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The Scent of War

mszrswrite
7
chs / week
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Synopsis
A child is forced to grow up too soon, surviving the horrors that took everything from them.

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Chapter 1 - Broken Arrow.

Every person carries a scent.

It's a fragrance that sticks to the skin, an odor you can't quite wash away, even if you try. This smell is unique to each person, often unpleasant, sometimes pleasant, but always present.

It lingers, whether you're awake or asleep.

And sometimes, that scent becomes more than just a passing presence. It becomes unbearable, more than just an annoyance—it becomes something haunting.

Something that stays with you long after the moment has passed.

That is the scent of war.

"General! We need to get you out of here!" Ivan's voice tore through the madness. The young officer was crouched beside Fraihn, his rifle firing blindly into the smoke. 

Fraihn didn't look up.

He couldn't.

Another shell hit nearby, spraying a rain of dirt and gore. Ivan ducked, his voice drowned out by the explosion. He grabbed his radio, fumbling with the settings as he crouched lower. The signal finally came through, crackling and faint.

"Raven, this is Thunder. Do you copy?"

Ivan pressed the button, his hand shaking.

"This is Raven!" He shouted, barely audible over the chaos. 

"Thunder ready to strike. Confirm coordinates."

Ivan's head snapped toward Fraihn.

"General, they're ready!" His voice cracked, panic rising in his throat.

Fraihn didn't respond. His vision blurred as he stared at the map, the lines no longer making sense. Blood seeped through the bandages hastily wrapped around him. 

His fingers tightened around the paper as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

"Thunder is ready to strike! Copy?" Ivan shouted again, clutching the radio like a lifeline.

He crawled toward Fraihn, dragging his body across the mud, ignoring the bullets whipping past his head and the screams echoing in his ears.

He pulled himself upright and grabbed Fraihn by the collar, shaking him.

"GENERAL! GIVE THE ORDER!" 

Fraihn's eyes fluttered open. His voice was barely a whisper, drowned by the chaos around them. But Ivan leaned in, hearing the words as though they were screamed into his soul.

"Bro…broken arrow"

Ivan froze, the blood draining from his face. His lips trembled as he processed the words.

"Broken arrow?" He whispered, disbelief washing over him.

Fraihn's head slumped forward, his strength failing. His voice came again, quieter this time, but resolute.

"Ca…call it Ivan.."

He reached for the radio with trembling hands. His voice cracked as he screamed into it, tears streaming down his face.

"Broken Arrow! I repeat, Broken Arrow! This is Raven! Broken Arrow confirmed!"

The radio went silent for a moment, the longest moment of Ivan's life. Then, the calm, detached voice of Thunder crackled through the static.

"Raven, this is Thunder. Broken arrow authorized., May God protect you."

Fraihn's hand shot out, grabbing Ivan by the collar with surprising strength. His grip was iron, his bloodied fingers trembling but firm. His voice turned sharp, cutting through the madness.

"You're... the field commander now. Get everyone... into the city." Fraihn's voice was weak, trembling under the weight of exhaustion and blood loss. 

"I... I can't leave you here!" Ivan shouted, his voice cracking.

Fraihn coughed, blood speckling his lips, but he didn't release his grip.

"You can. You must. Take this and run."

Ivan's hands trembled as he took an envelope from his commander, an envelope of farewell.

He wanted to scream, to fight, to defy the impossible order.

 But he knew, he always knew that Fraihn wouldn't ask unless it was the only way.

"Understood." Ivan whispered, choking on the words. 

Fraihn gave a weak nod before leaning back against the tree, his strength fading. His hand fell limp, the map slipping from his fingers,

Ivan gave the orders and rallied them to fall back, but it was chaos too many were already lost. 

"Keep moving!" Ivan yelled, dragging one of the wounded men to his feet.

Ivan's eyes scanned the battlefield—his mind racing, his body fueled by adrenaline, but the sinking feeling in his chest told him they weren't going to make it.

He glanced over his shoulder, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop.

Fraihn was still there, sitting against the tree, his body battered and bloodied. The map he had clung to was now scattered at his feet. His face was pale, but his eyes those same steady, unwavering eyes locked onto Ivan's. Fraihn's hand was still tight around his revolver, a symbol of the resolve that had led them all through countless battles.

But Fraihn didn't move. He couldn't.

With a last, haunting look, Ivan tore his gaze away. He pushed forward, knowing that every step brought him closer to the city and farther from the man who had been his commander, his friend.

At the last time Ivan turned, the first shell hit.

Boom.

The forest belt exploded in fire and smoke, trees shredded to splinters.

Another shell. And another.