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The Wrong War
James Graves
Zeke Sikes leaned back from his spotter scope, rubbed his eyes and sighed. He pulled a red bandana from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead, grabbed a bottle of water from the ice chest sitting beside him, opened it and drank half the bottle. Then he poured the remainder onto his bandana and pressed it over his face and tired eyes. “My ass is numb.” He mumbled from underneath the wet bandana, then removed it and draped it over a nearby brittle bush, blooming with yellow flowers.  He stared at the bandana for a moment, then commented sarcastically, “It’ll probably be dry in five minutes.” And then shifted his body slightly before pressing his right eye onto the scope’s eye piece once again.