[ WP ] An aging veteran gets dragged to a paintball facility by his grandkids . Another elderly man is there with his grandkids . The two quickly realize they ’ ve faced off on the battlefield before .

`` PINO!'' My grandad screamed with rage, everyone turning to look. 
 
 `` SHERMAN!'' The other old man shouted back from the other side of the training ground. 
 
 `` YOU SLIMY, DOUBLE CROSSING SACK OF SHIT!'' My grandad spat, apoplectic with rage. 
 
 `` YOU'RE THE SISTER-SHAGGING SO AND SO I DREAM OF SHOOTING!'' Shouted Pino back across the field, his Italian accent showing through. 
 
 They raised their paintballs guns up, trying to aim at each other before letting loose, hitting every person on the field but each other. The soft punt-punt-punt of their empty guns broke the silence of the angry crowd. 
 
 The old man named Pino sighed and approached my grandfather warily. 
 
 `` Sherman'' he started softly, `` I did n't betray them''. 
 
 My grandad looked at him with tired eyes. `` Yet you survived, Pino''. 
 
 Tears started to fall from Pino's eyes, `` I left for the day, picking up meat from further up the coast''. His voice falters, he could n't continue. 
 
 My grandfather looked at him closely, staring into his eyes for any hint of truth. `` Who then?'' He demanded, `` who let the red-bastards know who they were''. 
 
 Pino's eyes suddenly turned hard, hate bursting through. `` We think it was Paola, we found a stack of Lira hidden in her room''. 
 
 My grandpa turned pale. `` She was a sympathiser?'' He questioned, `` even after her work in the resistance?''. 
 
 `` I never found out for sure'', Pino admitted, `` we found her hung outside the duormo come dawn''. 
 
 `` Was it us?'' My grandad asked softly. 
 
 `` It could well have been'' Pino replied, `` or them, or herself, or...'' 
 
 Silence filled the field, the audience rapt with attention. 
 
 `` Was it worth it?'' My grandad asked at length. 
 
 `` The war? The resistance? The freedom we gained? The humanity we lost?'' Pino questioned sadly, putting down his gun. 
 
 `` I did n't think so'', replied my grandad resting his gun against a tree. 
 
 `` Maybe they were the lucky ones... Free from this world''. I'm not sure who said that last sentence, I'm not sure anybody present could see through their tears.
