Family

The morning at the barracks was full of monotonous rustle of paperwork, the scratch of pens against paper, and the occasional sigh of frustration or maybe not so occasional but full blown frustration.

Moreau sat at his desk, his sleeves rolled up, flipping through reports that needed to be signed, stamped, and sent to the proper channels.

Across from him, Renaud groaned loudly, rubbing his face as he leaned back in his chair.

"Merde, Moreau. How is it that we survive gunfights, betrayals, and military purges, yet I still think this might be what kills me?"

Moreau smirked, signing another document. "Paperwork is the real war, my friend."

"Then I surrender," Renaud grumbled, dropping his pen. "Court-martial me, strip me of my rank...I don't care. Just get me away from this damned desk."

Before Moreau could respond, a knock came at the door.

A young corporal stepped inside, standing at attention before handing Moreau a sealed envelope.