CairAndros
August 16th, 2010, 03:32 PM
The murky rays of dawn broke over the stumps of destroyed trees and cratered land. The ethereal silence was broken by the mournful moans of the pipes punctuated by the shrill cries of the officers’ whistles. The ladders made dull sounds as they were placed against the parapet, ready for the first wave of men to climb.
As they climbed the ladders, the sounds of the pipes were drowned out by the thunderous booming of the artillery, followed by the heavy crump of the exploding shells. Throwing up great mounds of soil and muddy water that cascaded back to the ground, shimmering like diamonds in the weak light. The curtain of shells the men were hiding behind advanced, as did they, in long straight lines.
We heard the crackling of the German machine guns, followed by the squelching thud as bodies fell. I could imagine the raking fire of the guns sweeping along the lines of advancing soldiers, felling them as though they were crops before the scythe at harvest-time. My knuckles shone white as I grasped the handle of my Webley revolver, encased in its soft, leather case.
I was burning with anger, determined to strike the Germans a heavy blow and make them pay dearly for the temporary tenancy of their trenches, trenches that had been ours only a few long weeks ago. Now my heart quailed, all thoughts and illusions of glory gone from my head. Thoughts of marching into Berlin on a crisp, clear winter morning, of the German war machine lying crushed under the vanquishing heels of our victorious armies. The old image of Dulce et Decorum est, of war being glamorous and clean, fought with the rules of chivalry that were so often preached in the tales of old. These images lay shattered into a thousand bloody shards on the floors of the trenches and out in the blood soaked wilderness of No-Man’s-Land.
I placed my hands upon the rungs of the ladder and lifted my feet from the mud-caked duck-board. My ascent seemed to take an eternity but in reality it only took a few moments. I knew what awaited me when I reached the top. I knew what deadly fate awaited my men. I knew what bloody hell lay in store for I had been at Verdun when the Germans attacked. At the request of our French allies we had counter-attacked them. It had been a mad world of blood and guts. Brutality on a scale unimaginable, a fierce world of terrible hand-to-hand combat, men fighting, not for king and country but for their very survival, my mind flashed back to the German officer lying half-dead, propped up against the trench wall and the look of sheer shock as I plunged my bayonet deep into his chest. The fine red mist of blood red-rubies that issued from his mouth as his lungs were drowned in blood haunted my dreams and thoughts to this very moment.
I placed my foot on the parapet and the other onto the land of No-Man’s-Land. The sight that greeted me was terrible, mangled bodies of soldiers lying dead in the mud, bullet ridden casualties littering the landscape. Their cries lifting into a ghastly cacophony.
Unsteadily, I strode out onto the marshy, swampy ground of No-Man’s-Land, my booted feet sinking into the tortured earth. Each stride a monumental labour as I had to pull my feet from the mud’s glutinous grasp, the sounds of thousands of squelching feet adding to the already dreadful orchestration of the sounds of war.
With one hand I signalled to my men and they formed up into a straight line, rifles held at the hip. As I gazed along the line, the grim, determined looks set upon the faces of my men emboldened me. Giving me the courage to do the dreadful task that was asked of me, to lead those paragons of selfless sacrifice to the slaughter. I drew my pistol from its leather sheath.
As a knight of old I advanced in front of my men, my revolver held as my sword. We advanced straight into the lion’s jaws. The terrible roaring of the bullets as they whizzed past our heads stunned us. The beast reached out to ensnare us with its long, cold, iron fangs. The rotting stench of death hung heavy in the air. This would be the jaws of one lion that would be hard to escape from.
- This is the short story that I wrote and then adapted to make the opening chapter of the book I am writing :)
As they climbed the ladders, the sounds of the pipes were drowned out by the thunderous booming of the artillery, followed by the heavy crump of the exploding shells. Throwing up great mounds of soil and muddy water that cascaded back to the ground, shimmering like diamonds in the weak light. The curtain of shells the men were hiding behind advanced, as did they, in long straight lines.
We heard the crackling of the German machine guns, followed by the squelching thud as bodies fell. I could imagine the raking fire of the guns sweeping along the lines of advancing soldiers, felling them as though they were crops before the scythe at harvest-time. My knuckles shone white as I grasped the handle of my Webley revolver, encased in its soft, leather case.
I was burning with anger, determined to strike the Germans a heavy blow and make them pay dearly for the temporary tenancy of their trenches, trenches that had been ours only a few long weeks ago. Now my heart quailed, all thoughts and illusions of glory gone from my head. Thoughts of marching into Berlin on a crisp, clear winter morning, of the German war machine lying crushed under the vanquishing heels of our victorious armies. The old image of Dulce et Decorum est, of war being glamorous and clean, fought with the rules of chivalry that were so often preached in the tales of old. These images lay shattered into a thousand bloody shards on the floors of the trenches and out in the blood soaked wilderness of No-Man’s-Land.
I placed my hands upon the rungs of the ladder and lifted my feet from the mud-caked duck-board. My ascent seemed to take an eternity but in reality it only took a few moments. I knew what awaited me when I reached the top. I knew what deadly fate awaited my men. I knew what bloody hell lay in store for I had been at Verdun when the Germans attacked. At the request of our French allies we had counter-attacked them. It had been a mad world of blood and guts. Brutality on a scale unimaginable, a fierce world of terrible hand-to-hand combat, men fighting, not for king and country but for their very survival, my mind flashed back to the German officer lying half-dead, propped up against the trench wall and the look of sheer shock as I plunged my bayonet deep into his chest. The fine red mist of blood red-rubies that issued from his mouth as his lungs were drowned in blood haunted my dreams and thoughts to this very moment.
I placed my foot on the parapet and the other onto the land of No-Man’s-Land. The sight that greeted me was terrible, mangled bodies of soldiers lying dead in the mud, bullet ridden casualties littering the landscape. Their cries lifting into a ghastly cacophony.
Unsteadily, I strode out onto the marshy, swampy ground of No-Man’s-Land, my booted feet sinking into the tortured earth. Each stride a monumental labour as I had to pull my feet from the mud’s glutinous grasp, the sounds of thousands of squelching feet adding to the already dreadful orchestration of the sounds of war.
With one hand I signalled to my men and they formed up into a straight line, rifles held at the hip. As I gazed along the line, the grim, determined looks set upon the faces of my men emboldened me. Giving me the courage to do the dreadful task that was asked of me, to lead those paragons of selfless sacrifice to the slaughter. I drew my pistol from its leather sheath.
As a knight of old I advanced in front of my men, my revolver held as my sword. We advanced straight into the lion’s jaws. The terrible roaring of the bullets as they whizzed past our heads stunned us. The beast reached out to ensnare us with its long, cold, iron fangs. The rotting stench of death hung heavy in the air. This would be the jaws of one lion that would be hard to escape from.
- This is the short story that I wrote and then adapted to make the opening chapter of the book I am writing :)