He coughed, spitting out the dirt from his mouth, and scrambled to his feet in a panic, clutching the diary that had fallen into the trench.
The shrill alarm finally rang out mournfully, but the bell sounded too late, as countless soldiers were reduced to ashes in their sleep.
And the ignited ammunition—
The sound of explosions crackled in the trench!
"Enemy attack!"
"Damn it! From which direction—"
"Forget the direction for now, just fuckin' hide—"
"Into the hole! Into the rat hole!"
Dickbin, disregarding the dirt in his mouth, sprinted frantically toward the rat hole, shouting loudly at those barracks not yet turned to ash.
His shouts saved a few lives nonetheless.
The soldiers from Laine Camp, suddenly awoken from their dreams, didn't even have time to put on shoes, scurrying madly through the sea of fire toward those filthy rat holes.
A rain of fire poured relentlessly from the sky, turning the hill newly planted with the Laine flag into a Purgatory once more.
