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Jezebel's mourning
Split the platoon into sets,
Its early, hitting routine checks.
Pletenivka, or what's left.
A village once, now a wreck.
Through shattered homes, we cautiously tread,
Each step a prayer for the living, dead.
As you'd expect,
The dead zone, full of threats.
Something we can't forget.
Off guard, shots ring out from the west,
Hit right in the chest.
Shrapnel through her vest.
"Grab the pack!"
We'll get it patched.
Autonomous movements but I'm thinking,
One with the war machine
that we've become.
There's no way I can make it home..
Set in stone,
Marching on the...