The last remnants of the sunset painted the thoroughly ravaged land on the north bank of the Dry Sand River.
Song Heping took a deep breath of the scorching, filthy air and couldn't help but cough violently a few times.
Glancing around at the group of militia who, like him, had escaped from the jaws of death, he calmly issued orders: "Take a headcount, gather all usable ammunition, water, and food. Treat the severely wounded first. Naxin, contact the rendezvous point, we need to evacuate immediately."
His orders pulled everyone back to reality from their dazed state.
The instinct to survive drove them to start moving mechanically.
They moved slowly, staggering, each bend as if it took all their strength. They silently removed unused magazines from their fallen comrades, picked up scattered weapons, found a few nearly empty canteens and some crushed rations.
The entire process was terrifyingly silent, except for the heavy breathing and the faint sounds of objects clashing.
