The night was alive with fire. Tracers streaked through the canopy like veins of molten light, each burst tearing the jungle apart in flashes of chaos.
Machine guns roared in overlapping fury, mortars boomed in the distance creating a cacophony of death.
Oberstleutnant Erich von Zehntner crouched behind the trunk of a fallen tree. Mud streaked across his face, his jaw locked tight.
Every shout was drowned beneath the chorus of automatic fire. The jungle itself seemed to burn, red and orange bursts flaring between the trees, turning night into a flickering storm of flame.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the gunfire ceased. Smoke hung in the air, glowing faintly red from dying embers.
The only sounds were the rasp of labored breathing and the soft patter of ash falling through leaves. It wasn't silence born of peace, it was the silence that hides knives.
Erich exhaled, wiped the grime from his brow, and reached for his flare gun. He popped a round into the chamber and fired.
