The aid station was a mess, a mix of helmets, weapons, boots, and torn uniforms all strewn about. The canvas tent was torn in several places with some parts flapping in the gentle breeze. Even Marc noticed the stench of death and wondered if the ghouls made regular appearances.
A short distance away there were fourteen soldiers lined up on stretchers. Alas, these men would never stand up let alone fight another day. Given a recent push they must have run out of blankets, as only a third were covered.
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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