Herr Stick.
A tall, muscled soldier trudges through the thick forest. He wears a battered, khaki uniform with a metal cross at his throat and had slicked-back, blonde hair. Across his back, a pack and gun are slung haphazardly. His face is smudged with mud and in his hand he carries a leafless branch.
"Verdammt, those French are stronger than I expected." The man's voice is gruff and holds a strong Germanic accent.
"We need a plan of attack..." Here the man pauses and glances at his stick expectantly.
"Do you have any ideas, Herr Stick?"
The man holds up the branch near his ear and begins nodding as if listening to a voice.
"Mhmm... Not bad..." He murmurs in reply to the voiceless object.
"Let's have a break and look at the map."
Propping his pack up against a nearby tree, the man sits cross-legged, his gun across his legs and the branch leaning upright against the tree like a companion. Digging around in the open bag, he draws out a ration pack and a map. Rolling the map out, he places it on the ground in front of himself and smoothes out the ragged edges. He leans forward in concentration. Tracing the edge of one of the dark boundaries, he outlines the war zone. The man leans back, heaving a sigh as his shoulders hit the rough trunk of the oak. His cheeks darken with a blush as his stomach rumbles loudly.
"I suppose we should have stopped earlier. Ich bin sehr hungrig. You want to eat too, right, Herr Stick? I think I have some liver-wurst." As he spoke, the man grabbed the ration pack and begins splitting part of it into two piles. A larger one for himself and a smaller one for his 'sticky friend.'
As the man slowly nibbles on the rations he stares at the map blankly. The small piece of wurst placed in front of the stick, however, goes untouched. Minutes pass in silence, bar the quiet sounds of the man eating.
He looks at the branch.
"Aren't you hungry, Herr Stick? You do know that once we attack there won't be time for a break?" He pauses,
"That's if I can think of a plan..." He trails off, staring at the map again. Then begins to pack up the leftover rations and the battered map. With a heavy sigh he hefts the large pack and gun back over his shoulder and picks up the stick before continuing his trudge along the muddy track.
Hey. So this is the first of my one shots. There are more coming up once I am happy with them. The next with be about England.
Please send me feedback as to what you think of my writing, because improvement is always good. Also send me ideas for other oneshots.
Thanks for reading,
VineAuror