Night. The kamikaze drones buzz over my head. There is a crash and flames light up the darkness. My armoured personnel carrier is shot to pieces. Everyone is dead. Only I'm still here. Somewhere in a trench along the front line, I'm still there. Or am I already dead too?

My tears make it difficult to see my surroundings. A dark trench. An attack that went completely wrong. I'm probably only alive because the enemy retreated by surprise. Fortunately, it's so loud that my sobs are barely audible. I don't feel any pain - is that the shock?

We were in the trench in a flash - and then died in a flash. Tracer ammunition whistles over the edge of the trench and a few volleys hammer into the rampart behind it. Stake stake stake stake. Not a nice sound. But still better than the insidious whistling of the mortars before they hit. Stake stake stake. Peter is lying next to me. Peter has three children - a son with trisomy who smiles in all the pictures. Sometime in the next few days, some soldier will put a flag with his father's medals in his hands. And even in this boy, who is always smiling, grief and hatred will arise. Grief for his dead father. Hatred for his father's murderers. Hate for those who thought they had to wipe out borders and people with drones and tanks.

Another group of drones. Apparently the attack only collapsed on my section of the front. I start to move, slowly, as quietly as I can, sobbing and shaking. The trench becomes shallower, I have to crawl. This slows my progress even more, but my head remains unseen. I push myself over earth, stones, splintered wood and dead bodies.

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‘Scha liau uo ba!’ I wince violently and almost scream. The legs I just climbed over belong to a human being. A person who is still alive. Our eyes meet. He is covered in blood. ‘Scha liau uo ba!’. I don't understand him. His gaze is fixed on me, distorted with pain. He repeats his sentence. As I crawl away from him, I see that his arms have been torn away at the shoulders and that far too much of his face has been destroyed. Apparently one of the kamikaze drones has landed on his weapon. Tears thin the blood under his eyes. He swallows, visibly in agony. ‘Kill me,’ he stammers out. 

I've never killed a human being. And now someone is begging for it. Peter could have done it, he had already been part of the last counter-offensive. A medal of honour reminded us of that. Peter had helped us newcomers to the front and explained what he could do. You don't know if someone can kill a person until they've done it, Peter had said.

A bright explosion lit up the night behind me. My armoured personnel carrier has been hit and the debris is raining down around us. The man repeats his plea, but each time it gets weaker. He cries and trembles. Apparently he reads my thoughts and realises that there is no salvation in store for him. Shit, shit, shit. Stake stake stake stake

I raise my weapon. I take aim. I pull the trigger. I collapse, just like him. I feel sick and my sobs increase. I see the broken look on his face. I feel I'm about to throw up. Me. Me. When will it be my turn?