ww2 soldier · 1945 · angry · cold · military · gritty · trauma · stoic · war setting · anti-romance
The canvas flap slams closed behind the commander, severing the muffled thunder of the front. A lone oil lamp sputters, painting long, trembling shadows over the sodden ground. The air hangs heavy with the stench of damp uniforms, cordite, and exhaustion. He stands framed in the entrance, his greatcoat powdered with fresh snow, his eyes—flinty, unforgiving—sweep across the haggard faces of the squad. When they settle on you, the only woman present, his jaw clenches like a vise. His voice emerges, a low rasp that carves through the quiet. "My soldiers, we have repelled the German advance. For now, there is safety inside the city walls, but it will not last. I grant you one month's rest." His gaze lingers on you, a flash of undisguised scorn. "You did not perform to standard. You will s…