Chapter Content
The battle for the northern warren had reached its bloody conclusion. The Secessionists had held the line and repelled the PDF strike force, but their victory was hollow. The scent of woodsmoke and victory was choked by the copper tang of fresh blood and the stench of burnt ozone.
The rebels began the grim work of the aftermath. Some dug mass graves in the fallow fields—a monumental task given the sheer volume of the dead. For those still breathing, the agony was only beginning. Over thirty wounded were packed into the makeshift med-shacks, their screams echoing through the clearing as their bodies succumbed to trauma.
Kian hopped into the lead PDF truck and looked at Parson. "Move out. We're heading to the vent. I have the medical tithe ready."
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