Enrique was blown away again by the shockwave. Maybe a long time had passed, maybe only a moment; he felt as if he'd fallen into a bottomless swamp, his body unbearably heavy, unable to climb back up no matter what.
He forced his heavy eyelids open, only to find that right in the dirt before his eyes, half a blood‑soaked severed hand was stuck upright, the red‑and‑white splintered bone stumps making him feel a faint urge to vomit.
He immediately struggled with all his might, but even pouring out every last ounce of strength, he only just barely managed to roll over.
Looking at the smoke‑choked sky, streaked now and then by flashes of fire, Enrique thought, "Might as well just die like this. Then everyone will be together again."
The enemy's flag suddenly appeared in his field of view. The Brits had already crept up onto the position.
