LAST STOP FOR THE TOURISTS OF GARRISON 3-1-4

'77 East

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SHE GAVE ME A GLOBE FULL OF LIES AND PAIN

MY EYES BECKONED TOWARDS FICTION AND FIRE

NOW WE'RE ALL DAMNED ON THIS ONE WAY TRAIN

ON THE PATH TO HELL WITHOUT A CHANCE TO RETIRE
_________________________________________________________




One of the many clutched his antique rifle, sitting by the outraged.
Bloodstains littered the scratched metal floor, beside body and bone.
The Alps scurried by out the window. Their next stop would be far from here.

Alas, the transfers had missed their chance to join them, damned for their ineptitude.
Their ungrateful attempts at snitching, no further chances would be given to those
judged by the bleeding clamp for their failure to adapt, to provide an advantage.

It was time for a culling of biblical levels, for the blades to free the garrison
of many who would never show up in the mountains of Romania.

He watched as they dispatched those who had just been marked for transfer,
for these 'tourists' a glinting combat knife was the last thing they saw.

<:: Seven deployments. Seven layers of hell. ::>
was all he could mumble.