Niemand Zurückgelassen

[2] Nicht Erkennbar

A wave of English soldiers rushed into our trench. I grabbed my gun and loaded it as fast as I possibly could. My heart was racing so fast I thought I might die of a heart attack. Albert and Karl had their guns loaded and ready. They were already knocking down the men in high numbers. I felt an arm wrap around my neck. I let out a gasp and struggled to pull the arms from my neck.
"Bitte hilf mir!!" I managed to yell.
The grip around my neck was tightened with my plead for help. I flung myself around, trying everything I could to pry this man's hands from my neck. I reached for my belt, feeling around for my spade. I swung my arm around to the back of his head and knocked him down. I gasped for air and took off running in the opposite direction.
My heart raced as numerous shots were fired at me. I managed to find Albert and Karl, who were occupied with a fist fight. I felt a sudden and sharp pain in my arm. Looking down, I noticed that a bullet had managed to run past me and graze my arm as it went. I swung around and saw the man who had previously tried to kill me. His head was gushing out loads of blood, and he looked at me with rage. I ran forward and pinned him to the trench wall with my rifle. The man attempted to push me away with his feet. I reached for my spade once more and beat him across the face with it. His hands wrapped around my neck as I butchered his face with my shovel. Just then, a shot was fired and he was left lifeless, his hands letting go of me. I glanced behind me to see Karl. We gave each other a nod before he disappeared into the trenches once more.
I turned back to the Englishman that lie on the ground in a pool of blood. His face was unrecognizable from the amount of times I had bashed it in. I had a feeling of guilt suddenly hit me, but I knew that if I didn't kill him then he would have killed me. I was after his life and he was after mine.
"Peter!"
I suddenly spun around to see my good friend Daniel behind me. His uniform was bloody and torn.
"What happened to you?" I joked.
"A fight," he replied, standing proudly.
"I take it you won?" I asked.
"Sure did! And I got his Webley!"
Daniel waved the pistol in the air like it was a trophy. He suddenly looked down at the man that lie behind me in a disheveled mess. His eyes widened and his face went pale.
"Wow.. you can't even recognize him.." He said, a hint of fear in his tone.
"No.. you can't," I said with guilt. I turned to look at the bleeding corpse and then back to Daniel. He gave me a thumbs up and turned back to continue the fight. I surveyed the area: English and Germans alike lie dead in the soil. I can't imagine how their families would react to the inevitable letter that would be sent. I made my way to my comrades bodies, tripping over a few Englishmen in the process.
I crouched down and took the dog tags of the body of a boy that didn't look a day over 16. It was a shame how often they lied about their age to join a regime they had been brainwashed into believing. Our blood, sweat, and tears are supposed to be shed for the Kaiser, for the Fatherland, for our mothers and fathers, yet not a drop of blood is truly spared for the glory of our nation. Our blood was spilled for the rats who sit in their big homes and command us around like children's toys. They value no life but their own. Germany's Iron Youth is running out of great men, courageous enough to leave their homes and take up arms. The same goes for the English and the French. We are all brothers in arms, but enemies by nationality. How I wished I could have shook the hand of the Englishman who I had just taken the life of. For I know that he and I would have been the best of friends.
A plane flew overhead, its engine humming loudly as it passed through. I turned my attention toward the flying vessel. It was green and had an iron cross painted on each wing. I smiled a little before taking the poor young boys tags and stuffing them into my pocket. I picked up the tags of five other men in the area.
The horrible sounds of gunfire and screams ceased. Telling me that the fighting was over. At least for the time being. I regrouped with my friends later on in the day. We were all tired and pitiful looking. It turns out that Karl and I were the only 'wounded' ones. Karl had been grazed on the leg while I had been hit in the arm.
Over a late afternoon cup of coffee, my five friends and I sat on the rotted parapets and chatted. As my friends went on boasting about their kill count, my memory conjured up the unpleasant image of the man who I had killed earlier. It sent a rush of guilt throughout my body. As the afternoon faded into evening, and the conversation became less and less, I decided to retire. Slowly leaning my head back, I looked up at the stars. Those stars had witnessed everything. And I believe I had as well. I closed my eyes and tried to get some sleep. But I just couldn't shake the memory of that man. How I had left him absolutely unrecognizable. What did his comrades say when they found him all mangled and twisted? What would his family have thought if they had been there to see him? What if he had a wife? What if he had kids? It dawned on me that I had killed someone's sons, someone's husband, someone's best friend, someone's father.
I tried to shake away the feeling, but all I could see was what was left of his face whenever I dared to close my eyes. I had killed plenty of French and English before, why did this one man bother me so greatly? I opened my eyes and stared off into the dark sky. I thought of the young boy who I had taken the tags of. What made his life so much different from the Englishmans? Why didn't I mourn for him the way I did my enemy? My head sunk down to my chest and I let out a deep sigh. Putting my hands together, I had done something that had never been done since I left home. I prayed.