Dawn crept over the jungle in shades of ash and copper.
Steam lifted from the ruined trees, rising like the ghosts of men who hadn't yet realized they were dead.
Erich stood just outside his armored command vehicle.
one boot planted in mud that reached to the ankle.
Around him, the battalion stirred back to life.
Mechanics moved between the hulks in wordless rhythm, wiping carbon from barrels, checking cooling coils, dragging spent shell casings into heaps that glittered like brass altars.
None of them spoke louder than necessary. They didn't need to. Everyone understood what they'd done in the night.
Across the valley, smoke hung low over what had been an American armored division.
Tracks twisted like broken ribs, steel hulks half-submerged in mud and flame.
Erich took the binoculars from his neck and swept the horizon.
Nothing moved but birds. He lowered the lenses and exhaled through his teeth.
"Report the line secure," he said quietly.
