30 Seconds:

Thirty seconds to share,

and my nerves are absent.

Throwing up violently,

I attempt to compose myself.
25 Seconds:

The waves against our boat
could knock down

New York City.

The force against our army
could take over

the world.
15 Seconds:

The bunkers loom,

perched and waiting
for the hatch to

drop.
10 Seconds:

The creak of the spinning

wheel petrifies me.

The CO bids his boys farewell.
5 Seconds:

My friends will probably

all die.
3 Seconds:

Chunk. Clink.

Thud.
I’ll probably die too.
Shore:

Time stops.

We all hit the
ground.
Cold.