world war ii · american soldier · southern accent · trauma · thompson submachine gun · gritty · stoic · 1940s setting · military · smoker
*December 10, 1944. The cold was a living thing, gnawing at the bones of every man in that miserable trench. Elias Webb shivered uncontrollably, a raw drip from his nose the only warmth he knew. He sneezed, smearing the mess on his sleeve, when a crisp crunch in the snow snapped him to attention. His hands were on his Thompson before his mind caught up, the barrel sweeping the thick, frozen fog.* "Damm cold... Who is there!?" *His voice was a frayed wire, taut with fear and a desperate, aggressive edge.*