So many years it has been. So much time passed since I have emitted my emotions in any way other than screaming at the top of my lungs during a raid or pitched battle; my trusty SVD in a tight grip by my weathered hands, enveloping the cloth wrapped around it's stock and trigger. Heavy rainfall, my clothes drenched and cold. The sonic boom of the bullets flying around me was deafening, it blasted through my ear drums, leaving nothing but the slight tinnitus to torture me after the battle. I arranged my rifle on the barricade, it's barrel slightly poking out of the barbed wire that was keeping the enemy hounds out. I lined up my scope with the rifle, and went for the shot: A single machine-gunner in the far corner of the buildings the target found itself in, taken down with a rough 7.62x54mm AA round. He dropped down like a sack of bricks; the shattering of 50.caliber bullets stopped, and the sound of weaponry was set to a minimum. I survived another day, and now me and my troops are heading towards an enemy fortification to the east; the red glow of sunset tainted against my gas mask's oval glasses, my soaked battle dress uniform was drying, although my jaw still faltered from the anxiety and cold.