War

A Story by Alertcriminal

A short story of a German Soldier in WWI

The Cold ferocious wind in Russia, biting and gnawing any exposed skin carrying the crackling gunfire and the screams of friend and foe alike, the melody of war. Sat in a trench cold and hungry longing for a decent meal, why are we here? For duty? because we were ordered to? Or did we just not know any better. Some men not even old enough to shave who felt compelled to fight. I sit on a muddy crate staring at the dark grey skies, the cloudy skies taunting me, you will never feel the warmth of the sun again.

I’m longing for home but knowing I may never see it again, sapping any small glimpse of hope within me. At night we fight not just the Russians but a more ferocious bloodthirsty foe, a feral beast that never hunts alone, it comes under the cover of night and snatches men. Their screams pierce the quiet nights and its call makes the blood of men run cold. A foe that cannot be reasoned with and that does not deter… Wolves.

Men huddle together at night, scared of being dragged off, no matter how many we kill they never cease. Some nights the fear unites men from both sides to drive back the wolves only to kill each other the following morn. In the morning we’re Rudely awakened by the sounds of artillery from both sides scaring what little nature remains. Men walking up the trenches with ladders, a sharp pain I feel in my stomach. The men’s souls drop at the sight of ladders… They know it’s time, their faces full of fear.

I think of home, my family, my friends. It’s been so long I can’t barely remember what it looks like. A small cottage on the outskirts of a village in eastern Germany with a thatched roof and a huge roaring fire in the front room, my mother cooking something delicious in the kitchen, my father sat around the fire with his pipe reading the newspaper. the family would sit and listen to him read reports on the war, of German victories. The feeling of pride that out country was winning... that we were unstoppable.

I remember the smell of bread from the bakers, the sounds of children playing. The local tavern where men would stagger out during the early hours of the morning. I pull out a picture from my pocket, a picture of a better time, before I knew of death and suffering. Four friends, the day before they were sent off to war, eyes full of excitement and happiness to fight for the fatherland… Only one remains, all alone.

I tighten my grip on the picture, the pitter patter of rain echoes loudly on my helmet, the screeching of the whistle snaps me from my beautiful daze, the crackling of gunfire, Men falling left and right on the field, men screaming in pain for their mothers and their god. I feel a sharp pain in my chest, I look to see something, a growing red stain on my uniform. I fall to the ground; I feel a faint warm feeling embracing me. The pain growing fainter and fainter, my vision growing darker and darker falling into a deep sleep.