Blood and Honour

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The roaring of the guns hardly seemed to have eased since dawn. Way off to the north, plumes of dark smoke rose like ethereal geysers, gradually combining to form one immense, oppressive cloud. It hung over the town, blotting out the sun like some kind of man-made eclipse.

Sergeant Wolf Herzog spat into the river and watched as the town was obliterated. Dotted around him, in various postures of rest, were the men of his platoon. The motley group giving off a collective stench of dried perspiration mingled with the acrid smell of smoke.

Herzog took off his steel helmet and wiped a bloodstained hand across his forehead, drawing a long red smear in the grime. Eyes the colour of a June sky sparkled from beneath his heavy, deeply furrowed brow. He exhaled deeply and knelt wearily beside the river, scooping up a handful of the green water to splash his face, quite oblivious to the fact that further up one of his men was urinating into the water. The sergeant filled his helmet with water and allowed the cooling liquid to pour over his hands, enjoying its cooling contact with his hot flesh.

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