Dusk Descended.

Authors Avatar
Dusk descended. The purple mist of nightfall enshrouding every definable shape on the horizon. It was cold, the evening freeze ensconcing each clay particle in a frosted mist.

The untimely flash of Kari's match couldn't dispel this mystical trance. His deft movements reduced now to a silent lumbering. Pain thrived on such existence. Physical pain, mental pain. Pain was inescapable; death was inescapable.

Michael trembled. His hand shook. His fingers knocked; his cigarette dropped, and the tobacco dripped from the stem. His face failed to conjure an expression.

Egor watched. His eye muscles weary transfixed on a spot beyond the horizon. He strained, then squinted. The image of the blackened valley floor, the cascading hillocks, the peach tinted horizon. He stared out again. Out there was night, dark, black, cloaking. Egor's vision had dimmed immune now to such blackness. He routinely sniffled and wiped his eyes clear of impending dreariness.

Time and silence were the enemies. The hours of waiting challenged ones sanity the absence of conversation aided that challenged, yet through each individual perspective, the were unified. They were one man and yet ever man. They were Russia and Russia was bleeding.

Distant rumblings became audible. Egor swallowed, strange how one can never become immune to such abnormality. He looked at Kagi; his eyes were sad, but unflinching. He too was afraid. He spat and gulped continuously.

The bombardment ensued. The air was clammy, rife with the smell of sulphur. Closer and closer, nearer and nearer. The impact rattled the rickety tripod. The hardened expression of Michael had traded its durability for fear. Inescapable fear, condescending fear. To evil fear must be the essence of war.

"Barrage, Barrage" Kagi's screams were frenzied. The bright purple flash. Plumes of faintly fire, intermingled with tassels of enshrouding steam. Ivanov was hit. His blood guttered. Egor wiped the bloody sweat clear from his eyes. He swiftly turned away.

Yet the untimely death of Ivanov had frenzied imprecations. He grabbed at his rifle and fired with rapid automation, continuously into the night, into adversary. His reaction was spontaneous and now uncontrollable.

Kagi's knuckles cracked continually. They hopped relentlessly on the metal trigger. He ignored the recoil. His eyes transfixed; his expression motionless. Slavo's appearance was, Ironic in its tranquility. His comrade Petrov lay headless propped against a sheet of tapering sandstone.

They had come within range of enemy snipers. Bullets cascaded and rebounded. Egor turned instantaneously. Slavo was grounded, arteries punctured; his blood spued forth, dressing the whitened sandstone in mottled scarlet.

Egor now sensed fear. It was tangible, palpable, bloody. He smelt the smell of blood. Inflated his nostrils, so the hairs stiffened and accumulated. Then coughed out rapidly in muted disgust and chronic horror.

Though defiant in defiance, the pitiful troop sensed the futility of the stand. Their position was inescapable. They were isolated on the slope of a hill. They couldn't climb upwards; they would be mere targets for German snipers. The enemy continued its frontal advance. Egor gaped daringly over the barricade. There was a forest just below their platform, to the right a little, but primarily just below. Where would it lead?
Join now!


Egor gestured to the others to follow. Michael had since been shot and limped badly. Amid the smoky feathers he, clutched to the crumpled ledge, to ease himself to the granite flats below. The vulnerable troop staggered down slope. The forest commenced at the edge of the slope. It somehow, had maintained a stillness, a silence. The cascading needle roof, the gentility of the bluebells. They felt secure.

Mirrored beads of moisture clinged to every needle. Crystallized bayonets hung from every cone. There was no sound save the continual trudging of boots in falling snow. No ...

This is a preview of the whole essay