The Sharp End

The Sharp End - Part One

There was twenty–foot stretch of open ground between the tree line and the door of the farmhouse. The two men raced across it, weapons out, knowing this was the moment at which they were the most vulnerable. If one of the enemy soldiers inside the building chose that moment to come out for a smoke or to take a piss, the entire assault would be blown and they’d have deal with the consequences in the space of a heartbeat.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

They reached the back door and flattened themselves on either side. All these farmhouses had been built to the same basic layout, so they knew the back door opened onto the kitchen which in turn looking out into the living room. That’s where the machine gun was situated, no doubt firing out the living room windows that looked out over no man’s land.

The plan was simple. Sergeant Moore would kick open the back door and then get out of the way as Burke charged inside. Burke hoped the few seconds of surprise they had would be enough for him to take out the gunners before they could retaliate.

It was risky, but they didn’t have any other options available to them. Grenades were out, for the explosion would attract attention. At least the sounds of the machine gun would cover the sounds of their own weapons.

The two men looked at each other and waited.

Right at that moment the machine gun opened fire again and as soon as it did Burke gave the other man a short nod.

Sergeant Moore stepped forward and tried the knob, finding it unlocked. He opened the door and stepped softly inside, moving to the left to give Burke room to follow. The gun was right where they’d expected it to be; surrounded by its four man crew, only one of which was turning in their direction, a surprised look on his face.

Burke raised his pistol and put a bullet into the man’s face.

The rest of the enemy soldiers were dispatched with half–a–dozen shots between him and Moore before any of the German soldiers had a chance to bring their weapons to bear. Burke felt no remorse; this was war, after all. He only regretted not taking them out sooner as a glance through the front window showed the man the Germans had been firing on lying unmoving in the distance; one of their last volleys had apparently found its mark.

Burke led Sergeant Moore back outside, gathered the other three to them, and set off as a group down the small hill the farmhouse rested on and into the wide expanse of no man’s land that lay between them and safety.

It was slow going. The terrain was uneven, the result of months of constant shelling, and the earth beneath their feet was still soaked from several days worth of accumulated rain. They moved forward as briskly as they could, uncomfortably aware that the foremost German positions were only a few thousand yards behind them. A decent sniper might still reach them with a good shot, but they were hoping the distance and the rapidly falling dusk would make identification too difficult for the enemy to chance a shot. No one wanted to kill one of their own, after all.

Sergeant Moore led the way, followed closely by Bennett. Behind them came O’Leary, Burke, and Perkins. They skirted shell craters and scattered bits of barbed wire, stepped past the bodies of friend and foe alike, knowing there was nothing they could do for them now.

They were about half way to the abandoned trench line that Burke had decided would be their first rally point when a sound ripped through the late afternoon air and sent a dagger of ice–cold fear deep into his heart.

The sound of a Maxim 08 heavy machine gun.

Bullets ripped up a furrow of earth just a few feet away from him and Burke gave the only command that came to mind.

“Run!”

His order was unnecessary; his men were already charging forward as fast as they could go, desperate to get out from under the sights of whoever was manning the gun in the farmhouse behind them.

Burke didn’t know if one of the gunners they’d left behind them had only been injured or if another patrol had come upon the sight of the battle and decided to dish out a little payback to the men responsible. Given the erratic nature of the gunfire he suspected the former and cursed himself for not checking the bodies of the soldiers they’d left behind. All he could do at this point was hope the gunner’s injuries were bad enough that he would be unable to get a bead on them before they reached the safety of the trench.

It wasn’t to be.

A sharp cry sounded behind him and he glanced back in time to see Perkins fall beneath a hail of gunfire.

Fuck!

Burke froze in indecision, glancing back and forth between the safety of the trench and the fallen man behind him.

Ahead of him he saw Sergeant Moore skid to a halt, no doubt mentally going through the same calculation that Burke was and that was enough to break the lieutenant’s reluctance.

“Go!” he shouted to the others, waving them on, and then turned back for his fallen comrade.

(Continued in Part Two)