Moonlight filters through like little rivulets down in the trenches. The trench is one meter across and two deep, it zigzags across the landscape like a ragged scar. The enemy's is much the same, able to withstand artillery attacks as well as explosive shells. You'd think it'd be a haven, where nothing can get to you, where you can be safe, but no, that's just not how war works.
I'm knee-deep in sludge that soaks through my boots and makes my feet feel mouldy all the time. Dead water-logged rats float by and once again I get that sickening ever-present feeling of death. I wade over to the Canadian keeping watch and tap his shoulder. "I can't sleep, I'll take over your watch, Joseph."
Joseph turns slowly, his eyes blurry and something wet is dripping off the tip of his nose. He nods to me. "Watch the left side, John. I thought I saw movement but it stopped." His voice is hoarse, like a dying rat.
"I'll keep and eye on it." I say to him and he nods, wading back to his fox hole at the side of the trench.
I sigh, gazing over the top of the rim. I have no fear of being shot or bombed here but dread is always a part of me. Death is everywhere, rats chew on our feet as we sleep and there is always the lurking horror of hand-to-hand combat in No Man's Land.
Nightmares grasp my throat as I sleep, daytime terrors rip apart my chest as I wake, there is no escape. This is war. This is what war is.
I remember how eager I was to sign up, how I wanted with all my heart to serve in the Great War, to fight for my country and its allies. What a fool I was. My wife and children are waiting for me back home, dreading that I may never return. How I long to see their faces once more.
I pull out my mud-drenched wallet, a picture of her is inside, standing next to my four year-old son and six year-old daughter. I searched for the letter they'd sent me. Letters, my only way of communication to those outside the trenches.
I found it. Who knew a muddy, crumpled piece of paper could mean so much?
It read:
Dearest Jonathan,
I've taken a job as a baker, can you believe they're letting women in now? Its quite amazing. I love working here, making bread for others than just my family, earning real money that I can spend.
I miss you terribly, though. My heart doesn't feel quite whole and our children are constantly asking when you'll be home. I don't know what to tell them.
Well, there really isn't much more to say, my dear, I just need you to be home but that's a rather futile wish, isn't it? So all I will ask is that you stay alive, for me and for our children.
With love,
-Julia
A tear drips down from my eye and I can't stop it. I can't even promise Julia that I'll stay alive for her. I can't bear the thought of my wife getting the letter that says I have died.
I shake my head, I need to keep focus. Watching the dark western front, I hum quietly to myself, trying to keep my mind off death. Of course, that's quite impossible. I shift my legs, feeling sludge seep into my boots and drench my legs. I wonder how many snakes are living in this mud-hole with me right now.
Wait- was that movement? Am I just seeing things or was that really an enemy out there in No Man's Land? Should I alert a Brass Hat? Should I wait for more signals? What in the name of the Lord should I do?
I wait, a chill rolling up my spine, tingling in my neck, making the hairs raise. I want to panic but I won't let myself do it. Panic is the absolute worst thing in the trenches. Panic clouds your senses, makes you less alert and battle-ready. I clutch my rifle tightly, swallowing the dread, forcing myself to stay calm, stay alert, stay ready to call a Brass Hat.
I scan the dark void before me. No one stirs. No one shouts. There is no more movements and I can't hear a sound but the faint music of a lone cricket. I sigh, relief flooding me, but if there's no one out there then why does every waking moment still feel like my time on Earth is ticking away?
********************
The morning brought no relief to my weary mind as I was relieved of sentry duty. Perhaps that's because we had three more deaths during the night and two more are ill.
"Rat bites." Joseph tells me. "The poor saps went mad. Brass Hats had to kill 'em then before they killed us."
"And the sick?" I ask.
He shrugs. "They won't tell us nothing other then the fact that they're sick. Dale and Sean I think their names are."
I sigh. "Two sick means two future deaths."
"Maybe so," Joseph says, looking up at the pale grey sky. "but being dead is better than being here."
"Maybe you're right, but still, wouldn't you like to stay alive as long as you can, say you've fought, maybe even see your family again?"
Joseph's eyes narrow. "Family? I don't got none, John. Never had children and illness took my fiancé before I left. Flue. Horrifically bad. Poor girl never had a chance."
I look at him, seeing the pain in his eyes. "But you don't… want to die, do you, Joseph? Death isn't one of your wishes, is it?"
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Mind your own life, John. Leave me to worry about mine."
I sigh and shake my head. I couldn't imagine having no one left to live or die for. I couldn't imagine how horrible it would be to have nothing. I thanked God silently for my family back home.
Some tommies and I played cards for most of the day, trying to keep our hands and minds occupied so we wouldn't go mad. We must have played every card game there is.
"Got any threes?" I asked during our third round of 'Go Fish'.
One of the tommies, Philip was his name, nods, making a grunting sound as he hands me two threes.
"I suppose I win." I say, placing all my pairs on the muddy earth.
"Guess so." Two tommies say in sync. "What now?"
"I don't know." I sigh. "Do you know what I really miss having at this time?"
"Tea?" They all ask.
"Tea." I say and I can't help but laugh. It's always the little things like noon tea-time, spending time with your family, playing with your children.
I miss it all. Everything is so empty here, so bland, so muddy and perpetually wet. There's death everywhere, bodies are too often left where they lay and whenever fighting breaks out in No Man's Land the results are always bloody and brutal with more left dead than alive.
"Oy, you there, John! Any sightings during your watch?" One of the Brass Hats calls to me during my day-dreaming.
"I thought I saw some movement to the East but it stopped, sir." I call back.
He makes a grunting noise and turns around, mumbling curses to himself. I wonder what that means.
**********************************
A thin line of sunlight peeks out through the dismal grey clouds. It feels like hope, like perhaps we are being watched over by God, perhaps he will help us, let us live another day, let us win the Great War.
Or perhaps I am a fool. It doesn't feel like anything will ever be the same again. It feels like this war will go on forever, no winners, no losers, only war, only endless fighting and killing and death for the rest of our existence. This is all there is. We'll never know anything better.
I sit back against the damp trench wall, my feet buried in the ever-present vile mud and sludge. Something's going to happen, I can almost feel the sense of cold dread lingering in the musky air.
"He's dead!" A doughboy calls, his voice pained and choked. "Dale's dead! My only brother!"
"Three dead today so far." I mutter under my breath. I can't help it. I'm so used to death it seems almost like a regular thing. There's really no point in making real friends when they could die any minute from now. I know, they're harsh words to live by but here, in the trenches, it's the truth.
"You alright there, John?" Philip asks me.
I nod. "I'm alright, Philip. I was just… day dreaming."
"You've got to get your head out of the clouds, man. It'll get you killed, you know."
"I know and I'm trying. It's just so hard to live in the moment when you can imagine something better."
"You can imagine worse things too, John. It all depends on your state of mind. You'll go mad if you keep dreaming like this."
I nod again, raising to my feet. "I'll remember that, Philip. Thank you." I say, hiding my sarcasm. I'll go mad if I don't day dream at. Fantasies are what keep me sane.
The musty sky fades to a dull black as dusk sets in. Some of the clouds are painted with a pinkish glaze, which was a pleasant treat to our weary eyes, but the rest are all dull, grey and black. Just burnt little biscuits floating in a pool of navy, the cold sun melting away in the distance.
I watch as a single bright star shines through the mess in the sky. Venus, that's the one. The evening star, the first visible star at dusk. I sigh as I watch it. Venus is Julia's favourite star. She always loved to gaze up at it when the sun drowned across the horizon and the colours soaked the clouds. She called it majestic. I call it hope.
Soldiers all around me retreat to their fox holes for the night. A doughboy keeps watch on the planes as all else try to rest. I wonder if anyone can.
Wait- something feels wrong. A chill runs down my spine and I stand up, weary of my surroundings. Something is going to happen. I just know it.
"Hey! You there, doughboy! Do you see anything Boche?" I ask, using a slang term meaning 'anything German'.
"Nothing, but I can't see a thing past six yards out."
"Well, be sure to alert us of anything unusual." I tell him.
"I know the drill, tommy." He says, sighing sharply.
I give a curt nod then return to my fox-hole, wiping as much sludge off my boots as I could. My feet are absolutely soaked.
In the middle of an uncoloured dream about returning home I awake suddenly. Now I know something is wrong.
I slide out of my fox hole, wading over to the sentry. Before I can even speak to him he cries out. "Alert! Alert! I've sighted movement!"
All the soldiers are pouring out of their fox holes, swarming into the trench, weapons at the ready.
"Get ready!" A Brass Hat calls out. "Be ready to dive into No Man's Land!" He is shouting urgently, little droplets of saliva spraying from his mouth, but no one takes notice. We're all waiting for the first shot, the first strike to happen so we can swarm out there with all our great fury.
Only, there is no first strike, only cold, hard silence and the eerie whistling blow of the wind passing by. I blink, confused. I'm waiting for the fire, for the death and destruction that surely awaits us, but there is nothing.
"What's going on?" I hear Joseph ask, and then, all at once, it is upon us.
Yellowish, cloudy gas floods our vision, choking us, making every breath a raspy, painful mess. My eyes water, my skin flushes of all colour. I can barely hear, my ears feel like they might pop, my mind might explode. I want to scream in terror, in pain, in horror but no sound escapes my dry, crusting lips.
"Out of the trench!" A faint, hoarse voice cries. We try to obey but our limbs aren't cooperating and our vision is melting away.
I try to breathe in but I just can't. All there is right now is pain, suffocation and bloody fear. This is a war! We have to get out of this! We have to survive! I crawl over to the trench wall. It's only one meter tall but right now it feels like miles and miles. I take another rasping, heaving, chest-raking breath and try to make my shaking legs hold my weight. I need to scale that wall. This is life or death and I just can't give up now. I've come too far, survived too many things! I can't just bloody die!
I grab hold of a root sticking out of the wall. Slowly, slowly, I start to pull myself up. My breaths are now causing my whole body to convulse and shudder, making climbing this ruddy wall impossible! I try to scream but it's no use, who will hear me? Who will help me? No one, that's who.
I try to hold my breath as I climb, shakily to the top of the trench, crawling to where the gas seems to have dispersed. I lay there, heaving, convulsing, wanting to vomit, wanting it all to be over, but there is no salvation. The poison is already inside me, killing me slowly, forcing me to feel nothing but pain as I cling to my last few moments of life.
My glazed eyes gaze up at the star, at Venus looking down at me, shining brightly, unaware of the terror and death below. I roll over slowly and excruciatingly onto my side, my breathing is more ragged and heaving than ever now. I pull out my wife's last letter to me. Oh Julia. My Julia. I'm sorry, so sorry I never got to say goodbye, but my time is up. I'm ready to rise. I have to.
As the pain over-takes me, as death slowly creeps up, I read over the last lines she wrote to me:
So all I will ask is that you stay alive, for me and for our children.
With love,
-Julia
"I'm… sorry… I can't hold… on." I rasp, clutching the letter close to my heart. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise.
So, as I let my gaze stare blankly, glazed and shiny, I fix it on Venus, my last hope a hope for salvation, a hope that my family may forever live in a peaceful world. A world without war or pain or suffer, but I suppose a world like that can only exist in my dreams.
