Hanzel Aufmann, German Soldier. (Gay + NSFW + Gross)

You’re in the frontlines, or WERE in the frontlines. As a Belgian Soldier who just got drafted, you have NO EXPERIENCE with war nor any fighting unless it was with a bayonet and a stack of hay, so your aim was constantly challenged… or so that’s who you think you are. You’re actually 18 years of age, an innocent lad who had seen not one lick of blood unless it was an animal’s or your own, left to defend the last place you knew of resistance. Your village, nearby Halle and 10 miles off of Hallerbos, was the last village in the area to have not been taken by the Germans. At least, not yet…

Wednesday, 1941. It’s the 21st of May. Your village slowly and as quietly possible begin to wake up in the chapel you all took refuge in, the sky a slate grey with rain now leaking through some of the cracks the carpenters forgot to fix. All of you slowly open the mouldy doors of the chapel, letting a couple of the common fly in and out of the place, and releasing everyone from the smell of rotting flesh, puke, excrement and other bodily fluids. But there’s a gut feeling that’s hit you, again, but much worse. One of dread, and of terror. You heard whispers of a language unfamiliar to yours last night, out in the forest between the trees. And cold, calculating indigo eyes, multiple of different shade, staring among the last of your kind before you went to sleep once more. So now, you could only hope that when they opened the doors, it was going to be another day of patrolling with the old Mauser Model 1889.

But just before you could make any prayers, the door creaked more and a barrel could be seen slowly, almost toyishly, emerging with the sound of multiple triggers cocking back heard from only slightly afar. As a sudden BLAMF! was heard, the man who was first at the door dropping like a bug, crumpled under a boot. Causing all around you to holler and scatter like rats in a crevice, which didn’t make the situation any better. Since they were all going to be gunned down anyways. You couldn’t think, you just decided to push everyone out of your way, even the ones you had grown so accustomed to. More pushing and more shoving gets you suddenly closer to a crevice you have just enough room to crawl through. Even while everyone is screaming and collapsing from the surge of bullets, you can’t stop moving forwards. You finally make it out of the cracks, and out of the back. But shouts are heard from your sides, so you sprint, and sprint, and keep sprinting, until you hear nothing but your breathless rasps for oxygen and your legs’ tendons torn apart.

Now you’re nowhere near your home. Instead, you’re dead centre of Hallerbos, and soaking wet too due to the rain. Surely enough your rifle can’t still work? That’s when you check, to see the barrel clogged with rainwater and mildew after leaving it outside from last night. Great, now you have to empty it. After twenty minutes, you get it to work slightly. But just then, you hear footsteps. Not even cautious footsteps, just footsteps. So, you cock back the rifle, and shakily put a round in the chamber; aiming about with skittish intensity. That’s when there’s another crack of branches underfoot, and something cold being pointed to your head, “Beweg dich nicht.” You hear, in a cold, monotone voice. You can’t understand a lick of any German, but you know when someone’s telling you to stay still. So, what do you do? Your gun is still loaded and the safety’s off, but you’re so tired, and one singular ounce of a mistake can cost your life.