The Shelby Diaries: John Shelby.

November, 1914. Ypres.

Left me alone when I needed the light,
fell to my knees and I wept for my life.
If he had of stayed you might understand,
If he had of stayed you never would have taken my hand.  

Laura Marling - What he wrote.

"Ypres. What a shithole."

John took a long drag of his cigarette. The French soldiers in the room looked at him as if he was rolling around in a pile of dirt. The Belgians didn't even react. They were devastated by the destruction of their country. "My loveliest Martha. The weather here is dreadful. We've been in Ypres for over a month now, and are making little progression. I'm safe. I'm in a squad with other brummies, so at least we're having a bit of crack. Tell my mother that I love her. Have you heard anything from Thomas or Arthur? I'm not worried, but contact would be nice. I miss you, Martha. Give my love to Aunt Polly. Big kiss, John". He checked the letter for errors, but couldn't find any. He sealed the envelop, and put it in his pocket. Ready for delivery as soon he got relieved from this shithole. 

John looked around. They were in the main church of a village called Herenthage. There weren't a lot of British soldiers left, most were moved to Antwerpen. But this "multinational" squad consisted of 3 British, 2 Belgian and 2 French soldiers. The church was very dark at that point. They had intercepted a lost pigeon, with a German message saying that the German's were about to make a move on Ypres. John took a walk, and checked the Lewis machine gun that was mounted in front of the window. The Belgian soldier who was supposed to hold watch, was almost asleep. 

"Oi, Belgian, you have to stay awake. What if the krauts are coming eh?"

The Belgian soldier shrugged. 

John handed him a cigarette. 

"Here, one of my last ones. Now cheer up, will ya? I'll take watch now". 

The Belgian man nodded. He had huge bags under his eyes, and bloodshot eyes. A patchy beard covered his cheeks, and when he lighted his match, John thought he was looking at a skeleton for a bit. Then John took position behind the machine gun. Ready to wait. Nothing ever happened here. He decided to grab his journal. The only thing that kept him sane. 

11th of November, 1914. 07.00. Herenthage, near Ypres. 

Today has been uneventful. I wrote a letter to Martha, but don't know when I'll have a chance to send it. Haven't heard from Thomas and Arthur in a month now. I'm worried. I manage to get some updates about other places, and it isn't pretty. Artillery, blowing dozens of people up. Body parts scattered around battlefields. Sometimes I hear the big guns firing in the distance. They scare me. And they make me miss home. The entire squad is falling apart too. We are low on supplies (except for bullets, but we hardly ever use those). Our clothes stink. We can't shave, we're running out of smokes. No one ever says a damn word around here. I try to keep the conversation going, but there's no point. Even the other English soldiers don't say much. 

They are slowly pulling out the English troops from Ypres, and redirecting them to Antwerp. Bigger battles to fight there, I recon. We're one of the last English soldiers left in Herenthage, to use the Lewis Gun. The rest of the English are marching up east from Ypres, to push back the Germans. At least it's safe here.

John heard a sound. "Oi, put out that candle, movement outside. You -he pointed at one of the French soldiers with the binoculars-, go to the tower and see if there's something". He cocked the Lewis gun, making sure the bullet belt got loaded into the chamber. He was ready to fire. One of the French soldiers moved to the tower of the church. The other soldiers grabbed their rifles, loaded them, and took positions by the window. John took a quick look at the Belgian soldier to whom he had given one of his last cigarettes. "You, Belgian Boy, you're helping me with the ammo belt". The Belgian soldier nodded, and sat with his back underneath the window the Lewis gun was mounted on. 

15 nerve wrecking seconds later, the French soldier called out: "Germans. Germans, bon sang! John, what should we do?" "Calm down Sam. Everyone, wait for my mark. We'll fire when the buggers are close enough". Everyone seemed to agree. John looked out the window. The sun was slowly rising, and his eyes took some time to adjust to the bright light. It was a cold morning, and he had to cover his mouth with his scarf so that the fog of his breath wouldn't show. In front of him, was a huge empty field, with a few bumps every here and there, covered by bushes. In the distance, he heard a lot of artillery firing. There was definitely something going on. 

About 2 minutes later, he saw little helmets at the top of the hill. They were about 40 metres away. And slowly advancing. "Alright, wait for them to get closer, just a few metres..." "Let's just shoot them idiot, shoot them damn it". The boys were getting nervous. "Calm down mate, we've got this. Just pull yourself together alright". The German soldiers were walking now. They thought they were safe. They thought wrong. 

"OPEN FIRE". The Lewis Machine Gun roared like a lion. You could hardly hear the other rifles shooting next to the thundering sound of the Lewis. "DIE YOU BASTARDS. I'LL KILL YE ALL YE HEAR ME?" The Belgian soldier helping John out looked fearfully at the 18 year old who was being more than trigger happy. Most German soldiers didn't know what happened to them. There were about 20 of them, and in half a minute, there were 5 men left. The Lewis shredded them apart. Arms were torn off by the massive bullets. Soldiers with their guts in their arms. But the few remaining Germans hit the deck, and returned fire. Bullets ricocheted through the church. The other soldiers took cover, but John kept firing. And then he was out of ammo. "For fuck's sake man, reload the damned gun!". The Belgian grabbed another bullet belt, and started reloading the gun. John grabbed the rifle leaning against the wall next to him, and opened fire again. "Come on, keep firing! Don't give them a chance to fire back!". 

7 soldiers against 5 German soldiers standing in an open field seemed easy enough. The other soldiers in the church gained courage, and returned fire. "That's the spirit lads!". John felt victorious. But then he saw more helmets coming from behind a hill in the field. 10, 20, 30. He lost count. And they were pushing a mortar. "Keep firing, they've got artillery!". Even John got scared now. The Lewis gun was finally reloaded now. He fired and fired. The barrel was hissing, steam coming out of it. He didn't care if the barrel would bent, if that mortar would get a chance to fire, it would be over. Enemy after enemy got mowed down. The French soldier in the tower got shot, and fell down the stairs onto the ground. Dead. Two others were crying, covering their ears, begging to make it stop. John didn't notice them. The barrel of the Lewis was smoking, slowly bending due to the melting stwel. He grabbed his rifle, loaded. Fired. Saw the mortar gun being pointed at the church. "RUN. RUN NOW". He grabbed his mates by the collar, and started running to the doors of the church. A distant thump. A whistling sound. Darkness. 

The mortar had destroyed the entire church. There were bricks every. In the distance, the enemy soldiers were slowly advancing, still scared of the Lewis gun. They didn't fire another mortar, thankfully. John looked around, and saw that most of them were still alive. "Okay, here's what we going to do alright? We are out of this place, we are going to the base in Ypres, and tell them what just happened, alright? Shit, I'm bleeding". A shrapnel had pierced John's shoulder. "Okay, I'll manage. Let's go". "John, what about him?". John looked around, and saw the Belgian soldier who had helped him with the gun, crying on the floor. He had a massive wound on his leg, and was in major shock. "Well shite Pete, we can't help him, can we? It's either him or us". The others agreed. These weren't times for moral standards. 

And so they crawled away. First slowly, without a sound. After 20 metres of still not being shot, they made a run for it. As they ran in the distance, they heard a single gunshot echoing in the distance. "Good," mumbled John, "at least they killed the bastard". 

40 minutes later, they arrived in the centre of Ypres. They told the commanding officers what happened. "Bugger. They attacked the entire East side. John, go to the nurse, you can't fight like this. And good job. You did what you could". 

11th of November, 1914. 11.00. Ypres. 

Ypres is lost. Nothing we can do. The Germans advanced from the East, with a massive assault. Lots of Artillery. They are talking about a slaughter of thousands on our side. I'm being released for a month. Back to England. See Martha again. But only God knows what hell I'm going to witness when I return. My ride to the harbour should arrive soon. I can't wait to see you, Martha.