Jesteśmy społecznością, która kocha książki

Why are we doing this, anyway?" the Greek asked me while hanging freely on the iron bar. I had no solid answer to give. He landed back on the ground whereupon his loud thoughts continued.

"You know, sometimes I think I was just born to be a soldier. A warrior. I struggle to find real joy in anything else. Not that I haven’t tried, I really have, but it never gives anything back, you know? A gay middle-class life—what’s even the purpose of that? It’s not that I’m a particularly good soldier or anything. In the Legion, I was always at the bottom tier of physical tests and shit like that. But there’s something else about it. It really means something. To be a soldier. To be at war. To make war.".

Our BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicle started its engine. Metro’s squad wasready on the left side and we lined up on the right.

“Glory to the heroes!” cried the Greek sarcastically. The engine exhaust heated the air next to me, making it very warm and pleasant. I dreamed of just sleeping in a warm bed again, about taking a shower in really hot water—or even better, sitting in a hot sauna. Långström tapped me on
the back of my helmet, and I turned around to see what he wanted.

“We are going to die! Do you understand that?” he shouted over the engine noise.
“Yes,” I replied bitterly, “that’s pretty evident.”
Långström had finally returned to his normal combat ecstasy. He was sharpened and back on the chopping block again.
“We’re all going to die! It’s so fucking great!”.