Young Writers Society

I climbed out of the trench, and joined my comrades. We were behind the thousands ofother men ahead of us. They stretched out over the bleak expanse of the Dead Man Zone, Picking their way through the remains of previous battles. But we were taking losses. A platoon ahead of us was entirely decimated before our eyes by a large spread of enemy mortar rounds.

Another platoon quickly took it's place though and they ran through the smoke and debris toward the enemy fortifications, while still under the deadly mortar fire. They had almost reached their goal, and with most of the platoon intact, when several hidden machine guns opened fire and as the purple plasma rounds arched through the sky, the platoon's bodies dropped. Leaving a sickeningly sweet burning smell in the air.

But that smell was everywhere. It pervaded the very ground, there was no escaping it.

we moved forward, running from crater to crater. And after a while, it became impossible to avoid stepping on a body. I was a stranger among these men, they didn't know me. So I stayed slightly behind them. We started taking losses and I began to fall behind.

The machine guns of the enemy roared like dragons and the small snaps of our guns seemed pitiful in comparison. The suspenseful death warble of artillery, that would culminate in a purple flash and a shockwave of an unimaginable power, the sudden strikes of mortars, silent until they hit the ground and throw men and parts of men into the sky.

All this crashed down upon me in a neverending wave. Gradually, I became aware of a earth shaking undertone. It grew louder and louder until it overwhelmed the other sounds of the battlefield I threw myself to the ground inside one of the larger craters, and watched as a hulking mechanical behemoth, a bipedial monster, bristling with machine guns and anti-tank guns, slowly stalked across the expanse toward my trenches. and then a flash from the friendly trenches, and the air is filled with the sound of screaming metal as the advance of the mechanical device grinds to a halt. Its crew dead or dying, the metal carcass burning, and the small pops of the ammo cooking off as it burns.

I was within sight of the enemy lines at this point. The enemy trenches streched before me and the small arms fire that flash from within them told me I was not the first to make it this far.

I was about 300 yards from the trenches and I decided to make a run for it. I broke cover and ran. The open ground I needed to cross seemed to strech out before me and even as small puffs of dust from the impacts of enemy bullets hit around me I had no choice but to continue to run. My feet hitting the ground jarred me, and my lungs screamed for air. But there was no stopping.

I was within 50 yards feet of the trenches, when suddenly my mouth was full of dirt and my legs were lifted up off of the ground. I was thrown 20 feet through the air like a ragdoll and then slammed back down to earth with crushing force. I choked on the dirt that had been forced into my nose and throat. My ears were bleeding, and for several seconds I had no idea were I was. But that feeling passed, I checked myself, picked up my rifle, and started running again.

Just short of the trench, there was a crater with enough cover for me to stop momentarily. While I rested there, I was shocked to hear the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned and aimed my assault weapon at the approaching sounds. But when a head finally appeared over the lip of the crater, it was wearing a familiar dark brown uniform.

My comrade was dazed, but apparently unharmed. He gave me a little half wave and stumbled onto the ground next to me. He was a gaunt man. Very thin, but with a wiry look about him.

He grabbed his canteen off his belt and and took a quick drink, and then pushed himself up.

"Alright, Lets go." The first human words I had heard in 4 hours.

We quickly sprinted the last 50 yards and within seconds we were at the lip of the trench. An enemy soldier in grey combat uniform popped his head over the side and fired a quick and inaccurate burst of gunfire as rounds from my new found ally's weapon tore into him.

We jumped down into the trench and moved west down the line towards where the flashes of small arms fire had emanated.

We moved with our heads below the edge of the trench, him facing forward and me moving backwards and guarding our rear. We moved like that, through the enemy trenches until we came to an intersection. He peaked around the edge and saw nothing, so we steathily moved past.

Bright purple rounds flashed over our heads, fired by our allies that were moving across the DMZ toward us. Then I began to hear the sound of orders being given and a mass of people moving from the previous intersection. We had moved about 15 feet away from the intersection and without any really substantial cover, we hid behind a couple supply boxes. Thin plastic containers that were used to transport food, clothing and other necessities. There were four of them, so we put two side by side to block both directions of the trench.

We waited. The sounds of voices came closer and the tromp of booted feet became more defined. Suddenly a grey uniform ran around the corner, my comrade took him through the chest and the soldier dropped. There was a slight pause from his fellows but then they too, ran around the corner. Although, to their credit, with their weapons at the ready. I leveled my rifle and it pounded my shoulder as rounds rang out from it.

My first shot of the war killed a man almost outright. The enemy soldiers kept coming and rounds began to impact the sides of the trench.

My rifle fired its last shot and ejected the spent clip. I bent down so as to be in cover and reloaded my rifle.

There was now a raging fire fight in the section of trench I was in. Enemy soldiers continued to pour out of the intersection, taking cover and then returning fire, and our ammo was running low. I had two 30 round clips in my combat harness left and a half empty one in my rifle.

I heard my comrade scream, "Reloading!" as he ducked behind our barricade. I fired four shots in quick succession, and scored hits on two men, one went down silently, the other started screaming as his blood poured out onto the ground.

'Comrade' stood up, shot two rounds into the man screaming on the ground, and while firing a short burst, yelled, "We need to move! They're going to come over the top." Hethenpushed me. "We gotta move!" He kicked down the crates behind us and pulled me after him as rounds impacted all around us.

We got clear and started sprinting through the trenches, half of a platoon of enemy soldiers behind us. The evidences of a firefight other than the one we had just participated in became evident. Bullet holes pockmarked the sides of the trench, and bodies, both ours and thiers were scattered around. But other than those silent forms on the ground the trenches were deserted. The sounds of the enemy platoon had vanished, and we assumed we had lost them. We stopped, for only a couple seconds, to grab our fallen comrades ammo and the other useful items that had been scattered on the ground during the last few seconds of thier lives, and moved on. Now following the trails of destruction left by our allies.

The signs of combat were fresher now and as we ran, our internal comm systems began to crackle and snap into life. The messages were garbled at first, but as the distance between ourselves and their origin closed, voices became legible.

"Alright were coming around again........... I gotta tone lock, Whiskey 1-2, one off safe, one away."

A explosion shook the ground off to our right as two fighter bombers flew overhead, one several seconds ahead of the other, their afterburners roaring over the battlefield.

"1-2, this is 1-1, Good hits, rounds on target."

A transport VTOL roared overhead, tracers buzzing around it like angry bee's

"This is Lima-Golf 1-5, were taking small arms fire, at our 1-3-3."

Another pilot chimed in, as he attemped to aid the other pilot, "Yeah, I gotcha 1-5, swing to your 2-5-0 and lets get you the hell out."

A series of loud pops echoed over the battlefield, and a now frantic Lima-Golf 1-5 could be heard over the radio.

"This is Lima-Golf 1-5! We have red lights across the board, main fans failing, we are declaring an emerge-"

After several seconds of relative silence, a loud thump reverberated through the ground. And a thin stream of smoke rose, like a grave marker, over the crashed transport aircraft.

The regular army began their push and we started to see allied armored platoons in the distance as well as hear the radio communications between them.

"All Bravo-Papa Victors, be advised, ROE is now expanded to all non-ID compliant personal. If it pings, light it up. "

Our brother conscripts had done their job. We were pushing up and through the enemy trenches and without the trenches, the enemy was being forced to retreat over open ground.

Just as the army got into position to attack it. It was a glorious victory. We had pushed the enemy back and just for today, we had won. We exited the trenches, and saw the many forms of our brothers, swaying as they walked over the ground toward us. But as I turned to my comrade, a wet zipping sound split the air. My comrade half spun as he crumpled to the ground, a black shape ran from behind a pile of debris but fell as my bullets tore into its body. I ran to my comrades side, he was crying out, but his cries were subdued. "It Hurts. Oh my God it hurts. But, it's so nice." I saw the blood coming from his right thigh and lower torso, dug out the triage kit from my combat harness, and began tearing packets of the white colagulating powder and poring it into the wounds that zippered across his pale white skin. I then reached back into my back and grabbed several strips of guaze, pushing them down on the still flowing wounds.

Those strips of guaze became soaked with the bright red of his blood so I grabbed the gauze from his kit bag and piled it on top of the wound as well. He didn't have any Co-Ag powder. Otherwise I would've used that too. I felt his life blood flow out of him and he gradually became less responsive. He no longer cried out but I could see his chest move up and down in spasmodic movements, his lungs gasping, reaching for air in an attempt to live. If only for a couple more seconds. His breathing was slowing though. His breaths were more labored, and were farther in-between. This man had saved my life many times in the small space of less than 5 hours, and I was powerless to return the favor. I was watching him die, and I couldn't do a thing about it.

I heard a voice, a friendly soldier was approaching. He waved at us, and began jogging toward us. I got up and ran to him, yelling, asking if he had any medical supplies. His friendly countenance disappeared instantly and he sprinted the last couple feet to our position while digging into his kit bag. I took the offered gauze and piled it onto the wound. My Comrade was motionless though, and did not stir as I pressed the gauze to his wounds. I checked his pulse and couldn't feel anything. He suddenly looked very young, the gaunt look on his face was less pronounced and except for the violence involved with his death, one would have supposed he had been sleeping.

I felt the hot sting of tears on my face as I began to disconnect his harness and retrieve his rations and ammo. I felt the touch of a gloved hand on my shoulder and the sudden futility of what we were doing, the events of the day, crashed down on me at once. I spun around and screamed at the young soldier whose hand on my shoulder, "Don't you touch me! Don't youfucking touch me!" He jumped back, and walked a couple yards away. I turned back to the body of my fallen comrade and fell onto my knees. I stayed there staring at his body for several minutes. An object poking out of his chest pocket caught my eye. I reached my hand into the pocket and withdrew a small, brown book. I opened the first page of the book and saw a name scrawled on that page. "Richard." His name had been Richard. There was no last name. But that, knowing his name, was enough.

I picked myself up and walked over to the young soldier that was still standing there. Watching me with wary eyes. We began walking to the improvised headquarters where the men scattered across the battlefield were gathering attemping to find their regiments. What ones that still existed that is. We walked in silence. It felt strange to walk in the open. To not scurry from crater to crater like some insect, seeking to crawl under a rock. The sounds of artillery had stopped, the weapons lay silent. The screams were still there though. You could hear them, if only faintly.

The medical personel moved across the battlefield like ghosts. Their blue lights searching for signs of life. We walked past the burning wreckage of a friendly tank. It's armor shattered, it's tracks scattered. my fellow soldier dug out a small bisquit from his pack and began eating. After a while, he offered me another one. I stared at him and he insisted. "Take it, I've got more. Really, it's fine."

He pushed it into my hand and watched as I took a small bite. "Thanks." I said as I began to realize I was starving. I finished the bisquit in a couple seconds and grabbed a small MRE from my backpack. I tore it open and realized that light was streaming in through several small holes in the side of the plastic container.

I stopped, dropped to one knee and checked another one. There were tell-tale small holes in that one as well. I had very nearly been killed many times as my gear witnessed. I counted six round little holes in my backpack. I guess I looked kinda strange as I frantically rummaged through my backpack pulling out MRE's, checking and then stuffing them back into the bag. My young companion squatted down net to me and check if I was alright. "Hey man, You okay?" I froze and he moved away a little bit. After a couple seconds of silence, I replied with, "Yeah, I'm okay," and started walking again. We approached the headquarters and were accosted by a man with a tablet. "You two! Name and regiment."

My young friend answered, "3rd Infantry battalion, 6th regiment." The man turned to me and I told him, "8th infantry battalion, 2nd regiment." The man looked at us for a moment and then said, "Alright, the 8th is being folded into the third. Your both in the 3rd Battalion, 2nd regiment now." He pointed out the staging area for our regiment, and went back to his duties. When we arrived at the staging area, there was just a fraction of the amount of that we had started the day with. Everyone was dirty and beaten down, with thier faces black with the loam of the battlefield that had been flung in our faces. Many had their arms in slings, or their heads bandaged and the entire regiment was in a general state of disrepair. We were directed to go and report to the company commander, the only tent with light spilling from inside it. We approached the tent and stopped as the guard outside stuck his head inside the tent to announce our presence. He stuck his head back out a couple seconds later and waved us in. The man who awaited us inside the tent was my old platoon commander, Captain Emerson. It might've been a trick of the light, but he looked several years older than he had earlier this morning. He recognized me too and stared at me as he asked, "So, whappened to that radio?" I started to stutter out a response, tried to tell him about the officer in the trenches, but he waved me off. "Doesn't really matter now anyway does it?" he said with a short half smile.

He pulled out a sheaf of papers out from under a empty ammo can and started to tell us the state of our regiment. "Well, you guys missed the briefing, so I'll fill you guys in on our situation. We lost 5 battalions." He nodded at me. "Of our original regiment, we have thirty percent. Ten percent of that, is combat ready." I quickly calculated in my head the number of troops remaining. Out of two thousand in the 8th, We had six hundred left. And out of that six hundred, only sixty were combat ready.

"We lost all of our officers. I was the only captain left, so they promoted me to colonel, and gave me a battalion," Emerson said with a sigh.

My young companion spoke up at that point and asked, "What about the commisars? Why didn't they just promote them?"

Emerson gave a rueful chuckle and replied, "those poor, idealist, sons of bitches wanted to be at the front of our charge. They didn't even last five minutes." We stood in silence for a couple seconds, no one saying anything and then Emerson finally broke the silence.

"Just so you know, the army is taking up the slack. So we'll have a little down time while we re-supply and ship in replacements. Make the most of it."

As we turned to leave he stopped me. "Hey hold up. I never got your name."

"Jeremy, Jeremy Edwards," I answered.

"Glad to see you made it out Jeremy." He said it with a hint of melancholy added to his voice.

"Yeah," I replied as I went out the door of the tent.

We had no shelter as all of our supplies had been lost during combat. So my young companion and I went to the rapidly forming supply dump to try and scrounge a tent to weather the night in. We searched among the boxes that trucks were continually dropping off. After an hour of searching we gave up and dug two shallow man sized holes in the dirt to sleep in.

But I couldn't sleep. Purple flashes danced before my eyes, and forms of dead and dying men haunted me. Although the weapons lay silent, their sounds echoed in my head. Three hours later, due to exhaustion, I finally fell asleep.

The next morning I woke early to the rumble of distant artillery. The sun wasn't up yet, and I could see the fires of war on the horizon. The fumes from the transport trucks that were dropping off troops and supplies made the air thick, and as I started a fire, my young companion woke up and began talking to me. He told me that his name was Jonathan. That he had been conscripted recently, and wrongly, as I has been. and that he was two years my junior. During the time we talked, I opened up a MRE and heated it over the fire. Jonathan looked at me with his head cocked to one side, "You know those things come with chemical heaters right?"

I sighed and turned toward him. "Yes, I know they come with chemical heaters. But it makes the meat limp, and anything in a can tastes awful afterward." He looked at me with an annoyed glance, and replied, "Yes, but everything tastes like ass after you cook it over a fire."

"You meant "ash" right?"

"No, I meant ass, and I still mean ass. Everything tastes awful.

With that bit of indispensable knowledge, he got up and walked to the row of six latrines that stood next to the our improvised assembly area.

While he was gone, Col. Emerson walked up, hands in his pockets. He stopped when he reached me, I had moved to get up, but he waved me back down. "No need to get up. I'll only be a minute."

He reached into his pocket and handed me two silver, bar shaped pins. The rank of a first lieutenant. "Do them proud. We're depending on you. Report to Captain Kallen sometime in the next half-hour," he said as he walked away.

I stared at those silver pins in my hand for what seem like hours. I had been given a command. I was leading a platoon. No longer was I alone in my obligations. I had men who were depending on me to give command decisions. I wasn't ready for thi- "Holy shit! The hell'd you get those?!" Jonathon was back and he had seen the ranking pins in my hand.

"They made you a lieutenant?!" he said in disbelief.

"I didn't want these. If all it takes is to survive where other die, have I really earned it?" I replied, half to him, half to myself.

"Yeah. Now, put them on or I'll eat your burnt steak," said Jonathan as he took the now black steak and placed it on a mess kit.

After I had finished eating that awful steak, I solemnly attached the pins to the collar of my uniform and left to report to my immediate superior.

I walked through the camp to the company commander's tent. As I did I noticed the addition of many new faces. The replacements for the men lost the previous day. They joked and laughed, Being not kidnapped, but having volunteered. In a way I envied them, they weren't despised members of society. They had been sent off with fanfare and celebration, perhaps with tears. I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind as I pulled the tent flap back and stepped inside. There wasn't very much light in the tent and I approached the desk in near darkness. A dark shape occupied a chair behind the desk and as I stood in front of it, a gravelly voice queried me. "Are you the new Charlie platoon commander?"

I spoke to the affirmative and he started laying plans for the next advance.

"Alright, I just got word we'll be moving faster now. No more trenches. We'll be moving fast, and will be acting as a reaction force for the 10th armored. Which means your platoon is going to be in PV's."

PV's... "Personnel Vehicle" a lightly armored four wheeled vehicle with a small mounted machine gun on the top. It made sense to use it as a reaction force. But those unit's always took a lot of casualties... I realized I had been tuning him out and redirected my focus back onto him.

"...but that shouldn't be a problem. Anyway, your platoon is waiting in the assembly area. I'll send a runners over with the comm frequencies and a hard copy of the battle plan. Any questions? No? Alright, Dismissed. "

As I left I tossed him a salute and jogged the couple yards to the assembly area. My platoon was instantly recognizable. They were the only ones without something to do. and fifty men without anything to do in an assembly area stick out like a sore thumb.

They were a motley mix from different ethnicities and age groups, and as I walked up I could see them talking and laughing. As I walked up the laughing stopped. They stood at attention and saluted. I quickly said "At ease" and waved everyone over.

I stood in the center of these fifty men and attempted to figure out who my executive officers was going to be.

"Who's the highest rank here?" I asked them over the roar of drones flying low over head.

One man stepped out and answered, "Staff Sergeant Aleksandr Vladymir Melachenko! Reporting sir!"

He practically screamed his name and rank at me. He was driven, that much was plain to see. and since no one else stepped forward, "Alright, You're the XO. Sort the men into squads." as Alek started herding my men around into squads I motioned to Jonathon, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, to follow me.

As we walked, I told him that he would be riding in the lead vehicle with me, our radio man, and two other men. As we were talking a soldier sprinted up to me , papers in hand, pushed the papers into Jon's arms and saluted me, "Sir, We've just been given our warning orders. Command frequency is 26.43 Hz, callsign is "Solomon" and we move out in a half an hour. You've been given 10 PV's which have been parked there." he pointed and at our vehicles which were sitting in a line next to the main supply route.

I whistled, caught Alek's Attention, pointed at the PV's, and watched as he yelled in a street language I didn't know. The men ran to their vehicle and Aleksandr approached me with three men in tow,

"Lieutenant Edwards sir, these are the men I have hand picked to ride in your vehicle. What one do you want me to ride in sir?"

I turned to him and then turned and look at the line of vehicle that were now filled with men waiting for my command.

"Ride in the fourth one back." Aleksandr snapped off a quick "Yessir!" And sprinted back to the fourth vehicle.

The three other men that Alek had brought with him introduced themselves. Luke, was a very calm, slimly built, individual in his mid twenties. He had an ice cold stare that imbued confidence.

"A pleasure to meet you sir. I look forward to serving under your command."

He seemed alright. Nothing struck me as a particularly negative trait. The other one though, scared me a little. "Hello, my name is Nick." we shook hands and, honestly didn't have anything else to say to each other. he seemed cold, and rather distant.

So I was somewhat relieved when the last man stepped forward and introduced himself as Timothy. He was a large man, with a loud booming voice and a mighty laugh, He stepped forward and pumped my hand up and down until I could carefully extricate my hand from his powerful grip. "Ah-hah! Won'nerful to work wid'ya sir!" I smiled at him and prepared a reply, but just as I opened my mouth, my headset crackled and squealed into life. "Solomon 1-1 this is Viper 1-5-7, move to gridline 3-1-1-4-6 and await further orders. 1-5-7 out."

We ran to our Vehicle, the mud slipping and sliding under our feet. Jonathon ran around the front into the driver's seat before being chased out of it by Luke and being placed in the back seat behind him. I took my place in the front passenger seat and Nick sat behind me while Tim climbed into the turret mount. I took a deep sigh and keyed the my radio. "Charlie Platoon, Status?" Almost immediately Aleksandr's voice came back to me.

"Solomon 1-4, all good here."

The rest of the platoon quickly followed suit,

"1-3 standing by."

"1-2 showing green across the board."

"1-7, awaiting orders."

And so on until the platoon had all reported in. Another deep sigh, another press of the button, "1-1 Oscar-Mike,"

And with a lurch, Luke began driving the vehicle through the gate and under the guns of our watchful comrades.

As we left the gate you could still see the signs of battle. Unburied bodies littering the roads, burnt vehicles pushed to the side, some still burning, and other litter of war. But as we pushed further into the countryside, those signs disappeared and the only signs of war became our vehicles as they trundled along toward the waypoint set by the company company commander.

Several hours later, We were still quite a distance from the waypoint. We hadn't eaten anything so far that day, so I leaned around and asked what we had available for food.

"What?" Said a confused Jon as he leaned over towards me.

"I said, what do we have for vittles?" I replied, slightly exasperated at this unnecessary language barrier.

"What's a vittle? And why would we have them in the truck?"

At this, Tim yelled down from his gun,"Good God, The man wants food!

As Jon dug out the case with our supplies in it,I could hear him muttering something about "Stupid way to ask for food anyway."

A couple minutes later, he started to name off the labels on the food packages,

"Alright, We got a couple steak and mashed potatoes, six mac and cheeses, the label on this one peeled off so I don't know what the hell that is, a couple burritos-"

"Yo. Toss me one of them." Said Luke as he drove, reaching back to grab the offered food.

"Anyone else?" Asked Jon

"Yeah, Gimme one of them too. Also, Luke, the road. Watch the road.” I answered

as Luke's driving became slightly erratic.

He straightened the vehicle out and my column continued through the fertile landscape as I munched on a tortilla filled with a synthetic protein paste. It tasted awful, but it was filling and it was the first real food I could remember eating in a long time. I stared out the window of my vehicle and saw nothing but the slate grey of the surrounding landscape.

I hung my head outside the window and looked back at the other vehicles. They were now covered in a thick layer of dust which turned their normally dark, blue-grey exteriors a ghostly pale grey.

I ducked back inside the vehicle and checked the map again. it looked like we only had about another hour to go. Then we’d radio in our position and wait for orders.

The radio crackled and a nasally voice came over the comm system.

“1-1 this is 1-7, we have a unknown victor at your 2-5-0, over.”

I looked over and tried to glance through the window past Lukes head and called out to the other men in the vehicle, “You guys see it?”

“There’s something right there.” Said Jonathan, pointing out the window with one hand while steadying his rifle with the other.

I saw something speed over the small hills and back down into the valleys. A dark shape, that seemed to glide over the ground.

“Alright, I’m calling this in.” I A keyed my comms and adjusted the signal strength so that it would reach the company commander.

“Viper 1-1, this is Solomon 1-1 Actual. We have eyes on an unknown victor. Request orders regarding over.”

I turned to Jon and told him to keep an eye on them. He grunted an acknowledgement and stared through his rifle sights and the dark shape flitted in and out of view.

“Solomon 1-1, Viper 1-1, Continue on course and previous ROE* Viper 1-1 out.”

“Well, Shit.” Luke said with a sigh. “What now?”

“I expect you’ll drive, and I’ll watch that thing” said Jonathan.

“Oy, ‘at there thing’s gone.” Said Tim from atop the vehicle.

It didn’t appear again and we pulled into the area where our waypoint was set without further incident.