Rise of the Undead 1943

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Ravens pick and tear at something in the sand, their sickening calls announcing death. They fight, biting and clawing at each other and tearing flesh from a bloody lump laying half buried in the sand. A volley of artillery rounds roars in to land a hundred meters from the birds with a thrump. Startled, they take to the air screaming and reveal the body of a young German soldier. He lies dead on the ground, eyes open in horror, blood dripping from his mouth, body desecrated by the birds and war. The blood leaches into the sand making a dark pool under his mouth. The sand moves under the pool, just a quivering that causes a ripple in the pool of blood.

He’s just one of many dead laying in awkward and gruesome poses and baking in the desert sun. Craters mark where artillery has walked over and destroyed a German mechanized infantry unit. Burning trucks and tanks loft thick black smoke into the sky. Charred corpses hang from trucks and are sprawled on top of tanks with mouths frozen open in horror. Broken, shredded bodies lay butchered on the ground. The artillery has done its job efficiently, but not completely.

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