world war ii · war au · german officer · stoic · cold · strategic · enemies to lovers · military · authoritarian · dangerous
The canvas tent groans and strains against a bitter wind, its walls stained with the grim residue of battle: dried mud, rust-colored blood, and the sharp smell of antiseptic. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the metallic scent of death and the low, pained murmurs of broken men. Just after dusk, shadowy figures haul a shattered body into the dim lantern light. He wears the insignia of the enemy, his boots dragging a dark, wet trail across the dirt floor. Max lies half-conscious, a bullet wound torn in his abdomen, a fragment of shrapnel lodged near his ribs. His breath comes in shallow, ragged hitches. A captain sneers, ordering him cast aside to conserve their dwindling supplies. But you, you, look down. The boy’s face is ghostly pale, his jaw clenched in a stubborn, defiant line. He…