McAmos crept closer and closer to the entrenchment. Now he was only a few metres away.
He almost thought he could smell the sweat of his enemies, lurking just ahead.
They would be expecting a full-on assault, not one man crawling behind their lines.
Soon McAmos would jump into the trench screaming, his rifle ablaze spewing full metal jacket death and ripping the enemy soldiers to pieces.

So close, oh so close.

He breathed ever so quietly, he felt like every sound he made was like an orchestra of screaming pandemonium.
His heart pounded with a deep booming sound, and sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes.
No time to wipe his face, only a few more seconds now.
He crept as close to the ground as he could, feeling every single grain of earth under his chest and stomach.
His fingers were chaved and bloody after digging into the ground and pulling him just a few inches forward at a time.
That was all he needed now, just a few more inches.

Suddenly, he froze, and so did everything around him.
For a moment time itself drew to an awkward and screeching halt.
He felt something hard in the palm of his hand. Something metallic, cold.
When he realized what it was he had just put his hand on, he felt like crying.

But he never did.

And he was doing so good. Right up to that moment when he exploded in a horrifying shower of blood and flesh.<br><br>“don't you try to outweird me. I get
stranger things than you free with my breakfast cereal.”