1. There was the tremor of leaves, a rustle of bayonet grass parried the multihued calm of dawn's smeared light. "This is what we trained for," the captain said. We hunkered behind stacked bags of sand.
2. Filigreed shafts of light pierce the bullet perforated leaf canopy, bellowed yells punctuate the swirl and buffet of turbulent air: “Contact”, “2 O’Clock”, “Incoming”, “ "Moving”, “Reloading”, “Ammo”.
3. Fingers twitch, the grit of soil twisted through their grip; moon slashed carcasses glint, spent shells, Earth exhales a vermillion mist, rising, echoless, in this a cathedral of leaves.