What's war about?

-Go, go go! Bomb-Squad, into the buiding! Our lives depend on you, sons of a bitch! Run!

-Argh!! -Yells someone, while their brains pour all over you. Yes, they slept in the same room you did, ate with you, shared their remembrances, their nostalgia, their dreams and doubts.
It's over. The snipers didn't know that. Nothing personal, but you're the enemy. Someone had to die. That's as far as it goes. There's no time to feel bad, even less to cry. Oh, right, and you have to hide from the sniper... nowhere to hide? Well, cover yourself with your mate's body... they're dead, so what's the matter? don't you see the head exploded and it's pouring blood like a river? Did I forget to mention? They need you in the building!

-Move your ASS, corporal!!

You can't think. Get moving. Other people's lives depend on your ability. They also depended on your partner's ability... but they're dead. Bad news: You have to deactivate the bomb anyways. You need to work harder to save your own neck.

You're in the building. Somehow, the snipers didn't get you. Where the hell's the bomb?
Dust in the air, the bullets' sound lessened by the adrenaline. Can't think straight, can't think... but you weren't trained to think, just to react. The situation is enough for you to move, even though you haven't the slightest idea of what to do next.

Move, move.

-Where's the bomb?
-I'll search the second floor. Check the basement.

You nod and move to check the basement. Darkness. Turn on the flashlight.

Nothing here but corpses. Dead people everywhere, stench burnt flesh, blood all over the ground and a black corner in a wall. Grenade, you realize. Could've been you. Might be you in a while.

A metallic sound in the ground... something bouncing under your feet, in front of you... oh, a grenade. Shit, a grenade!!

You run to the floor above, just to see an enemy staring at you. So you kill them. That's right, a shot to the head with your M-16. Might've been a parent, a spouse... you don't really care, and with a chilling feeling realize that no one cares: You're fighting for your life. So is the people on the other side of the fence.

Why are you fighting for your life, you wonder. Why are you forced to kill, to sin, to grieve, to ache? On whose behalf are you killing?

Uh-oh, you're thinking. And the bomb? Go up the second floor and seek. Nothing. False alarm. So you killed, and your partner died... and it was a false alarm?

What were you fighting for?
For your nation's glory or some other bullshit?
Or for the incapacity of your political leaders of getting some succesful negotiation done?
For someone's reelection?

As you notice three guys with M-16 on the door, not wearing your colors. Rise your weapon, start shooting... you feel you skin ripped, a searing pain all over your body.

Everything grows faintly black... progressively black. You bite back a yell of pain...

Whose fight is it?

No time to answer is your last thought, as a bullet about 12mm diameter goes through your brain, damaging forever billions of neurones...

You'll never be back.  And no-one will ever care.