Riga Cassino
Riga manned a big gun. She scrabbled in the dirt. The dirt was scalded. It was damaged like the girl. Scalded by multiple explosions. She sat resting on her hands. The expended explosives and burnt soil irritated her hands. Multiple artillery explosions had done that. Cordite hung in the air. It reeked and indirectly reminded her of death and of her father. A direct reminder was the broken soldiers before her gun position. The ground sloped downwards. A detritus of war littered it. Riga was in charge of a 105. She could just about lift the heavy shell. Her gunners did this for her but she was trained on all aspects of the job. Including the hungry breech with the big bullet. Empty cases were everywhere. The brass slightly blackened by firing. The shells had long gone down range. Killing wounding blasting destroying. Her crew targeted enemy troops guns and supply lines. They did the same and both sides achieved successes. They were all near the monastery. It was like the Moon now. Craters everywhere. As was death and war. The battle was hungry for dead. Imagine all the soldiers in all the armies that ever existed being sent here. All to be killed or maimed. Satan would be happy. How many shells would Riga and her crew fire? An infinite amount! Right now the Germans were massing for an attack. She had to be ready. She stood up from the burnt earth and rubbed the dirt from her hands. They were small hands hardly made for war or lofting shells. She looked about and composed her thoughts. Riga barked some orders. Her crew stirred and got ready. Much was to be done. How would they be after this? This holy monastery would decide the battle for Italy. Thousand had already been killed here. How many more would follow them? This wasn’t a place for a gal. Never mind the leader of an artillery position. A job needed doing and a war winning…
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