A Moment With You.

3

I woke up in an infirmary, alone and confused. Beside me there sat a man named 'John T. Hannoc', a soldier, young as myself, a year older if anything. A book in hand, smiling to himself. Hell hath no mercy for those who survived, it seemed. We were left alive, forever dreading whoever was lost in the attack.

"You're finally awake, huh," John said.

"Wher- ... Where am I?" I replied back with a hoarse voice.

"The infirmary. Couple'o hundreds away from central Paris. You got moved after we came in to back you guys up from the heavy fire you were enduring," John replied back, cross-legged, eyes looking up and away from the book as he closed it.

"B- ... Wait! What of Harrolds?! WHERE'S HARROLDS!" I shouted at him as I latched onto the collar of his white shirt and brought him closer.

"Anthony Harrolds? Yeah, he's alright. He's over there. Tough luck, though. You got away unharmed, he didn't." John replied back as he pointed towards another bed in the infirmary. There laid Harrolds, missing an eye with a bandage over one of his eyes. God had no mercy on any of us.

"What happened? I don't ... I don't remember anything after I-" I got cut off as John put his hand across my shoulder and just shook his head slightly, noting that I should just rest.

"You killed someone. It's okay, Williams. Not every soldier can handle taking a life. Seems like you're one of them ..." He sighed as he looked away from me and out towards the window of the infirmary. "And you got ambushed when you entered the city. Half the garrison's lost. You surviving lot are all that remains."

"I- ... I shot him. I ..." I stopped as I looked at my hands, they were shaking, I was shaking.

"Welcome to war, soldier. One hell of a bloodbath for nothing," John stated as he stood up, "When you can, get dressed." He noted.

"Who're you?" I asked.

"John. John T. Hannoc. I served in the 47th, the back-up unit that saved you all," He replied.

"Served?" I asked.

"Ah. Right. You, me, Harrolds, and a few others have been discharged. The casualties were too many, and the politicians have grown sick of the food shortage and slaughter cross-continent," John replied back.

"So we're set to be reintegrated?" I asked.

"Well, wouldn't call it reintegration. Put it to you like this: There's about a million soldiers already dead, probably more. People are starving, the Germans aren't doing us any better either with the forefront. So count your lucky stars," He said, "Now get dressed, will you? There's something I want to show you."

I eventually took some time to rest, and then got dressed afterwards. I followed him and looked around  while putting on the shirt he had left for me. Apparently, he had left clothes for everyone, out-of-pocket.

"Will Harrolds be okay?" I asked while walking through the busy infirmary, nurses that passed through and some bumped slightly into me. There were men who were blinded, some on their last leg, others still alive. All in all, the war had devastated us all, and left no man the wiser. John looked at me as we walked through busy hallways of the infirmary where the rays of the sun came through the somewhat dusty glass windows.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked him while I looked around.

"Outside. You've been asleep for weeks now. Barely a word, other than your nightmares and constant moans of discomfort. You were found under debris, filled with scratches, cuts and all sorts of injuries. But, lucky for you, you walked out of it pretty much spotless, other than a few scars. But your unit had already been malnourished and pressured heavily for weeks, if not, months. That no-man's land was a tough one to survive in, and frankly, I'm amazed any of you even managed to escape and get into the city where the heavy strikes were going down. Who led your unit?" He looked back and asked.