I am alone, at dawn, on the mountaintop, Below, through the
milky mist, I see the bodies of my friends. Some that have rolled
down the slopes lie like disjointed red dolls; others are ashen
statues surprised  by the eternity of death. Stealthy shadows are climbing towards me. Silence. I wait. They Approach. I fire against dark silhouettes in black pajamas, faceless ghosts. I feel the
recoil of the machine gun; I grip it so tightly my hands burn as
incandescent lines of fire cross through the sky, but there is no
sound. The attackers have become transparent; they are not
stopped by the bullets that pass right through them, they continue
their implacable advance. I am surrounded ... Silence ...
  My own scream wakes me, and I keep screaming, screaming ...

     Gregory Reeves