Young Writers Society

The boat rocked and swayed as the waves mercilessly battered at its sides, and the night seemed to close in on the shadowy figures.

Tom sat in a small rowboat with about twelve or so other men, clutching his rifle and his pack, which weighed a tonne. He had signed up for the war and was on his way to Gallipoli. Suddenly a large hand slapped down on his shoulder. He turned around and saw one of the other men waving his hat and pointing at something in the distance. Peering in the direction the man was pointing, Tom finally saw what he had been waiting for. The very reason he was on this leaking boat in the first place. Gallipoli.

Dots of light covered the landscape, and every few seconds there was a blinding flash followed instantly by a loud rumbling sound as shells exploded.

As they neared the shore, Thomas could see men running, unloading supplies and taking cover as shells exploded around them, sending fountains of dirt and rock into the air.

He could see a boat in front of them, almost at the shore. Suddenly there was a strange noise and a shell hit the boat, sending a wall of water into the sky.

When the wave had gone, all tom could see was foam and bits of broken wood and unidentifiable bits and pieces of rifles and packs floating on the water. He turned away, gagging, as a body-or at least what was left of it- floated to the surface.

They reached the shore safely and immediately were ordered out of the boat. Tom clutched his rifle to his chest and hoisted his bag up onto his shoulders. Following the other men, he started towards the steep slopes that lead up to the trenches.

Shells exploded all around, and the constant rattle of machine-gun fire filled his ears. He paused at the base of the slope before beginning to pull himself up. It was like trying to climb a wall and with his pack it was three times as bad. His muscles strained and his arms ached as he dragged himself up.

Countless torturous minutes passed before he finally reached the top where he saw men lying on their backs, gasping for breath. He flopped to the ground before pulling himself up and trudged onwards. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his hands shook with excitement. He was tired, hungry and scared stiff, but he couldn’t help but feel excited that he was here, at Gallipoli. Every man in the country wanted to be here, where you could be a hero, and he had been accepted.

His mother and sister would be so proud of him.

The next morning, Thomas was woken by one of the sergeants.

"Come on boy, time for the morning hate."

"Eh? Wuh- ?”

The smell of smoke and mud filled the air and made him cough with every breath.

“What?" he mumbled.

He got up from the corner of the trench he had been sleeping in and heard gunshots and shells exploding. He hurried towards the front lines. A handful of other men were firing over the side of the trench, and every now and then a shell was fired.

This was the morning hate-when both sides would fire across no-man’s land for no particular reason. Tom ran over and took position next to the others and fired over the top of the trench. The answering sound of machine gun fire echoed in his ears as the Turks fired back.

---

Tom crouched in the trench holding his rifle and trying to keep as dry as possible. He was standing in about half a foot of water and the sides of the trench were coming away in large chunks. Another soldier, John stood next to him, swearing under his breath, and machine gun fire echoed all around.

"Looks like this war ain't all they said it was, eh?" he said smirking. Tom had to agree. They'd been in Gallipoli for over a month now, and it had been hell. Giant rats the size of cats infested the trenches, feeding on the corpses of the dead and spreading disease in their wake.

Everybody had lice and the smells in the trenches was awful. The smell of rotting food, sweat, the shallow dug latrines was bad enough, as well as the sickly sweet smell of death and rotting corpses. No matter how much he scrubbed at his skin in the rare occasions they went to the beach to bathe, Tom couldn't get rid of that smell.

Suddenly there was a scream as part of the trench about twenty feet ahead of them collapsed, covering a man in about seven feet of dirt. Tom ran over, closely followed by John and started digging frantically at the dirt.

As he clawed at the earth, he felt someone grab his shoulder and pull him backwards. He was dragged away from the collapsed part of the trench. He felt an explosion somewhere behind him and was thrown to the ground.

Looking up, he saw a shell had exploded near the part of the trench. Several dead men lay on the ground, and John was sitting next to him, his head in his hands. Tom felt blood drip down his face as he stumbled over to John and put a hand on the other young man’s shoulder. John looked up at him, his face streaked with dirt and tears.

"No...More. I can't take it any more…" his shoulders shook as he sobbed, looking up at the grey sky. Tom put an arm around him and felt more isolated then he'd ever felt before.

---

He must have fallen asleep like that, because when he opened his eyes it was night. John was sitting in front of him and was muttering something. As Tom sat up, he saw Johns hands were shaking.

"John?'' he said.

"You alright mate?"

John looked at him and smiled weakly.

"Yeah" he said. His voice sounded hoarse and his eyes were bloodshot. He held a hand up in front of himself.

"Why did i come here Tom? Why? Why?" He looked wildly around.

"We could die any moment, Tom. We're just sitting here. Every day, men die in front of us. One day it'll be us. I know that as well as any other poor bastard here, and yet I just sit here, waiting for the day I go over that trench and get shot by one of them Turks. You’ve seen them. We stick our heads up and they shoot them off. They just sit, waiting for the next lot of men to be sent over. And their waiting for us too. Well I'll tell you, they won’t get me mate. No. They aren't gonna get Me." he pulled a small handgun out of his shirt and held it to his temple. Tom jumped to his feet.

"Oh god, John, it's alright. We're gonna be fine. Come on, don't do this John." he reached towards the hand holding the gun and tried to pry it out of his hand. John leapt to his feet and took a few steps backwards.

"I'm sorry. Dad. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." tears streamed down his face.

"Good luck Thomas. Do your best" he said. With a sad smile, the young man pulled the trigger.

---

Tom cursed as he crouched in the trenches, a wet rag held to his mouth. The enemy was gassing them and clouds of poisonous gas swirled through the trenches, killing men by the dozen. The only defence they had against it was to breathe through a piece of material soaked in urine.

As he crouched there, trying not to gag, another man staggered past him, choking sounds coming from his throat. He fell to the ground thrashing and kicking his legs.

Tom turned away and closed his eyes. When he had arrived in Gallipoli, he had thought that it was going to be great. He was going to be a hero, to be a real man. But now…he was starting to doubt that he’d even make it out alive.

As the gas started to clear, he made his way to the front lines with about sixty or so other men, led by one of the officers. They had been ordered to the front trenches to try and rush over to the enemy trenches and kill as many as possible, hoping that after the gas attack that the Turks would be off guard.

So far, no man had reached the middle of no-man’s land and bodies littered the ground. Tom’s hands were shaking and he was sweating heavily, yet he felt calmer then he had felt for weeks. As they reached the front lines, the officers ordered them to take position. Tom took a deep breath and stepped forward to the wall of the trench.

He loaded his rifle and leaned his head against the sandy wall. His head was about two feet below the top of the trench, and when he looked up he saw the hand of a dead soldier looming over the edge. He pulled the watch off his writs and slipped it over his bayonet which he stuck into the wall. His stomach churned as he waited for the order. There was dead silence throughout the trenches, and everyone around him was pale and shaking.

There was a shout from the officer somewhere behind him.

“Ready”

He gulped and gripped his rifle tightly. Mum. I’m sorry if I don’t come home, he thought. Please god. Look after my mum.

There was the shrill squeal of a whistle being blown and the officer shouted.

“NOW!”

Tom pulled himself out of the trench. As soon as he got to his feet, machine gun fire rattled around him. Men on either side of him dropped down dead, but he kept running. The air was filled with loud explosions, gunfire and the screams of his dying comrades. He ran on, his lungs burning. Every stride seemed to take a million years. He kept running, firing blindly at the Turkish soldiers.

Suddenly there was an intense pain in his thigh. He dropped to the ground, holding his leg. A scream filed his ears, and it took him a second to realise it was his. He tried to stagger to his feet, but another bullet hit him in the chest. This time the pain was less intense, more like a thump. Everything seemed to move slowly, and he was dimly aware of ringing in his ears. He fell, tears streaming down his face before slipping into the oblivion of death.

Hope you liked it. Sorry if it’s too short. ^_^