The Sharp Affair

Chapter One – Naked in the Ooze

H.E.s  crashed in some demonic, discorded symphony. His nose filled with chlorine, cordite and corruption. Terror rose in his gorge. He gasped, inhaled water and burst coughing through the surface of the water.
Sharp floated on his back, the warm water of the Cataraqui, soothing the skin. The pressure on his body, relieved the arching bursts of pain from his sides as his kidneys protested his existence. He knew they thought it was the alcohol. He could only think that his body, never really robust, had been attacked when he was gassed and buried by the H.E.s explosion. The medical board admitted that intense physical trauma could shut down and damage kidney and liver. Probably didn’t matter how. What mattered now was the time he had left.

He swam to the river side. Reeds and other vegetation edged the bank. He waded through the soup in which they grew, and walked the short distance to where his uniform was neatly folded in a pile. The warm August evening air played against his body and he sighed with the wholesome pleasure of it all. Reaching his uniform and the small bag beside it, he picked up the forage cap that sat on top. He polished an imaginary fleck of dust off the silver 21 on the badge and placed it carefully on top of the uniform. Drying on a small towel, he folded it and placed it beside the uniform on the grass. Opening the bag, he quickly put on his underwear, a white shirt with a celluloid collar, tied the slim tie and put on the pants. Before slipping on the jacket, he tucked the Mauser into a holster under his left arm, put on a white Havana Panama. Picking up the bag, he started to walk toward the Grand Trunk station.