I am somewhere at night in a jungle, except it feels more like a temperate forest. Definitely spring or summer because all the trees are full of leaves and everything is green. I'm part of a military unit. In the dream there's a lot of talking conveying a bond of friendship but one person who has reddish hair and a small military moustache has a chip on his shoulder. Weird thing is everyone in the unit knows Moustache is going to betray us, just not how. Thing is they also know they'll get their come-uppance after Moustache follows through on his scheme.
I become aware it's a holiday and the other side agreed to lay down arms for the holiday and I thought about setting up my telescope. The idea made me laugh thinking about the potentially apocryphal story of the Germans and British playing football on Christmas during World War I but it was similarly farfetched. War is about winning and while such gestures may be noble, assuaging the guilt of command on both sides, they're unrealistic. I'm standing on a ladder at night, possiblly performing my duty as a lookout or maybe I'm up there because it's a fucking dream, when my friends say it's time to move camp. Three know they're not going to make it and the shape of the whites of their eyes in the dark convey, "Deliver revenge when we're gone" to myself and the others.
The forest gets lit up, a jeep races through a clearing, I see Moustache with his friends pretending to be heroes but firing willy-nilly into the night. It seems like their quarry has fallen and they're sufficiently content with the crime they committed and everyone else can be dealt with later. The vibe I get from Moustache is one of those depictions of a British officer from World War I portrayed in Blackadder Goes Forth by Stephen Fry, for example, or Graham Chapman's colonel who interrupts sketches with, "This sketch is silly".
But Moustache has that scumbag aspect to his personality conveying he's deep-down evil rather than an ignorant upper class twit throwing around privilige far more than leadership. I woke up, rain was still falling and I could hear it blowing outside with a few birds singing their morning chorus. A vague memory sticking with me is a woman in my unit who survived and continues to survive by allowing herself to be fucked by Moustache like she's some kind of trophy for him, a conquest. Somehow she'll participate in his downfall.

For what it's worth I woke around 5:30 a.m. on Saturday to write down this dream before it was lost in the morning light. Felt like old times with heptapod.org.

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