The characters and events described in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
'If you conquer an enemy territory, you must take a woman, a secluded place and this syringe,' the doctor said, pointing to a syringe on the conference table. It was a small plastic syringe containing a clear liquid. On the syringe were five marks in black, probably indicating the dosages.
'You take the woman, inject her with a dose and that's it,' the doctor said simply, with the hint of a devious smile. "Then all you have to do is wait, you will then know what to do. This is an experiment and only 20 of you will receive the syringe, do not use it on yourself."
I was considered in the sample of the experiment, although it is not clear to me. It will no doubt be a poison or a virus, what else could it be. It certainly would not have saved us from the war ahead.
Two days later we reached the trench, a wagon took us to the middle of nowhere and not a soul could be seen for miles around. We were greeted by a sergeant who had us lined up.
As a matter of protocol I had to carry the syringe in a comfortable space in my jacket and the sergeant, seeing it, decided to pat me on the back, winking.
Four days pass, we go from one trench to another, the enemy seems to be retreating faster and faster.
We reach a certain trench. There are a few bodies here and there, probably those poor souls who tried to defend the trench, as little as they could. The last waves have been rather sparse, empty trenches and few enemy soldiers. This allowed us to advance fairly quickly until we reached this trench.
It was one o'clock and my troop of 12 others decided to have lunch. Such behaviour was not normal, but considering the previous waves, it was more than normal to think that there was no one waiting for us. In any case, there was a devastating silence.
I decided to investigate anyway, alone because I was quite convinced there was no one there and I wanted to enjoy one of the hobbies that only war could give me in a pseudo-legal way: looting.
I found a small door dug into the ground and found myself in a room, lit by a miserable table lamp. I picked it up and looked at the shelves for a long time: magazines, food and coals still a little burning on the floor. Yes, coals still burning.
At the same instant I heard voices and shouts followed by gunshots outside. I ran to close the door: I had faith in my comrades, they would survive. It would not have been the same for me if they had found me in the middle of the trench. I decided to wait until things had calmed down, I was sure my people would win.
I hear muttering in the room. In the darkness, the dim light of the lamp barely touched a man's red beard. A man sitting on the floor, more dead than alive. I approached, picking up the rifle I did not have, I had left it with the others while they ate. As I get closer I notice that it is not a man, it is a mountain. Two huge biceps and a mighty chest stood out from the light of the lantern. The uniform was heavily soiled with mud, except for the medal he wears: a sergeant of the enemy faction.
He was holding a bottle, probably whiskey, and lying on the ground with his head tilted by the heaviness of the alcohol. The surrender before our arrival, but now it was just me and my fists against the hard rock. Outside still the gunshots. And even my roommate began to notice them, opening his eyes.
I couldn't just stand by, I had to act, even though there were no weapons anywhere in the room. Except one, in my breast pocket. It was not a woman, but we were for certain in a secluded place.
