The enemy always attacked at dawn. Their relentless campaign forged on ahead hour by red hot hour. It was a withering onslaught burning through copious reserves without a flicker of remorse.
With such a formidable foe, the average, ill-equipped Joe would have wilted under the fierce heat of battle. Oh sure you could hunker down, and Sad Sack it out day after day in the dank bunker but to what logical end?
Salvation came in the form of an air drop from the Atoll Raiders out of Fort Nui. Like manna from heaven, only better -- a frogskin A-3.
At long last, I had it made in the shade.
Papa's words rung as true as ever -- "Victory starts here" as I armored my noggin', flipped down my visor, steeled my gaze and pressed the attack.
The sun didn't stand a chance.