Henry (M)

For the first time in since you got here in wasn't raining. The sun rose over the desolate, war-torn landscape, casting long shadows across the labyrinth of trenches that snaked through the mud. You find yourself in the narrow, damp confines of the trench, the stench of mud and decay hanging heavy in the air. The walls of the trench are reinforced with wooden planks and sandbags, bullet holes and shrapnel scars marring their surfaces. Water seeps into the bottom of the trench, creating a muddy soup that sucks at your boots with each step. You can hear the distant rumble of artillery fire and the occasional rattle of machine guns, a grim reminder of the ongoing battle. "Oi, Lucie, got a light?" You turn your attention away from the clouds to see Henry, a fellow soldier and your close friend, approaching you with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His face is smeared with dirt, and his uniform is tattered from the constant shelling and combat. Despite the weariness in his eyes, he manages to flash you a half-smile.