The following is a work of historical fiction. The events and horrors surrounding this story are real, but the characters and their achievements are not.
May we honor all those who gave the ultimate sacrifice.
Jean strolled through camp with purpose. His face plastered with the same cold, emotionless, scowl he’d worn since before he was a teen. Bodies moved out of the way as they saw him approach, assuming he was on business. As a Soldat 2.eme, there was no business.
Off to his side, a soldier called out “Morning Ft. Jean!” Being from a man in his regiment, he nodded an acknowledgment but never once dropped his scowl. The nickname ‘Ft. Jean’ was given to him during basic by his fellow enlistees as a joke that had followed him all the way to the trenches. They’d said ‘the only thing more impenetrable than Ft. Jean, is Verdun’, at least before the German’s started taking it back in February.
Jean’s destination was the mess hall, ready to receive his rations before he could try enjoying his couple days reprieve from the front. Normally, nothing caught his attention as he walked through camp but today something, or more specifically someone, did.
He was a slightly shorter and less built man than Jean, though his muscles were well defined. Shirtless, his sun-kissed skin seemed to radiate. His back was to Jean, as he talked to some fellow soldiers, giving Jean an ample view of the delicate curve of his back making way to a round and perky butt. The man then turned towards Jean, catching his eye. Jean realized he was staring, and his face began to blush. Turning his gaze down, Jean tried to blend into the crowed and move away.
Continue reading “Through Fire and Chlorine”
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