown our forces are oblivious to our situation, peril in the air.
But then, if our presence is not known, if we die, no-one will really care.
We’re ready for the attack, bullets and water flask gripped tightly in my palm.
*Bullets fly, our enemy launches an ambush*
Caps rendezvous in motion, tearing through flesh, and dismember the marshal’s arm.
Our leader is wounded, in a fatal stage of shock, my rifle; bound to cock.
Enemy firmly locked, obliterating my men and weapons they’ve jocked.
I’m the only survivor, escaped the ambush, was this meant to be or was it a sign?
Carrying a guilty conscience as a burden, never again ending behind enemy lines.