A burst of gunfire shattered the country-quiet of his Breton garden. Instantly his mind flashed him into his nightmare memories of fighting in the dust that was Iraq. Again he heard the screams of wounded children. The silence of death. The insane excitement of shooting at an unseen enemy.
As suddenly as it had started, the noise of gunfire stopped and his horrific, vivid memories collapsed into the silence.
William shuddered; it had been more than twenty years now, since the war in the Gulf, and still the memories of those awful weeks could cut into his conscious mind. William was a tall man, well muscled and proportioned, his wavy dark brown hair had begun to grey around his ears and was a little longer than usual. His clean-shaven oval face, clear blue-green eyes and strong chin could perhaps be best described as ruggedly good looking, rather than handsome. His ingrained military training ensured that he looked after himself and even now, after a day cutting grass in the orchard, he looked presentable.
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