I snapped my mustard arm into a sharp, two-fingered salute. The strictures of protocol better keep the emotion out of my eyes. Couldn't appear weak before Colonel Wiener. He spun on his heels to leave me pondering my death sentence. Blasted war.
The grill was one of those fancy chrome death chambers. Four separate gas dials sprayed enough methane to crisp a soldier in under two minutes. Too bad I was going to have a close encounters with that beast. Kamikaze, my bun. But, I knew better than to disobey a direct order.
I vaulted the white picket fence. My shoulder slammed into a rose bush. It's thorn skewered my casing, moist meat tumbling through the hole. Fortunately, the corps had embedded the special seasoning at the other end.
Stumbling forward, I saw myself reflected off the grill. The man with his implements of death had his back to me. Good thing. He'd never see it coming.
One of the kids -- a lumbering giant, no wonder we were losing the war -- grabbed me. His pudgy fingers were almost as wide as my waist. How could we lose to these jokers? I laid there. Played dead.
He shook me. No, don't let the weakened casing split.
I survived the boy's torture. I wouldn't reveal my orders. Even better, he brought me to the hulk manning the death chamber. The man wore one of those girly aprons. They didn't deserve to live.
"Where did you find that?" the man asked.
The boy pointed with his other hand. "Over there."
"Don't look so good."
He'd seen the poison injected below my casing. I twitched. I'd come too far to fail my orders. I twisted a ketchup leg up and over the bruise where the poison lie.
"Why did you put all that ketchup on the dog. It's not even cooked yet. Here, give it to me." The man tossed me at the grill. My skin sizzled against the grate.