In the command vehicle, the piercing alarm had stopped, but the tension remained, thick like it was frozen.
The eerie blue screen light illuminated the sweaty, pallid faces of the staff officers.
A burnt machine smell, sweat stench, and an overwhelming feeling called "loss of control" permeated the air.
Brigadier Lumar stood stabbed at the huge tactical screen, his face appeared dark under the blue glow.
On the screen, representing the highland at the right-wing gray rocks, the red alert signals of fierce battle were flickering madly, merging into a blinding sea of blood, glaring amidst the pitch black.
The radio was chaotic like a market, with calls and reports from various direction units, the staff officers hurriedly and rapidly reporting casualty numbers and ammunition consumption.
Each cold digit felt like a small hammer, pounding on Lumar's seemingly taut nerves.
