His last remembrance of shipping out suited his current mood. Dark clouds hovering over the harbor. Lady Liberty not even turning to wave goodbye and wish him safe home.
Now, hunkered down in the trench, knee-deep in mud and lice, feet perpetually wet and frozen, he wondered where was the glory of this great war?
“With the generals, miles back from the front, toasty in front of some farm house hearth,” his trench-mate replied. “For them, war will always be a glorious sport.”
That Jack had been dead for hours made little difference since he surely spoke the truth.
Some historical musings for Rachel’s Friday Fictioneers, May 21, 2021
PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda