"Commander, sir? Don't you think it was a bit... odd that you codenamed the operation as CODENAME? I don't mean to nitpick, but are you related to Abbott or Costello?"

A ragged group of men huddled around a dimly lit lantern. The sounds of a thunderstorm overhead reverberated throughout the tightly cramped bunker.

Looks of discontent were shared by all those clad in green camo, all except one, who held a lit cigar in his mouth, and whose eyes seemed to glow with a fire brighter than the the lantern's. He spoke.

"I'll say this to you scumbags one more time. This isn't a time to question my judgment. This is war, you sonufabitches, and let's get something straight here. Those men out there, back behind their barbed wire, they aren't the enemy. No no, ladies and gentlemen, when you're in my company, I AM your enemy. You know why? Because you expect "them" to behave in a certain manner. You don't expect me. And I'll be da-...mmggh..."

"I always hated long-winded bastards like him. Well, here's one award well deserved."

Pvt. Muldoon wiped the blood clean from his knife, and reached down over the dead body of his superior. Taking the still-burning cigar in hand, he managed a meager puff, and look around the room, noticing his fellow men-in-arms had all gone a ghostly pale.

"Well ladies? You scratch my back and i'll scratch yours."