War For The World

PROLOGUE

By day this place was alive with activity. By night, the soldiers were reduced to sitting and waiting, stooped in the shadows of cold and damp hideouts. Though the majority of their men were holed up inside there were still a few skirmishes being held. The dead of night seemed to mask the majority of these fights, however the occasional gunfire did little to hide the truth. As he trudged his way through the trench and the desperate sounds of gunshots got smaller and smaller he tried to keep himself calm, reminding himself that soldiers work best under pressure. After a minute contemplating the idea and realising how much of a lie it was, he instead turned to the stars for comfort.

On this side of the country the night sky seemed alien to him. Constellations were absent, and the ones that were still present appeared different. They seemed to him to be warped and wrong, as if he were locked in some kind of distorted mirror world.

The most important of them all for instance, Orion's Belt, was nowhere near where he had come to expect it to be. The collection of stars had been rotated and placed in the wrong area adjacent to the other bodies in the sky. It was as if the stars themselves were laughing at him, ensuring he was constantly reminded of how alone he was. That no matter what he did he was still hundreds of miles from home, with no family to help. They lauded and cackled as they peered down at him from above, intent on reminding him there would be no mother to sit by the porch with him as they gazed through the lens of a well-worn telescope. No father would be there to give him words of wisdom as he hid under the covers, too afraid to face the angry neighbour holding a baseball and broken glass downstairs. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be home.
Such thoughts stung regardless of whether or not they held any truth. O'Donnel continued to mull on such thoughts as he made his way back through a billowing ratty curtain and into the living quarters he'd been forced to call home.
A makeshift dwelling comprised of tough mattresses and pictures of naked women, a rectangular tent held up with bunk beds on all sides. There had been some attempts initially to keep it tidy and orderly, however that had quickly descended into the madness of dust and dirt that lay before him now.

The centre of the living quarters was somewhat alive, with a group playing cards atop an empty crate of ammo. The rest of the men lay scattered on the outer walls within their bunks, presumably writing letters to their darlings back home or trying to block out the horrors that today had wrought for them. The swift change of such a dark exterior into a candle lit interior came at O'Donnel unprepared, and he gave himself a moment in which to adjust himself as his vision caught up to him.
He could see the first of his two destined cohorts dead ahead.

The man O'Donnel had known to be called Benson sat down the back, propped up against the frame of his bunk wiping the mud off his shoes. O'Donnel smiled slightly, walking over to him
"think you missed a spot"
"Aya Chris! Thought those Krauts had picked ya off on your way back"
Bensons Irish accent seemed thicker tonight. O'Donnel concluded he must've used up the last of his makeshift rum, noticeable if not by the stench of his breath alone.
"Come off it Todd, they're too blind they can barely see 5 das meter in front of their face!"
They both chuckled. A friendship like this was important to have in such a situation as war. Regardless of their laughs O'Donnel wasn't naïve to the fact that this was indeed a war friendship. The type of friendship that forms strongly through circumstance and out of a longing for comradeship. The type that typically ended in bloodshed for either one or both of them, a point that lingered in the back of his mind anytime they spoke.
O'Donnel nevertheless though Todd Benson was great. More of a talker than anything else, his jokes came just as quickly as his kills did. Hailing from Dublin, he was known around the city for his witty mouth and tall tales. Always reminiscing on exaggerated sexual conquests and countless stories about his wealth. O'Donnel had concluded he was the type of friend you trust with your life but not with your wallet.
"Sorry bud but those boots are going back on" O'Donnel said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Captain needs us to get the lookout under control and keep it manned for the night"
"Aye... what fucking luck I get stuck with your sorry ass all night"
Benson stood up, putting his shoes back on and rummaging around for his jacket. Piles of junk littered the hideouts floor, almost certainly some sort of fire hazard in the making.
"Who's the other fella missing out on their sweet dreams tonight then?"
O'Donnel grimaced, "Jones"
Bensons smile faded, his tone shifting to that of a prisoner on death row. Though to be fair O'Donnel remarked to himself, they weren't so far off
"The cunt's over there" Benson said, gesturing over to the group of soldiers huddled over their playing cards in the middle of the room.