TRENCHES OF WAR
SEPTEMBER 1942
The gun rack shuddered. Its contents; dangling precariously off the ground, clattered back and forth. Their metallic thirst for blood seemingly unquenched by the past day's horror. The man beside them stood firmly at attention, or at the very least made an attempt to. With his hands shaking relentlessly at his side, a frantic continual struggle for breath and knees that were undoubtedly preparing to give way at any second, he would almost certainly be down within the hour.
The only other figure in the room was seated behind a makeshift desk. Consisting of two large wooden planks resting atop two barrels of oil, the desk wobbled back and forth as the hulking figure behind it sat with his arms pressed firmly against the hard timber. The desk had been one of the first requests by the captain, a poor attempt to bring a sense of normality back to the hellish dream they all now inhibited
Within the first few moments of the young lad entering his tent, Captain Cooper was able to make a few snap judgments on the soldier's character. It was a skill he had picked up over his many years training soldiers and sending them to battle. He prided himself on the ability to know straight away what sort of a man lay before him, whether or not he would die for his country and if he'd be able to work together with his new brothers. This sort of a skill was essential in his line of work as a captain of the US army, Cooper refused to die on the battlefield because some kid made a bad judgment call.
Standing there at just under 2 feet tall the young soldier at the foot of the tent sported glasses that couldn't possibly function under than many layers of dirt, a marines outfit that was clearly two or three sizes too big and a face that screamed he'd just found out what he had got himself into. Cooper was sure that the boy had a plucky attitude and a kind heart, but this was war.
"Captain Cooper, Sir"
"Yes soldier what is it"
The soldier's stance faltered slightly, with his face momentarily dropping to the floor, it was as if in this moment the mere sight of another human being was too much to bare; the dark brown floor of the tent offering a more transfixing and interesting story as his line of sight dropped to meet it. Momentarily bewitched by the lines and wrinkles of the tarpaulin floor, the young soldier began to lose his train of thought as his mind began to lock itself away.
"Soldier" Cooper growled "What is the issue"
Drawn back into the situation the soldier snapped his head back to attention, his voice breaking as he continued to speak
"Its Davison sir"
Cooper stared at him for a moment, the silence from within the tent interrupted by the occasional sound of gunshots.
"Davison the pilot?"
"no sir, Davison the lookout. No one's been able to contact him for several hours now, the boys and I fear he may have been backsaddled"
Cooper made a note on the boy's dip back into what he could only assume was his native northern accent. He would make sure this young soldier knew his place tomorrow morning but for now he let it slide.
"that lookout is integral to our own fortification. Without it we might as well be sitting ducks!"
The soldier nodded along as the captain continued.
"We can't afford to lose our position on the front line because one enemy marksman got a lucky hit"
Cooper went silent for a moment, his grey brow furrowing as he recounted back through the past month, more specifically being stationed on this rock of a field. Not one side had been able to progress past the other, both sides hungry for dominance and seemingly matched at every turn. Ultimately leading to a stalemate that had cost the captain large sums of manpower, willpower and; damned if he didn't admit it a hope for the future. Grey hairs that had started out as hidden fugitives atop his scalp were now charging through like a wildfire. A reminder that he most certainly wasn't getting any younger.
He recalled that this sort of problem seemed similar to that of the ones presented to him in training. One would assume it to be his captain training, though this was far from the case. No, the type of confusing and emotionally taxing training known to men like him as the last resort was known to the wider world as marriage counselling. It was a type of memory that caused a sting in what Cooper could only assume was his heart. His eyes shifted over to the locked drawer where she was lying, staring past that cracked sheet of glass and into his core. As her questions began crawling out from within, Cooper tuned her out.
"We need someone on that lookout 24/7" he grunted.
Cooper realised now that he hadn't received the boy's name. He lifted his hands and gestured towards him, rolling them around as if he were stirring the air.
"Private...."
"O'Donnel Sir, Chris O'Donnel" The boy replied
"Private O'Donnel, your group were given the all clear for some rest tonight were they not?" noting the dark purple insignia on his uniform.
O'Donnel could see the outcome of this conversation and the captain noticed his frame slightly faltering. No doubt he understood the risk involved in the task about to be bestowed onto him.
"That is correct sir"
"Ah, Good. O'Donnel I want you out at that lookout within the hour. Situate yourself there and radio in immediately afterwards, we need that area secure and callouts to resume as soon as possible"
O'Donnels frame once again faltered, slouching further accompanied by his arms going limp. This time however he made no attempt to rectify such a change. He simply accepted the new assignment and turned to exit the shelter.
"Oh and Private" Cooper added, stopping him in his tracks
"-Take Benson and Jones along with you. If this enemy marksman has luck on his side we'll need more than one person to man the lookout"
O'Donnel simply nodded glumly and exited the tent.
***
The world around him was a thick swash of grey and dark greens, with the occasional splatter of red for good measure. Loose ammo shells and scraps of debris littered the ground beneath O'Donnels feet. On his right side stood a muddied wall. Barbed wire protruded outwards from the barricade as dew from the cold night sky began to coalesce on the tips of the barbs, aggressively enforcing the idea of no mans land.
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.
"Ooh this'll be a right laugh. Good luck"
Jones was the type of guy you would only want in the fight if he were on your side, and unsurprisingly so it seemed Jones and O'Donnel were on opposing sides most of the time.
The soldier had made a name for himself getting into bar fights city wide and winding up in county jail more times than he could count. Still, when the war collectors came looking, they most certainly didn't discriminate.
Disagreements concerning correct rationing and a heated debate on religion had set the two apart. O'Donnel understood it was nothing more than an extension of Jones' high school days. The meathead archetype had a sort of primal urge to go after those deemed below him, and Jones appeared to be no different.
O'Donnel coughed loudly in an attempt to make his presence known, though no one looked up from the seemingly riveting game of pebble and bark poker being played. He sighed and cleared his throat
"Captain wants myself and two others up to the lookout for the night, Davison's gone AWOL and no one's there to keep the place stationed. Jones, you're with Benson and myself"
There was a reverberation across the room as the last part left his mouth. It was as if the soldiers had all collectively shuddered and were now buckling down in preparation for what was to follow.
Instead however, Jones simply stood up and handed his cards to the nearest empty handed soldier
"Keep me in till I get back. Don't fuck it up"
He then proceeded to budge past, walking outside into the cold night
O'Donnel sighed, following after him
***
Five minutes of walking and O'Donnel had concluded that the universe was indeed out to get him. Not only was he currently wading through a thick concoction of grime; mud and moss in what could only be described as the devil's entrails, but he had found himself doing this alongside the friend who wouldn't shut up and the man who given the chance would gladly make him.
"Im just saying" continued Benson, "that they could've just as easily sent yourself up here to check on Davison"
Silence as he waited for a response up front, when it was clear no one was willing to fill the void he went on.
"We could be in bed right now you and I, Jones. Myself? I'd be dreaming of me girl back home. She's a solid lass let me tell ya, worked for the queen before this. That's how we were able to get our fortune in the first place ya see"
O'Donnel rolled his eyes and carried on. Their destination was close now, marked by the small X on the tree they had passed mere moments ago. They had left behind the trenches and soldier outposts of no mans land for the damp forest that stretched out for miles behind them. Fog latched at their ankles as they made their way out of the mud and deeper into the darkness, creating an eerie sense of dread and an anticipation towards something unknown. Even the local wildlife had gone by this point, oddly enough not even the local population of insects seemed to be present. It was as if they knew something O'Donnel didn't, and he hated not knowing.
Benson on the other hand was still talking.
"Yep she's a beaut alright. Not like your boy Jesus though"
He extended both of his arms as if he were recounting the size of his latest catch
"strapping lad. Good choice there Jones you both look lovely togeth-"
Benson was cut off by a swift hand to his throat. Jones now had his hand around him and had pressed him against the closest tree. This close together the size difference was clearly highlighted, with Jones looming over Benson. O'Donnel heard the commotion and turned around, expecting the worst and yet not being overly pleased when he was wrong.
"Not another fucking word out of you Bog-Trotter" he spat out that last word as if it were poison
Benson's arms flailed around grasping at the logs for arms that were pinning him up. Able to breathe, but just barely.
"I have a right mind to gut you where we stand" Jones continued
"No one would know"
"Let go of him Martin" O'Donnel came in, interjecting and attempting to shove him off of Benson. The attempt came out more as a weak push than anything else.
"We need all our wits about us right now, so stop playing around or we're all fucked"
O'Donnel was pretty proud of himself. 'stop playing around or we're all fucked', sounded like something Captain Cooper would say. What someone in charge would say.
The three of them stood there for a tense few moments, going through all the different outcomes of this scenario in their heads and trying to predict the next move. Once it seemed everyone had said their piece, Jones removed his grasp from Benson and turned to O'Donnel. With one swift movement the burly man's fist came forward and landed him square in the gut. The pain, more from the shock alone, sent O'Donnel down as the victor stepped over him and continued walking towards their destination. His voice trailed on
"Never call me Martin"
The pain had felt immense but was quickly subsiding, he knew that would bruise well in the morning. A hand extended down into O'Donnels peripheral and he gladly grabbed it, being wenched up and back into the conscious world.
"Thanks for this by the way. Always a pleasure going on these excursions with ya" Benson croaked, nursing his throat.
"You and your fucking big mouth" he replied with a hoarse smile, playfully punching Bensons shoulder.
"You're gonna get me killed one day with this shit I swear"
O'Donnel bit his tounge, smiled and motioned for them to both keep moving. No matter how much he wanted it, Jones was nearly out of sight now and they needed to stick together. The two men jogged off at a reasonably broken pace after him, finding their tormentor crouched behind a shrove up ahead.
The dense underbrush and fauna of the forest had cleared slightly exposing a small, unmanned trench sitting within a small hill. The trench extended slightly upwards, utilising the uneven structure of the field ahead to house a built in mini tower of sorts. From such a vantage point, one could easily survey the surrounding vast and empty bumpy field. Incidentally allowing whoever manned such a structure to spy on and report the goings on of the enemy, their goings on in the opposite trenches across the no mans land becoming easily visible through the lens of a good enough rifle.
The three of them continued to hide, surveying the area. All three had Davison in their mind, where had he gone? More importantly perhaps, where was his body?
Once they were all comfortable with the notion it was safe, they moved out. Weapons raised, they slowly made their way up the hill. The smell of blood reached O'Donnel first, something that had become all to familiar to him as of late. He noticed the trails of it on the ground and motioned for his two companions to fan out and search the area.
The tower was shoddy. Nails jutted out at wrong angles, and planks of wood would creak if you looked at them wrong. After a while of digging he found the radio propped up against the outlook next to the rifle. O'Donnel grabbed it and radioed back to base.
"Come in base. Lookout secure, I repeat Lookout secure. No sign of Davison. Two men out searching for him now, I'll hold the lookout. Over"
A reply from his officials came in soon enough, clarifying they were to indeed stay there and man the lookout the rest of the night. The men on the other end signed off and the radio went silence, the sound of his own breath the only thing to fight the unnerving silence that once again filled the air.
Alone with his thoughts once more, the feelings all started to creep back up to the surface. He was alone, his family were miles away and he would need all the luck he could get if he were to survive this place. Instinctively he turned back to the stars for help, knowing they would provide little comfort.
O'Donnel frowned. Something had changed. Not a change like the movement of constellations no, this was something different. He tried to figure out what it was, squinting at the black sheet above to figure it out
That was it! It seemed that a new sort of star had appeared in the middle of Orions belt. It seemed to sport a unique type of hue, and O'Donnel propped up the rifle to get a closer look at it.
The new star was definitely odd, he could confirm that. Not simply because of its unnatural appearance interjecting into a famous constellation, but due to its vibrant glow. The star was a hot red, blazing in the night sky
O'Donnel's intrigue was piqued and he continued to study it. He was sure this red star hadn't been visible earlier in the evening! It can't have simply appeared overnight. He studied the surrounding planetary bodies and noted it wasn't too far off from the red planet itself, Mars.
The red glow became slightly intoxicating to O'Donnel. Reeling him in like some sort of astronomical fisherman. The red colour seared deep into him as if it were calling out.
Perplexed, O'Donnel noted that it seemed to almost be moving, gliding softly through the night sky away from Mars and into the expanse of the universe.
A large bang rang out across the field as blackness enveloped O'Donnel. His body fell back, tumbling down to the ground and landing with a loud thud. A pool of blood, not too dissimilar from the red star, was forming behind his head as the hole 2 inches from his eyes screamed out in crimson and black. Across the field, a lone German sniper muttered something and reloaded his rifle. And far up above, beyond the war and the earth and its moon there lay a capsule. A large machination of whirring parts and twisting metal, large green domes sat atop it and a concoction of jets and red vines trailed after it. Rusted gears inside violently clashed together and a demonic noise unheard of by any human rung out from within. Intelligent eyes watching and studying earth sat inside patiently. A dome encasing nothing but death and destruction, set on a collision course directly for Earth.