A story for Flash Friday vol. 2-13. Update: Winner!
“War is Hell,” the barmaid reminded him, placing a mug of pale lager before him.
Until now, Colonel Boniface had never understood the sentiment. He lived for battle! Primping for the mirror in his dress blues. Saluting his men as they charged bravely past him, into the fray. And how the ladies loved an officer! (War widows needed comfort, too.)
And his Angelique, ever faithful, waiting at home.
Boniface regretted nothing, until that bullet found his brain.
“Vive la mort,” was the motto painted across this tavern’s wall. Time had no meaning here. Golden Horde, Napoleonic infantrymen, soldiers from conflicts past and future, all passed through. Some were heading home. Others…
“Angelique… I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The barmaid’s dress twirled as she turned away, head held high, cradling a dozen empty beer steins. Outside the tavern, a bugler played his muster call.
Boniface drank his beer — a final comfort — and looked to the door with dread.