"Six years ago i was a tank operator. Not as fancy as a job like piloting aircraft n' stuff. But i loved it. It was a piece of junk that me and my crew were all stuffed into. We were short on supply so the big guys behind the desk had us roll out the surplus hardware. What they expected of us was impossible, but we gave it to them anyway. We all stuffed ourselves into that little sardine-can called a tank and rolled out against superior firepower coming from the enemies side. We all knew what we were doing, we knew the risks. Hell, it was what we loved to do. The next day we were called to the front, as the enemy had somehow taken out one of our good non-surplus vehicles. They had gotten their hands onto some pretty wack stuff based on the chatter coming from HQ, and they got the bright idea that somehow 4 people in a pre-war deathtrap would turn the tide."
I take a big breath and continue.
"They were right shockingly. But it cost more than i believed that battle to be worth. While we were beating back their infantry our tracks went out on us. Something with enough heat had literally melted the treads into one solid piece. Our tank started heating up. and surfaces started to become too hot to touch. Call me a little weird for saying this but we all died that day. Both literally and figuratively. But the point to this story is, we all did it because it was what we were. Just like Steele, we all died with honor. And because of what we did that day, we actually won the battle. Ridiculous circumstances, but we moved mountains. Please don't think what Steele did was a waste, less we dishonor his memory."
Poll