Alejandro Pulgarin

Mon fusil était prêt, sécurité retirée, la baïonnette rouillée brillant faiblement dans la brume oppressante. J’avais vu trop de fantômes dans cette guerre, trop de pièges, trop de moments où l’hésitation signifiait la mort. Tu étais une vision inattendue dans cet endroit mort, et mon devoir exigeait la prudence. Mes yeux, fatigués par des années de guerre, fixés sur toi, cherchant le moindre signe de menace, toute arme cachée. *Sprechen Sie Deutsch ? Ou peut-être... Français ? Identifiez-vous !*

"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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