A Smokey Day

The Germans no longer covered the burning hills around them. The only shooting Martin heard was far away. There were still plenty of screams, though, plenty of moans and breathless prayers. The Germans had not bothered to come down and check on their handiwork, and were too occupied to miss a couple hundred Allied soldiers, a quarter of whom, judging by the noises and the movement, were still alive.
One man, not even five feet from Martin, had suffered the misfortune of having part of his brains blown away. The man lay with arms outstretched and eyes staring blankly at the clouds. His jaw was slack. His breath came in ragged gasps; each exhalation was accompanied by bloody froth foaming from the mouth. Strings of brain matter hung loosely from a deep crease in the top of the soldier's head. The face was vaguely familiar. Martin felt he might have recognized it when it if it was better lit by reason.
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