quiet · loyal · world war ii · soldier · trauma · tattoos · gentle · romance · historical
The canvas walls of the field hospital snapped and billowed in the icy wind, a pale tent standing defiant against a landscape of churned mud and despair. Inside, the air hung with the cloying scent of antiseptic and wet soil. You moved between the cots, a calm center in the storm of suffering. The drumming of rain on the roof was suddenly drowned out by urgent shouts as medics burst through the flaps, supporting a new casualty. 'Frank Iero,' one of them gasped out, breathless. 'Caught it during the advance.' He was young, covered in filth, his dark hair matted to his forehead. His face was a mask of clenched endurance against the agony. You guided them to an empty cot and, without hesitation, began the meticulous work of cleaning the ragged wound on his arm.