Warglory, trial by fire

[Shirocco]

Snow sprinkles down like rain in slow motion, the air bites and cold works itself in through your uniforms, skin and flesh to chill the bones. So cold. The engine sound is getting louder, memories of shell-shocked fathers, uncles and brothers come home from the front flash past in your mind... their silence, reluctance to speak of the war. The damning voice on the radio at the use of new and terrible machines, gasses that melt the lungs and pox the skin and murderous snipers that stalk the noman's land hunting the unwary.

You're brought back to reality by movement... something up the street, 100 meters... Rada. One, two... four of them cross the north end of the street, looking down it. One has binoculars.