But, war is the sour smell of cordite, “smokeless gunpowder”, that refuses to leave your nostrils. The smell of blazing diesel fuel and rubber, the smell of metal melting from the unbearable heat. It is the early morning smell of field type latrine barrels being burned out my the '####-crew'...
It is the cloying sugary smell of burning ham fat. Human fat.
It is the smell of boot socks that have not been washed in a week. The stench of #### and piss from a latrine, used shyly at first, hiding behind a piece of plywood or a scrap of camouflage scrim, and later without a care for any decency.
War is the smell of a corpse decomposing in the intense sun, with dark-green rot and with eyes pecked out by the birds. It is the sight of a corpse, left lying at the foot of an elevation exposed to enemy fire, about whom no one gives a ####.
War is the smell of cheap cigarettes mixed in with fumes from homebrewed gut-rot after a wake in memory of the guys who did not come back after yesterday’s failed attack.
The smell of war is the scent of baked apples hanging from a charred apple tree near the ruins of a home where no one will ever live again. War smells like burned-to-the-root ripe ears of corn.
The smell of war is the gangrenous stench of field hospitals, the smell of bloodied bandages for which the funny replacement from yesterday’s transfer no longer has any use. He died from a jagged piece of shrapnel to the stomach…
And wafting above all this—the aromas of expensive cologne and cigars in the office of a politician turning a profit “for the war”. The incomparable scent of ink on freshly-printed banknotes…
NOTE: Few changes of terms-author unknown....JW


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