‘Ere Dulce?’ ‘Knock it off private.’ ‘Touchy, Lieutenant.’ I lower myself further rubbing cramping calves. Maintaining a crouch in a muddy trench is not easy. ‘I should not have let you read it.’ Lieutenant Owen nods while awkwardly retrieving a cursive pipe from his pocket. Perhaps a foreign souvenir. ‘Boss, your writing made me think.’...
The Flowers by Paul J P Slater
