“Do you remember that we are not supposed to be here?” my companion asked me from his perch in the trench.
“Don’t you think that I did not try to get away from fighting?”
“You didn’t try hard enough!” he growled turning away, “I smell fresh blood”
“Ours or Huns?” I asked just before a young soldier barely old enough to sign up walked past.
My companion sniffed the air like a dog, “Ours, looks like one of the flyboy just chewed up the earth.”
“Should have stuck with airships,” I said as I looked down the lines, “far safer.”