I stormed out across the field. The enemy’s fire came down like a hailstorm, piercing the fragile ground, missing my legs and torso by mere inches. We had to get to that hill.

I cocked my weapon, pulled back, and fired. The two men behind me did the same, and a shower of destruction fell upon the enemies. They retreated behind the hill, throwing a new, more piercing type of fire over the hill in hopes of a lucky shot. We were on the offensive now, and we had to keep moving forward.

One of my buddies took a hit to the knee. He collapsed in pain, his eyes scrunched up. “Go on without me!” he yelled, acting the macho hero. I looked into my remaining compatriot’s eyes and nodded. We had to go.

The enemy had dug a hole in the landscape. Their retreat, while protecting them for a short while during the ensuing carnage, eventually cost them mobility. We yanked them out of the hole and patted them on the back.

“We win again,” I said. “You guys really suck at throwing snowballs.”