Chapter 171 - 171: Hold the Line

Smoke drifted low through the forest—thin at first, then thick enough to sting the eyes and turn sunlight into a sickly haze. By midday the heat had settled under the canopy like a lid, pressing down until the air felt heavy, reluctant to move.

Gunther sat with his back jammed against a tree, the radio pack crushed between bark and his spine. Bullets snapped past in angry little cracks, shaving leaves, punching splinters from trunks. Somewhere behind him something burned; the smoke carried the sharp, oily bite of it. Farther out, beyond the nearest line of trees, the enemy roared—voices rising and breaking in waves, screams mixing with prayers, men calling for their mothers, calling for God, calling for anything that might answer.

Gunther didn't need to understand the language to understand the sound.

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