𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐀𝐑 ?̷?̷

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓 - 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

A lodestar-bright light illuminated the benighted, doom-laden sky. The virgin hallowed ground below the Polaris was burnished with entrails, diminished to just a dusty wake painted molten red, devoid of all nutritive value. All except an outgrowth of desperate-looking daisies. The dainty flowers hung with their heads low, bulbous, congealed drops of blood settled on their fragile petals. Men attired with drenched camouflage uniforms were reduced to groans and wails while the battlefield became slick with their ichor.

Infuriated men course madly through the village, each beset by a crowd of armed savages whose swarthy, agile forms, bypass the fierce impetus of their charge, plying the deadly rifles. Assailants and assailed were barely a dozen yards apart, and they too, give way to the horrible nauseous accompaniments of a slaughterhouse.

In an incredibly short space of time, each of the masses is reduced to a disjointed heap of flesh and bones. Their numbers lay stretched upon the ground, stone dead or writhing in the throes of death; while several more might be seen limping off as well as they could, their only thought now being to save their own lives. The rest melted away into the brush, ampling to trudge over top the dead or helpless bodies of some of their former brethren, who had been shot in the earlier stages of the conflict.

The bullets and bits of stray lead began to whistle uncomfortably close.

[Name], sublimely conscious of her deadly peril, was keenly alert on the lookout for an enemy in the other direction. She could only watch from afar, as she struggled to breathe, she let out a series of phlegmy hiccups; the only indicator of her imminent dread. A deserted building gave shelter to the soul of this passerby, and soon became the only place [Name] could seek any kind of refuge.

She stood there in the doorway, her form seeming to tower above them, her large eyes sparkling forth from her livid and bloodless countenance, and the awful and set expression of despair imprinted therein prayed she might never behold again.

Their guns glinted wickedly out from the corner of her peripheral, and the crack of a gun going off made her ears ring deafeningly as the overhanging cliffs echoed back in sharper tones the crack of the rifles of the foe, who, well under cover themselves, kept up a continuous, fire upon the patrol. And mingling with the shouting and confusion, the terrified lowing of the cattle half-frenzied with the sight and smell of blood, the burning powder hovering through the arid air singed her oh-so-abused senses.

The scene before her was a one-sided battle. No, any soldier with common sense won't call this a battle, but a massacre. In a hilly region with no cover and only slight undulation in terrain, they not only moved their unarmoured vehicles in, but even their infantry. Nothing short of a miracle could save her life—which is to say, nothing could. The very earth seemed to grow enemies. Behind, around, in front, everywhere, those cat-like, sinuous forms sprang up as if by magic.

For upwards of three days, her comrades forced their way through the terrain but success did not crown their efforts the same. They were losing. Something [Name] never thought she'd utter aloud, but she did, that was the truth of it all.

We were afraid.

Yes, there were two, [Name] and Hudson. A fellow soldier. Her comrade. Someone she was meant to look after, as a battalion commander. How did it get to this?

[Name] heard the crash of the fall, and turning her head, in spite of the deadly risk she ran in suffering her attention to wander from her own course even for a second, she took in the sight.