It was dark.

It was quiet.

I was leading my soldiers through the fog. We were ever so slowly making our way toward the enemy. We had split up earlier and were planning on ambushing them from the north and the south, but we lost contact with our teammates.

The fog was too thick.

We slowly trekked through the forest, past some tall standing trees and others that had fallen to time, weather, or some other enemy of theirs.

It was dark.

It was quiet.

We heard some footsteps nearby. I motioned for my men to stop. We waited until he heard them get into range.

The enemy was close.

At my signal, we opened fire.

Bullets rained through air. Men fell left and right.

Some dead. Others wounded.

The enemy was at a disadvantage downhill.

We defeated them.

It was dark.

It was quiet.

The fog was too thick.

We made our way down the hill to check for survivors or prisoners.

The horror slowly creeped its way into my heart where it it remains to this day as I realized what they were wearing.

These were my soldiers.

I had led my soldiers to their death.

No one spoke.

No a word was uttered throughout the night.

It was dark.

It was quiet.

The fog was too thick.