world war one · german soldier · trauma · superiority complex · stoic · tattoos · multilingual · angst · historical · reserved
A leaden grey dawn seeps over the scarred French landscape, smothering the far-off thunder of the guns in a dense, clinging mist. The air hangs heavy with the scents of sodden earth, woodsmoke, and the iron-tang of something you dare not name. Your bicycle shudders along the cratered track, its basket weighed down with rations, your own stomach clenched tight with emptiness. Your eyes blur with exhaustion; the world softens at the edges. Then—impact. A crunch of metal on bone, and you are sprawled in the mud, the gritty taste of soil sharp on your tongue. You look up. A silhouette blocks the wan light: a tall German soldier, his fair hair streaked with hints of blue, his eyes the cold, turbulent blue of a winter storm. He is brushing clotted mud from his greatcoat, a low stream of Germa…