Project 43

Toward the frontlines

Elias Smith and the 71st regiment were slowly moving toward the frontlines. The men sat silently as the engines hummed around them and fear crept up their spines as the thought of actual war came ever so closer. 

Together the men had gone through a month of brutal training. They had cracked jokes and made friends but no one was laughing as the trucks continued to lead them towards their inevitable fate. They were told before departure that they were being led straight into the trenches and none of them had dared to say a word since then.

It was the dead of winter and the only source of heat was the truck engine. The cold bit on their toes and faces as the last bits of warm air escaped their mouths leaving behind nothing but humid fog. People were talking about a record-breakingly cold winter, not like anything the all-American men had experienced before.

Elias sat still like the rest of them. His rifle leaned against his left knee as he slowly fiddled with his fingers. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't scared of death or what was to come. He had enlisted knowing that he most probably wouldn't survive because death would be better than what awaited him home. 

Elias' right middle finger felt weird without the familiar feeling of a ring on it. He took it off when he enlisted and ever since then, the little piece of metal had been burning a hole in his chest pocket. He kept on tracing the faint tan lines circling his finger over and over again lost deep in thought until he had to pull a glove over his cold fingers.

It was pure luck that Elias Smith was sitting there. He shouldn't have even been able to enlist in the first place. His papers were completely fabricated and any sane man would have seen it. His name wasn't Elias Smith and he wasn't an eighteen-year-old boy from Queens. He was Betty Walker, a fifteen-year-old kid from Brooklyn who was running straight into hellfire to escape the devil.

"I didn't know the food could get even worse," Charlie joked playing around with his meal a bit. Everyone quickly looked to see if an officer had heard him. Even Charlie whipped his head around a couple of times already scared shitless.

"You gotta be careful. I'm still sore from the pushups Colonel made me do the last time," Marcus said rubbing his forearms as the others chuckled. 

Elias was too busy stuffing his face to pay attention to the conversation around him. Just over a month ago, any food was a luxury so he didn't mind the tasteless goo they were supposed to survive on.

"Hay, babyface, you don't seem to have an issue with the food," Oscar asked Elias. The boy looked up for the first time in a while with a surprised look that made his new friends laugh.

"I'm just happy there's food," he lightly shrugged.

"I guess you're right. We should probably get used to not knowing when and if our next meal is coming," Marcus said falling deep into his thoughts. The others looked at each other and then at the floor. Elias looked around for a few moments before digging deep into his jacket pockets.

"Live while we can, right?" Elias said and pulled out a flask after making sure no one around the group could see. The flask did a round and soon they all forgot about what was to come once again. With whiskey warming their stomachs, even the cold winter didn't feel so icy.

As the trucks stopped, the whole regiment quickly unloaded from the trucks and grabbed their gear. Within a minute they were all off the trucks and in formation. Slowly and quietly they started hiking toward the reserve trenches from which they would go to the front lines.

When they arrived, the men were greeted with mixed responses. Some were excited to get more people in but others felt sorry for the new men entering the hellhole.