An Empire to Fall, A Hell to Die For

Chapter 1: In a Mind of the Reich

Every step I take only adds to the weight I carry on my shoulders. Every breath I draw comes in ragged and cold against my tortured lungs. Every moment I walk makes me desire and end. The snow that crunches beneath our feet is a blacken power strewn mess. There are bodies nearby because no matter how long you have been at the front, you always know the smell of death. I do not crave or call out to death, but if it should take me I would accept with open arms and embrace the beautiful blackness until the end of time.
It is the forty-fourth year of the twentieth century. I march under the flag emblazoned with a symbol that is no longer considered the sign of a mighty empire. It is the flag of Germany, my motherland. With all the battles, bullets, and ever-flowing rivers of blood, you could not tell where Germany begins and the rest of Europe ends. The fields are burnt, the building bombed, and the people hopelessly awaiting our enemy to march through their towns to the beat of drums and brass horns. They think they have earned praise; they will find none in Germany. We are proud and loyal to the Fuhrer to the end.
I find it strange at times that these thoughts of patriotism and hate for Americans come so easily even when my nation lays in ruins and our armies in tatters. I know of some of the hardest men to ever walk the earth that have been driven mad by always having someone trying to kill them. I refuse to fall under that cunning spell. A rifle in my grasp is now more of a comfort than a burden. The kick of the weapon against my shoulder tells me that I’m still alive in the heat of battle. The sound of the shot rings in my ears thankfully drowning away the screams of the men who are wounded and dieing.
At the young age of only nineteen I have been promoted to the status of a field officer. I still have not felt the honor or nobility of the promotion months after it was assigned. Though I do cling to the great Fuhrer’s words as if they are my island in the center of an immense and unforgiving sea.
We march on for Berlin. Our stomachs are empty and our packs still none the lighter. The last battle near the Imperial city of Aachen has left us hungry and without any of the usual necessities for our division to make war. That battle broke both our spirits and our chains of supplies. We hear of deserters leaving the armies of Germany in hopes of saving their own lives. I do hope that we win this war if only to bring justice to those troops who deserted us in their motherlands time of greatest need.
I served as a Hitler Youth officer at only fourteen. I have memories of nights that I wish had never happened. Those days were schoolyard games compared to the conflicts I have faced both inside and out. I have lost so many friends this last year of retreat that I dare not speak to anyone in a friendly tone, thinking only to save myself from the grief of their death the day after. I cannot handle the blood of another friend on my hands so I refuse to make another until the war is over. I had only a name before the war and, until a few months ago, I was a part of the strongest war machine ever assembled. I was more proud then, than I ever will be again. Now, I am back to only my name.
I have seen men die in battles I wish I could forget. I have had to kill a man in such closeness, I heard the final breath leave his dieing body as did I feel it on my cheek. His final expression, one of shock and awe, almost made me regret not letting him survive and die myself… almost.
The thoughts of patriotism are now fusing with signs of insanity. I am falling to its cunning spell. My name, I have to hold onto my name. My name is… shiest, what is it. My pace slows until I am only standing in place, beads of cold sweat trailing down my forehead. What is my name?
“SS-Oberschütz (German Corporal), Dawson? Come on sir.” A grenadier (German Private) said from behind him.
That was it. Dawson. Allan Dawson.
Allen took another step and felt the snow crunch beneath the soles of his boots. The pack felt a bit lighter, or maybe it was the weight of the war itself; Allan didn’t know which but he was fine with both.

Every moment I walk makes me desire and end

an end. And really, this is just another way of repeating the first sentence; there is no need for repetition. Also, vary your sentence structure.

When you see what has broken the spirits of millions of fellow men, you have seen a war.

Ugh. Horribly phrased and it doesn't really make sense. I can't put my finger on it right now - feeling a little dizzy - but hopefully the next reviewer will be able to articulate why this sentence is bad and needs to be revised/removed. It certainly does, I know that, just can't think of an alternative at the moment.

I would accept it [s]in[/s] open arms and embrace the beautiful blackness until the end of time

with open arms

I march under the flag emblazoned with a symbol that is no longer considered a sign of the once mighty empire [s]it once was[/s].

Employ suggest revisions showcased above.

The fields are burnt, the building bombed, and the people hopeless and awaiting our enemy to march through their towns [s]marching[/s] to the beat of drums and brass horns

buildings - repetition of marching - an ugly sentence on the whole.

They think they have earned praise, they will find none in Germany.

semi-colon, instead of comma

I find it strange that these thoughts of patriotism and hate for Americans come so easily. I know of some of the hardest men to ever walk the earth that have been driven mad by always having someone trying to kill them.

why does he find it strange? he's at war and they're trying to kill him and his people so far as he's concerned. The sentence following the first disproves it - otherwise, the sentences are almost random in their topic choice.

I still have note felt the honor or nobility of the promotion months after it was assigned.

I think you mean 'not'

Our stomachs are empty and our packs are light.

Even without food, I'm reasonably sure infantry packs were damn heavy.

I do hope that we win this war only if to bring justice to those troops who deserted us in their motherlands time of greatest need.

switch words - "only if" to "if only"

The battle over Berlin will be the hardest Germany will ever fight but we have all killed Russians and Americans before.

How does he know it will be the hardest? I think you're letting a bit of your knowledge show here; something the soldier wouldn't know.

I heard the final breath leave his dieing body as [s]did [/s]I felt it on my cheek.

dying -

*

Okay, so...this is a first chapter? How is that possible? It seems to be nothing more then a really long reflection. And a really boring reflection, at that. It shouldn't be; there's plenty of interesting stuff to characterise in the world war. But there's almost little to know description of...anything; the soldiers, the terrain; the characters; the weather - you just tell us everything in a really banal fashion.

You need to show us everything.

Show us the patriotic young field officer and build a story around him. Right now, there's no story in my opinion and you have a skeleton for a character. He needs some flesh, asap. It's just really dull at the moment; history classes have more pizazz then this. It's such an interesting time and there's so much potential for character though so I suggest you really go over this and work hard on creating a character; a story we care about.

Cheers

Hey there, Church! I'm Sarah and I'm your reviewer for today.

I'm not going to do you an indepth review, as the amazing Jig has covered all the points, and besides that, I'm exhausted.

The main problem with this story was YWS's pet peeve - too much tell, and not enough show. You explained far too much about what had happened, about the time period and the war, historically- wise. What you need to do is break all this explanation up into several chapters and show the reader what's happening as you go along. Introduce the characters and their different personality so the reader will have something to empathise with, to connect with. Show them as they walk along from Step 1, instead of giving us loads of information about everything that's happened and how they're all walking now. At the moment, we feel no real emotion for any of the characters as it's far too detatched, almost like I'm reading an essay instead of a story.

Anyone who’s ever written a short story or taken a freshman composition course has heard the words “show, don’t tell.”

I know those words can be frustrating. You might not know exactly what “show, don’t tell” means. Or you might believe that you are showing when you’re really telling.

While “telling” can be useful, even necessary, most people don’t realize how vital “showing” is to an effective story, essay, or even a blog post. Showing allows the reader to follow the author into the moment, to see and feel and experience what the author has experienced. Using the proper balance of showing and telling will make your writing more interesting and effective.

“Okay, I get it,” you’re thinking. “But how do I do it? How do I bring more ’showing’ into my writing?”

I’m glad you asked. Here are some tips that I post around the forum a lot; that will help make your writing more vivid and alive for your reader.


1. Use dialogue

This is probably one of the first things my teacher tells us when we're about to write personal essays. Dialogue allows the reader to experience a scene as if they were there. Instead of telling the reader your mom was angry, they can hear it for themselves:

“Justin Michael,” mom bellowed, “Get in here this instant!

Crappiest example ever, but you get my point. >.< Dialogue can give your reader a great deal about character, emotion and mood


2. Use sensory language

In order for readers to fully experience what you’re writing about, they need to be able to see, hear, taste, smell and touch the world around them. Try to use language that incorporates several senses, not just sight.


3. Be descriptive

I’m sure everyone remembers learning to use adjectives and adverbs in elementary school. When we’re told to be more descriptive, it’s easy to go back to those things that we were taught. But being descriptive is more than just inserting a string of descriptive words. It’s carefully choosing the right words and using them sparingly to convey your meaning.

EXAMPLE.

Telling: He sits on the couch holding his guitar.

There’s nothing wrong with that sentence. It gives the reader some basic information, but it doesn’t create an image. Compare that sentence with this:

Showing: His eyes are closed, and he’s cradling the guitar in his arms like a lover. It’s as if he’s trying to hold on to something that wants to let go.

The second example takes that basic information and paints a picture with it. It also uses figurative language—in this case, the simile “cradling the guitar in his arms like a lover”—to help create an image.

When using description, it’s important not to overdo it. Otherwise, you can end up with what I call “police blotter” description. For example:

He was tall, with brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a red shirt and jeans, and a brown leather jacket.


4. Be specific, not vague

Some people think this type of writing sounds more academic, but all it really does is frustrate the reader.

Instead of writing, for example, “I had never felt anything like it before in my entire life,” take the time to try and describe what that feeling was, and then decide how best to convey that feeling to the reader. Your readers will thank you for it.

Good luck, Church!

Sarah