The battle to the other side

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wanted to try a few war stories. This is part one of battle to the other side.

Submitted: August 15, 2012

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Submitted: August 15, 2012

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My first waking thought: God save me today. It is the same every day; it has been since I was forced into this war. I suppose Father was only trying to help save our country. I was excited at first: now I dread every day. I sleep only a few hours every night, only when I physically need to. This war is like a form of torture, and I have just about cracked. My day starts with the sound of gunfire: another life lost to this tragedy. I usually cannot stomach breakfast so I start the first shift. I keep a lookout for any German soldiers in No-Man’s-Land. After three hours, one of my fellow soldiers comes out to "assist" me. He just wants to get away from our commanding officer. Brutal, bloodthirsty, berating, officer Kempt makes sure we run smoothly and efficiently, if such luxuries were possible. Dread of imminent death has seeped into our trench as much as the water and mud from No-Man’s-Land. Every day, thousands of people die for absolutely no reason whatsoever and we all know that the very same will happen to us. Our rifles are no match for the German machine-guns. We will die in this war. I just hope it happens sooner rather than later. This morning, I woke up to the news that a Tommy from the trench beside ours has been shot for deserting the trench. It is now just after ten on the clock and the German guns have been going since seven this morning. Someone from Base had the idea to send a few planes over in the middle of the night to try to use the element of surprise, but it appears that they never sleep. Apparently, six or seven Germans were killed. Then they got the planes down and killed the pilots.

It has now reached thirty minutes past the hour of eleven and our commanding officer is taking a phone call from Base. I have a feeling that it will not be good news. I look over to see if I can read his facial expression and, alas! He looks almost upset. For a man with a face you could normally use as an ironing board, this was an enormous display of emotion. It must be bad.

As I watch, he puts the phone down and takes a deep inward breath. I count five seconds until he lets the trapped air out in a gust. I am beginning to fear the worst.

"Attention!" the call comes from him, his mouth is forming the syllables, but his eyes are not portraying any emotion. Normally, they show anger, hate, joy or any other emotion he might feel. Now, they are just empty, devoid of any real emotions. The others come into the cramped bunkroom and stand to attention, as I do also.

"We have just been given orders from Base to go Over The Top in exactly five minutes", he barks. Five minutes, five minutes left to live. Five minutes before we go over the top and over to the other side...


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