Invaders

"Cowardice, as distinguished from panic, is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend the functioning of the imagination. And live completely in the very second of the present with no before and no after is the greatest gift a soldier can acquire.”
Ernest Hemingway

The intense smell of gun powder, querosene, rotting flesh and wood smoke was the first thing Vadim noticed as he jumped out of the BTR. It penetrated his nostrils like an oily substance you can not remove, no matter how much you scrub. The different stenches mixed together to give the environment a vomit inducing quality that permeated the whole scenery. The fire in the houses and trees he could see through the smoke that was laid to cover his unit's movement, brought upon him the distinct feeling that he was being dumped at the doorway to hell.

(Image: copied from the Pic1000 contest prompt)

-Run! Quickly. Move!- He heard the Sargeant shout over the noise made by the running engine of the vehicle he had crewed moments earlier. In the distance, a cacophony of gunfire, explosions and the eerie hum of cries and groans of soldiers fallen in the field and not yet ready to die. Laden with full gear, backpack, a case of mortar grenades, ammoclips and his rifle, his legs now moved under the pressure of almost twice his weight and he started to see himself in slow motion, from the outside of his body looking down.

Running past an oddly still standing sign post claiming the position of Yasynuvatskyy, the lane he had been disembarked on, his mind rapidly gave him his geospatial position. He was somewhere half way between Avdivka and Spartak. He kept running, following the others into the woodland, his mind still dissociated from his body. To his mind, came the unnerving feeling of danger, as the background noise ceased being in the background and he started to dwelve straight into the center of it. He couldn't help but to conjure the irony and to his mind came the idea that of all the places to be in this war, he would find himself close to one named after Sparta.

Continuing through half burnt trees and avoiding fallen tree trunks, tree stumps and craters the size of small cars, he could now see a lot further, as the smoke from the APC gave way to the icy air brought by the near dawn breeze, that impregnated him with more and more of that smell. By this point, he had already lost the notion of time. The comrad that ran before him tripped in a stone. "Mamkamu"-he shouted. Vadim mechanically helped him up and continued his run. He could feel like he was diving into some kind of unexpected terror as he finally reached the hole that led into the trenches his company was supposed to defend.

Squeezing his packed volume into a sort of ante-chamber dug under the hill, he was faced with a weary faced soldier dressed in mudded clothes. He couldn't see what rank he was, there were no markings on him. -Drop your shit here and bring the mortars, and hurry!- He complied, left his pack behind and followed the man into the breach. -You came in just in time. We were running out of grenades. Just one left."

Vadim passed the box he carried on to the man's hands. His mates would be bringing in some more. -Sorry, Sir.- He asked, -what am I expecting here?- The older man looked straight into his eyes and said: -As the day breaks, there will come the drones, then the artillery fire, and then, the sorry motherfuckers that are hiding by the river bed will start pouring like in a game of space invaders. Better grab your kit and get ready, son...

@hefestus 06.02.25

Afterword:
Although possibly realistic, this piece of writing is a work of fiction and nothing more. It is dedicated to all the men and women who ever fought in a war, but, especially to the brave and heroic people of Ukraine that fight for the freedom of their homeland against the ravings of a lunatic tyrant and to all the victims of his lies.