This takes part after my formation took enemy artillery, where one of our BFV's lost their track and I disobeyed a direct order from both my TC and my CO. I saved our guys lives that day, but we took a multitude more in return. The story picks up from here.
We had boxed the enemy tanks in, after my unit withdrew from the line of engagement the tanks were brought up and began firing into the hemmed in enemy tanks and support vehicles. Our A-10 Warthogs were strafing them into the dust as we lobbed round after round of sabot metal punching spears, erupting into forced infernos where molten metal and steaming entrails form a fiery vaporizing spray. Erupting upwards hundreds of feet or so; turrets flipping end over end and fire blazing everywhere. I can hear the whole battalion over my headphones reporting the grim realities, friendly fire report comes in.
Now we are terrified somewhere in our minds that the pull of the trigger is killing my own; we must compact our overseer part whom questions so much and rely more on training than ever before. Thus cementing the thing blocking us today; the primitive mind becomes stuck as our way of engaging everything and everyone, where the capacity of engaging in mayhem lies. Some of us have tried to wrest away from the passion of vengeance and the kiss of ruination, to no avail as her talons dig deeper and we resist but the seduction of darkness and damnation lies hidden in all the shadows.
Ah, the smell of death at high noon as we sift through the hollowed detritus of war.