"These bastards! Even after being bombed like that, they still have so many cannons!" a Tang Army soldier, hiding in the trench, grumbled as he shook the loose soil off his body, holding his rifle.
A shell had just landed near his position, raising a cloud of dust and nearly burying him alive.
Debris from the sky clattered against his M35 helmet, creating a cacophony of clinks and clangs, and now and then, medics ran past, dashing toward the cries for help.
Even if the trenches were dug well, there would still be unlucky ones hit by shells. Some would be blown to pieces instantly, while others with severed arms or legs lay on the ground wailing loudly.
There were also the less fortunate who suffered grazing shrapnel wounds... These were the unluckiest, too lightly injured to be pulled from the line, bleeding yet continuing to fight.
The most merciless aspect of war is that, whether you're brave or cowardly, whether you're a soldier or a civilian, everyone dies eventually.
