Round 1.1 prompt from Multigenre Mashup Flash Fiction Smackdown, July 2023: Write a story inspired by the images below. Genre: Military Fiction with Romance.

[Author's Note: Military Fiction is typically written from a soldier's point of view, but with no military experience, I felt unqualified to write in the genre. So, I wrote this story from a non-soldier character's perspective.]

Story word count = 1375

For months, war rumbled like distant thunder, close enough to be unnerving, but never quite reaching our beautiful little town. Still, many fled, but this was my lifelong home and I was stubborn, so I stayed.

The invaders had swept into our little country like an infestation, leaving death and desolation in their wake. Why? I did not know. When other nations came to our defense, we became the epicenter of a global geopolitical conflict, but all that had little meaning for me.

The threat of war emboldened me to approach Ana, the friendly widow who managed the town's library. With shoulder-length silver hair never colored, laugh-lines unconcealed, placid amber eyes, and a cheerful, welcoming manner — everything about her was refreshingly genuine. She always lifted my spirit. Like her, I lost my long-time spouse years ago.

"Are you asking me on a date?" she replied to my fumbling request, loud enough for others to overhear.

"Well, umm..." I stammered as my cheeks reddened. "Yes. May I fix you dinner? I make a wonderful moussaka."

The smile that rose on her gentle face warmed the depths of my heart, "In that case, Josif, I accept. If but only for good moussaka."

I tried my best to impress — fine wine, flowers, crisp white linen, soft music, and, of course, moussaka. I even trimmed my bushy gray mustache and wore my best shirt. To my relief, the date went wonderfully well.

That is, until the first artillery shell struck.

The thunderous blast shook my entire house, rattling dishes in the cupboard. Then another came closer still, the percussion shattering the front window and compelling us to the floor among the spilled wine. Ana cried out while covering her ears.

"Come," I implored, offering my hand.

Like many of the old row houses near the town center, I had a small root cellar beneath the pantry. While normally used for miscellaneous storage, today it became a bomb shelter. Grabbing a flashlight, I lifted the wooden trap door and helped Ana down the creaky steps. Heart pounding, I embraced her in the damp musty darkness as the artillery barrage continued, shaking dust from the old wooden shelves. We flinched with each blast.

Then came an eerie silence.

Decades ago, I served in the army and still had my rifle, although never fired in battle. Taking the M1 Carbine from a dusty sleeve, I slid in a clip. "Stay here," I instructed Ana.

Her eyes widened. "Josif, no. Please don't go out there."

"Don't worry. I'm not looking for a fight," I assured her, but then my voice took a firm tone. "But if they threaten us..."

The gap between us closed as Ana rushed in, grabbing fist-fulls of my shirt and pressing her lips against mine with unexpected boldness. I pulled her tight against me. The kiss lingered, conveying a sweet passion I had believed lost forever to me.

Eventually, Ana broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against my shoulder. "Be careful," she whispered.

I grinned. "For the promise of another kiss, I shall."

"Only if you behave," she replied with a hint of amusement.

I crept up the old steps and cracked open the trapdoor. Satisfied that the way was clear, I made my way to the broken front window and peered outside toward the town center square. The fading evening light provided just enough illumination.

Two shots rang out. As I crouched, ten invaders in green uniforms carrying assault rifles sprinted down the street. Then they ducked behind a rock garden wall surrounding the town pavilion, holding there.

Ten minutes later, foreign soldiers in full tactical gear and wearing blue UN armbands, crept along both sides of the street. My breath hitched as I froze. From past training, I knew urban combat was the most dangerous kind of warfare — and these soldiers were walking into a trap.

Laying down my rifle, I stepped through the broken window frame with my hands raised, catching the eyes of a nearby sergeant. He snapped his rifle up toward me, but then lowered it. I did not speak their language, so instead, I used military close range engagement hand signals to communicate the danger they faced. I hoped I remembered it all correctly.

A palm thrust forward meant halt.

Circling my thumb and fingers into a zero shape meant ten.

Fingers to my left forearm meant enemy — I hoped.

I pointed at a garden wall down the street where the enemy hid, then flicked a forefinger twice, meaning two-hundred meters, by my estimation.

The sergeant formed his thumb and forefinger into a circle with the other three fingers extended, meaning he understood, and then dipped his head in thanks. Wordless communication completed, I withdrew into my house as the sergeant twirled an uplifted finger, urging his men to gather round.

"What is happening?" Ana asked while I descended into the cellar.

"There are soldiers here," I answered. "The battle is not yet over."

As if to confirm my assessment, a flurry of gunshots rang out, followed by an explosion, but becoming muffled as I lowered the overhead trap door.

We spent the night in the damp cellar. I sat on the floor while leaning against the back wall while Ana leaned her head against my shoulder, and I wrapped a protective arm around her. We didn't get much sleep.

Morning came in silence. Could the battle be over? After waking Ana, we crept from the cellar.

A crooked grin formed on Ana's lips. "My dear Josif, that has to be the worst date I have ever endured." Then she leaned up to kiss my cheek. "But I am happy to have spent it with you."

Warmth spread from her lip's tender touch, bringing a smile to my old face. But when I shoved open the stuck front door with a shoulder, all pleasantness fell away and my gut twisted.

"Oh, my God..." Ana muttered, gasping, putting words to my shock.

Our peaceful town laid in ruin, defiled by war. Most buildings were badly broken or converted into rubble heaps. Bullet holes pocked walls still left standing. Only three fractured walls remained of the historic church at the town center, spires toppled and stain glass windows shattered. Acrid smoke stung my throat. And in the distance, mournful wails cut to my heart. Despair overtook me, and my breath became rapid and shallow.

But then, Ana squeezed my hand and tilted her head to the East. Caring little of the follies of men, the sun peeked over the horizon and painting high clouds with brilliant oranges set against an indigo sky. The half-dead pine tree in my front garden still stood in defiant witness. Ana put her hand against it, taking solace from its survival, and I covered her hand with mine.

Another flash of color caught my eye. In my trampled flowerbed, a single bright-red lily stood tall, daring to show its colors. I reached down and plucked a single flower, giving it to Ana. "Despite all this ugliness, there is still beauty," I said.

A smile brightened her face as she brought the flower to her nose and inhaled. "Beauty always exists, Josif, even among ugliness if we would but see." With a sigh, she again surveyed the devastation, but her eyes stopped at the library building, which appeared miraculously unscathed. She tugged at my hand. "There will be many wounded and homeless. The library shall provide shelter."

While striding toward the library, we passed a dingy alcove beside a damaged shop. Within the shadows, two soldiers in full tactical gear and night-vision goggles, with assault rifles in their laps, slumped back on a worn van seat. One snored. They must be exhausted after a night of battle. The other, the sergeant I met earlier, lifted a hand to give me an informal salute.

A lightness came to my heart and I saluted in return. As Ana and I turned away, I remarked, "These soldiers came from lands far away, yet they fought for us."

Ana spun around back to the sergeant, cautiously approaching to offer the red flower. With a weary smile, he accepted it.

"Beauty once found," Ana said as we walked away, hand in hand, "should be shared."