Christian Glitter by www.christianglitter.com
You scored as Artillery/Armor. You are an artillery/armor soldier. Fighting really isn't your strongsuit, and instead you prefer to sit back and blow things up with your 80+ mile range or behind some rather thick armor. This isn't to say you don't have a strong sense of duty and honor. You just seem to be smarter about it.
Artillery/Armor
44%
Special Ops
31%
Support Gunner
31%
Combat Infantry
25%
Engineer
25%
Officer
25%
Medic
13%
Civilian
0%
Which soldier type are you?
created with QuizFarm.comIf I ever go to war Mom Please dont be afraid, There are some things I must do, To keep the promises I made. Im sure there will be some heartache, And I know that you'll cry tears, But your son is a soldier now; Mom, There is nothing you should fear.If I ever go to war Dad, I know that you'll be strong, But you wont have to worry, Cause you taught me right from wrong. You kept me firmly on the ground, Yet still taught me how to fly, Your son is a soldier now Dad, I love youIf I ever go to war Bro, There are some things I want to say, Youve always had my back, And I know its my time to repay. Youll always be my daybreak, Through all of lifes dark clouds, Your brothers a soldier now, Bro, I promise I'll make you proud.If I ever go to war my Friends, Well never be apart, Though we may not meet again, I'll hold you in my heart. Remember all the times we had, Dont let your memories cease, Your friend is a soldier now, Dear Friend, And I'll die to bring you peace.And when I go to heaven, And I see that pearly gate, I'll gladly decline entrance, Then stand my post and wait. I'm sorry Sir I cant come in, I'm sort of in a bind, You see I'm still a Soldier Sir, So I can't leave them behind.
For NowBe still. There are no sounds. Not anymore. Not after the grizzly stench of bombings that lay before the dinner table. The sounds of trumpeting voices still echo inside the gates of every child's mind.Noises abruptly halt the laughter and smiles of the city. Yet they've stopped.For now. No more thundering explosions abuse the hearts of the innocent.For now. The children come back out. In fear of the atomic packages that fell from the stars. The gift of 'democracy' tightly laced in ammunition.A mother's worried cries dress the streets in a somber outfit of tears. She searches for her lost young. Her mind racing, her stomach churning, burning with the acids of dread and panic.Her milk is drying, dissipating from the absence of a tender child. She breaks, like a China doll that fell from the careless hands of a militant.Her demeanor represents the widespread poverned nation in which she lives.Breathing, In Out The cluttered, stifled air of a chemical soup.She drops. Falling upward Towards the only Peace she can find.Scrambling like a cockroach in the light. She searches for a morsel of humanity to feed the lost.The noises return, along with the familiar smell of burning metal.Another day in Iraq.