War At Its Worst

Untitled Part 1

We have before us many long months of struggle and suffering, our aim is victory, victory in all speight of terror, without it there is no survival.

We were defenseless, our guns, broken shattered from the raging bullets. We started dying before the snow and like the snow, we continued to fall. The gunshots came raining down one by one like the 'POP' of a firework. Our men, the blood gushing from their veins, the air raging through their bodies, leaving them without a soul.

We were being destroyed, not a doubt in my mind. The cold snowy air grabbed hold of me and swept me off my feet. I could see the loved ones of the fallen men, weeping as wrenching sobs tore from their throats mourning the loss of their beloved. My head hit the hard snow covered ground, and blood flowed from the cut left behind by the rigid rock surfaces of the trench.

I slid down the slick side and saw the wounded warriors that were laid out along the side, bleeding and crying out for their loved ones, over and over, the sound etching into my ears always to be thought of. The wretched smell of the dried blood and vomit filled the air straining into my nose and filling my lungs. Regaining strength I climbed up the slick side to the frigid top, and put one of the newly wounded warriors atop of my shoulders and dragged him into the trench. I laid with him and stayed with him until he died. The poor man couldn't have been more than twenty, all of the young want to grow up and fight their countries to protect their families from the inevitable.

The wind blew and carried the screeching sounds from the men above, down into the trench filling the ears of the wounded. They lay their stiff, waiting for the dear lord to come down and save their grieving souls and take them to the place above.

The troops were lessening one by one and were weaker than expected. The opposing army had guns and cannons and a hell of alot of ammo. They were loading and reloading over, and over, their guns made the 'click, click, click' noise like the heels of a trotting horse.

Sooner or later you could see the sights of the wounded warriors in your dreams, in your nightmares, always to be thought of, never to be forgotten. I shimmied up the slick wall and up on top of the rigid rocks that lay just above the bottom of the dirt stain walls, and over the sandbags.

I slowed my breathing and took and deep breath, I grabbed the safety and flung it off grasping the trigger. I peered into the scope and pulled. The bullet shot across the open battlefield and into enemy territories.

A forceful storm took wind and brought the snow down into the trench. I was taken with it and was swept off into the trench with the remaining soldiers. They laid there, stiff and shivering while the cold wind blew within. There inside the dilapidated trench, I knew this war and this war alone was their destiny. The men, young and old sacrificing their lives for the good of their country.

No Man's Land-the neutral land-lying there in wait. Covered in the decaying bodies of fallen soldiers who fought bravely to win this war and return home to their beloved. Men slaughtered, dishonored, left there to rot. Others fighting for their lives, waiting for the present threat to be at an end.

The hailing of bullets, the wind whispering with the sour stench of gas, the debris raining down with what is left of the thrown grenade. Men running, sprinting for cover-and finding none. Their bodies being propelled into the air, arms and legs flailing, hitting the ground with a hard thunk. Some gasping for air, others already taken by the lord, many blindly staring across the horizon, unsure of what to do. I ran above grabbing at arms and flinging them down into the trench. Down and away from the airborne bullets.

Inside the beaten trench, coinciding soldiers lay side by side. Some with small gashes, other without limbs. Holding hands, praying for their survival, their one task at hand to be in the safety of their home-forever.

In the magic beneath a veiled sun, men listened. Crickets set in the pillaged land chirped, fireflies buzzed by like the lightening in a summer storm, things were peaceful. The blood-red streaks of twilight slipped away into darkness and everything was harmonious.

Dawn came seeping down the mountainsides and the was no gun fire. Soldiers peered their heads out from the trench and saw a flag. It was ripped and torn, stained and broken, but it was a flag, it was hope. It was the end.