The Eye of Odin

Part 6

I stepped over the legs of a seated soldier, careful not to disturb his sleep, and ducked beneath the makeshift bed above that held another. A near hit from an artillery shell, mortar by the location of the rumbling, shook a few stray pebbles and some dust from the ceiling. The constant crackle of gunfire from outside the fort seemed to keep a chaotic rhythm to our daily routine. I changed one man's dressings, the hideous blisters beneath healing as well as one could expect in the dank underground of the fort. Another had severe burns along his entire arm, which were turning gangrenous. There was nothing I could do to help, so I simply did my best the cheer him up.

Another series of rumbles grew closer, and the concrete wall of the hospital burst inward suddenly. The man with the chemical blisters was killed instantly, and I was thrown to the ground. Enemy soldiers, streamed through the gap in our defenses, their angrily shouted commands completely foreign to me. Someone kicked the door in, and a fusillade of rifle fire spewed from further within the fort, catching several soldiers in a deadly crossfire. I recognized their uniforms as German but was more concerned with the rifle that had clattered to the ground between my legs.

I grabbed for the gun, a heavy bolt action rifle, and brought it up instinctively to my shoulder. More men were entering now, and I fired without hesitation. The first man fell, and I cycled the bolt; a second met a similar fate. Five shots, five men on the ground dead, and I had the opportunity to scramble from the room in a panic. The instant I appeared in the doorway, hands grabbed me, safely bearing me from the breach.

I awoke with a start, a cold sweat covering my entire body. I heard another distant rumble, and confusion swept through my mind until I realized that it was no dream. The sky was orange and dark with billowing smoke and sunset, artillery fire constantly pounding as we approached the front lines. Wes was looking at me with concern, and I immediately turned away, staring out the train car's windows at the military staging area beyond. The train slowed to a crawl and finally stopped. I vaulted to my feet and cleared my throat before shouting.

"We've arrived, everybody up! We need to get moving." My mouth was dry, and despite my best efforts, sounded strained. Everyone responded easily, the rapid movement of the couriers inspiring the soldiers to do the same. I dropped to the ground from the train car's doorway and undid the latch on the cargo door further back. The massive shutter slid away, exposing piles of supplies and weapons within.

"I want those Lewis guns loaded up and ready to move," I commanded and then gratefully accepted my gun as it was handed down. I slung the German bolt-action rifle around my torso. We formed a rough line, tossing supplies among each other to convey them from the train car to the waiting supply carts. The Lewis guns came last, lowered down in pieces before being crammed unceremoniously into the last space available in the carts. We marched as a group, following the trail east from the staging area.

We could hear the crackle of rifle fire and the chattering of heavier guns in the distance. As we crested the final hill, the battlefield was fully visible before us. The scoured trench works and mangled artillery pieces lay in the far distance, overrun by the enemy front. A secondary set of trenches, fortified hastily, prevented them from advancing. An occasional artillery shell struck near the front, sending up a plume of dust and debris. The hill seemed a dangerous location to remain at for long, and we dropped down into a valley behind the Entente front.

"Doesn't this just bring back memories?" Reynolds said gruffly, and I stared at the man in confusion and horror, before realizing that he wasn't referring to me specifically. I swallowed and gripped the strap of my rifle with both hands. Deep furrows had been dug in the valley's far wall, leading up and into the support trenches that now served as the front lines. As we approached, I looked at my small map of the area.

"Lewis guns, either corner--set up enfilading fire into the center," I croaked, catching a glance from both Wes and Reynolds. The soldiers who had arrived with us responded quickly and disappeared into the trenches with their heavy guns. The couriers paused to check their weapons one final time, stocked up on ammunition, and finally formed a half circle in front of me.

"We stand by and let the soldiers do their jobs; wait for any sign of Schuntzel," I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself. "I have a few additional options if things go south, but for the most part, we're on our own. If you see him, shoot to kill. We can't risk losing this position."

"Shouldn't we lend a hand here?" one of the couriers asked, and I quickly shook my head, but it was Doyle who corrected the man.

"We have limited ammunition, and you're no use to us dead," he said simply, which seemed an acceptable response to the courier in question.

"It's been almost 24 hours since the first trenches were scoured. I don't think we'll have to wait long," I added, swinging my rifle around to my chest. I held it in tightly and turned to ascend the stairs that led to the trenches. The smell of spent gunpowder and mud assaulted my senses instantly, and I choked back a gasp. Wooden slats held the ground beyond at bay, stretching to the north and south, the edge of the trench standing eight feet above the base. Wooden blocks lined the ground on the outer edge, giving a vantage point on which to stand and take potshots at the enemy; dirty, beaten, war-weary men stood on each block. The men glanced at us with a mixture of curiosity and apathy, but quickly returned their concentration to the distant enemy.

The chattering bark of a Lewis gun opening up brought a ghost of a smile to my face; that would be one of my teams finishing their preparations. The satisfaction was short-lived. I felt a familiar crackling energy in the air, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up straight. I barely had time to shout, "Get down!" before the trench works in front of us evaporated. A gout of flames, lightning, and vicious wind tore the earth asunder in front of us. Men and materials disappeared in an instant, flung from the trenches with thousands of pounds of dirt. A whirlwind of dust filling the air obscured my vision, and only the insistent coughing of a few men behind me proved the couriers were still alive. I buried my face against my arm, breathing only through the thick wool of my uniform, and I waited until the sound had died down before lifting my eyes.