Presently, the stream of gunshots became less frequent and soon subsided to a trickle and then there was silence, a silence more tense than a scream. He slowly raised his head outside the trench after he saw the army officers taking peeks. White smoke of something burning in the distance moved slowly among the evergreens like a beautiful autumn mist. The scene seemed to stand there still for a moment, serene, reflective, beautiful, oblivious to the human drama right at its heart.
The imagery imposed itself on his mind for a moment too brief to be fully registered and was interrupted by a distant rumbling beyond where the tall trees limited visibility. All heads turned, knuckles white gripping the minimal reassurance of bayoneted guns, breaths held in in anticipation, adrenaline soaked brains running through simulations, weighing different options at speeds too high to be articulated in internal monologues, until suddenly the wait was over: two pine trees made a screeching sound as they broke and fell loudly to the ground and from behind them a tank emerged like a tight iron fist with a long middle finger extended towards the sky. It stood there while its muzzle rotated like an animal sniffing the air for prey. The infantry caught up quickly and soon the Morse code of gunshots began again, alas without anyone making any effort at interpreting it.
The defense obviously lacked in numbers and weaponry … no surprise. Soon there were shouts of “fall back” coming from the senior army officers. The retreat plan was to divide in two groups that would take turns in moving back and firing back, while making their way with hopefully minimal casualties to the city hall which had been deemed the most suitable building for them to make their last stand.
to be continued ...
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