Shellshock

Shots rang and thumped the ground like the pitter–patter of tiny feet across the floor, my feet felt numb from the constant quakes of whizzbangs and Jack Johnsons pounding the ground. Around me, friends and brothers in arms fell as their insides were turned into their surroundings; they shouted and shots rang in my ears.

“We're going to go up the wall, run across No Mans Land and storm the German trenches! Understood?” The officer who had recently taken charge of my unit re–briefed. There was a form of silent agreement that passed over the bakers dozen of us. “When–” More like if, but that's not a very good word for morale. “–We get there, we're going to wait for reinforcements before spreading through the trenches and taking them all out.” He fumbled for his whistle, even the officer was nervous. A shiver willed its way down my spine. Or cold. He could be steel willed, but utterly freezing.

The world flashed and the smell of fresh decay blanketed over the trenches again as the boom caught up with the light, the haze of red mist and black smoke that followed stung my eyes. My hands trembled as they gripped the Lee–Enfield rifle tighter, “Ready!” The officer tried to yell over the sudden roar of war, but his voice sounded distant and whispered. I blinked repeatedly, my vision suddenly tinged red. I look up in time to see an impatient comrade fall back from the ladder, a hole in the back of his helmet.

I reached and accidentally rubbed mud across my face as I tried to wipe the blood out of my eyes, the mud stung them even more though. I brought my shoulder up and rubbed the bloodied mud away, replacing it with dried mud. Better in some way I supposed, I could at least see again. “Ready!” He repeated before grabbing one of my sobbing friends and shaking him around violently.

I heard the telltale noise of death, “Whizzbang!” A voice shouted before I threw myself down to the mud. Just a few dozen feet away the trenches exploded; rocks and bits of people smacked and rolled off my back; now buried underfoot. I felt warm air pierce the cold and wash over me, then immediately be replaced with cold as the officer yanked me up and pushed me back to the wall. “Don't think you're getting out of this, or I'll shoot you myself!”

He climbed on the second ladder first, everyone else stared at their fallen friend. Me included. “Ready!” He called one last time. He then blew on Death's whistle. “Go!” He yelled, “Go, go, go!” He climbed up and laid prone next to the ladder, pointing a pistol at any of us who dared delay climbing into No Mans Land. I followed another soldier up, but he fell backwards to the ground below on to the next in line, who cursed before throwing the body of his dead brother in arms to the ground in fearful disgust.

As I poked my head up and over the edge of the trench, bullets pinged the metal of several dead soldiers' helmets and thumped the ground in front of me, throwing dirt into my face. I closed my eyes as I threw myself over the ledge and rolled to my feet blindly. Then I ran. Deafening explosions blinded me temporarily, the shockwave slamming into me: nearly throwing me from my feet. I blinked the burned images of my friends being torn asunder away as I ran faster across the hundred yard stretch of death and metal rain.

The enemy trenches nearly within my grasp, I continued on faster, my legs aching under the weight of my equipment and from running. Nearly three yards from the trench I jumped and slid across the mud to the edge before falling into the trench, my gun accidentally left on the ledge.

A trench full of British soldiers; I laughed.