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Raining on the Parade

It was raining red hot slivers of razor sharp metal onto the formation of soldiers beneath clouds of fire. The men, who seconds ago were victoriously marching through the town square, now found themselves scattering without pride for any sort of cover they could find. The unlucky scores who didn’t find cover quickly enough were scattered about the asphalt and concrete. Some were motionless and bloodied, some were writhing in agony, and some just lay still. The traitorous civilians who had cheered the army as liberators shared their fate in the streets.

The fire mission was short and ended quickly. The partisans had little ammunition and grew closer to being located with every shot. By the time the soldiers stopped pissing on themselves and realized that the barrage was over, the insurgents had already began to move out.

The thumping artillery had faded from ringing ears and now began the chorus of wounded screams. Medics worked and wondered how many more bloody holes they would patch before the war’s end.

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