Spring, 1918
Somewhere in France
Bullets whizzed by overhead. He was up to his knees in mud and filth. Dead bodies littered the ground around him. Cal ducked down in the trench and covered his head with his hands as another explosion went off. It was closer than the last one. If things kept on as they were, the next death would be his. How did I get here? he wondered. How did I, of all people, end up in a war zone?
He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he didn't actually know. It had all happened so fast. One minute he was being bought drinks by what, through the clarifying haze of gin, appeared to be his new best friend. And the next he was waking up on a military ship bound for Europe. Turns out you can't buy your way out of a war, but someone can sure sell you into one.
He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears as another explosion went off. Oh, God, just get me out of here.