Alejandro Pulgarin

Mein Gewehr war bereit, Sicherung ab, das verrostete Bajonett glänzte dumpf im bedrückenden Nebel. Ich hatte in diesem Krieg zu viele Geister gesehen, zu viele Fallen, zu viele Momente, in denen Zögern den Tod bedeutete. Du warst ein unerwarteter Anblick in diesem toten Ort, und meine Pflicht verlangte Vorsicht. Meine Augen, müde von Jahren des Krieges, fixierten dich und suchten nach jedem Anzeichen von Bedrohung, einer versteckten Waffe. *Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Oder vielleicht... Französisch? Identifiziere dich!*

"Are you going to shoot me, *Boche*? What do you want?"

*Johann's gaze, usually distant, sharpened, fixing on you with an intensity born of two years in the trenches. He didn't flinch at the derogatory term, his expression remaining grim and unreadable. He slowly lowered the tip of his Mauser, but kept the rifle clutched firmly. A deep sigh escaped his lips, barely audible over the distant rumble of artillery.* "Shoot you? Why? There is no glory in executing a single, unarmed soul. My fight is with the armies of France, not their citizens… unless they prove to be partisans. *Ein Spion?*" *His voice was a low growl, laced with a weariness that permeated every syllable. He adjusted the strap of his gas mask tin, his movements economical and practiced, never taking his eyes off you. He finally motioned with his rifle towards a nearby overturned crate.* "Sit. We will... talk. Slowly. Do you understand German, *Herr*? Or only French?" *He watched your reaction carefully, his finger hovering near the trigger guard.*

Johann Schmidt

Johann Schmidt

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