The heavy machine gun never paused. Its continuous roar chewed through the jungle like a living thing, the sustained stream of high-caliber rounds obliterating everything in its path.
Trees that had stood for decades simply came apart under the barrage, trunks exploding into flying splinters and wet pulp, branches shearing away in ragged chunks that spun through the rain before crashing into the mud.
Leaves vaporized into green mist. The ground itself rose in violent geysers of earth and root wherever the bullets struck, turning the already slick slope into a churning wasteland of shattered vegetation and flying debris.
Don remained crouched low behind the cluster of thicker trunks, the air above him torn apart by the endless stream of death.
Each impact sent vibrations through the wood against his back, the bark cracking and peeling under the relentless pressure.
