One of the dangers of the modern mechanized battlefield are how the war machines we build become consumed with psychic energies and twist into unearthly shapes.
Animals like horses, mules, etc. are able to process the horror by becoming traumatized instead, processing the horrors biologically by pretending to be wounded and developing nervous disorders. Us living beings were recklessly born into this world, versus a tool like a cannon or a truck which was fabricated with a purpose. A motorcycle, a plane, a tank cannot receive the mercy of trauma, and therefore becomes overwhelmed beyond reality.
It’s not unusual to notice a burnt out APC on a battlefield has started smelling of cinnamon and sugar. The weeds around it transformed into visions of sunflowers by your grandmother’s house. The carbonized skeleton of a driver turns into your mom, young again, waving at you to come home, dinner is ready.
Inside are missing soldiers from both sides, delirious and emaciated with hunger. All they've eaten is stray grass and leftover brass and all they've drunk are rainwater puddles from the shell blasted holes in the hull. They mumble and play around it as if they're children again, they can't see you, not yet.
The sad truth is, it's safer to be around such places if there are others that have fallen prey to them. It's only when your trench becomes so familiar, the planks become soft as a bed, your helmet and plate carrier becomes comfortable like pajamas, that those lost soldiers can see you again, and you know you've been there too long.
