Cross My Muddy Trench.

A short story on trench warfare in World War 1.

 

　

　

 

Cross my Muddy Trench;

 

A short story on the horror of trench warfare.

 

　

The year was 1916, the Western Front was a bloody mess of interlocked trench systems that weren't moving anywhere. Disease spread like wildfire, men died horrible deaths from gas, they fell in droves trying to take only inches of land. Private Dabney Bradford of the British army was about to learn one of the most valuable lessons in the history of warfare - death comes so very easily.

　

　

He sat huddled and cold, wet and miserable in his muddy trench. It was dark out, probably getting on to midnight and still those artillery guns were going off. Nearby, two friendly soldiers were chatting about things back home enjoying a cigarette. Dabney was relatively new, he'd been on reserve for most of the war and was just seeing his first taste of combat. Everytime he heard the whine of artillery, Dabney through himself down face first into the mud awaiting death. Some of the veterans laughed, "Come now lad, they won't hit you, they never do."

He sat with the rest of the British soldiers, chatting nervously and trying to sleep through the night. A few officers were walking up and down the trench, talking in hushed tones and nodding, sometimes sighing. Ahead, he heard the sounds of bloodied warfare, there was a push going on somewhere down the line, the rapping of rifle fire and the constant groan of artillery and field cannon was enough to tell anyone that. He nervously kicked dirt, coughing and letting black phelgm drip out of his mouth. His Lee Enfield rifle was laying across his legs, which were kicking in a nervous twitch. The officers came back down the line again, they seemed to be agreeing on something and they spoke to the juniour officer in charge of this section of the line. The juniours face grew grim and he shook his head, one of the officers but a hand on his shoulder and he finally nodded. The officers hopped back towards the rear line.

The juniour officer was calling his NCO's together, and they seemed to be discussing something in great detail, Dabney watched trying to take his mind off the sound of whirring artillery in the air. A shell landed somewhere nearby, and the entire ground trembled. The NCO's broke apart from their huddle and started running all over the place, tapping sleeping soldiers and getting everyone on their feet. One of them passed by Dabney, "Up lads, up, we're going for a little jog. Come on now, everyone up and against the trench, let's go, up!" The troops stood up, facing the enemy ahead of them. You couldn't quite see, it was dark, but you could makeout faint things like barbed wire and old bodies. He was nervous, the veterans were blessing themselves. The trooper on Dabney's right was young and jumpy. He was shaking violently, sobbing quietly to himself. All down the trench line, men were hopping up, getting into position, the Juniour Officer watching all of them. The NCO's took up various positions that would act as checkpoints to the soldiers in the line. They were yelling at them to hurry up and stay in the line. The Juniour Officer spoke up through a megaphone,

"Soldiers of the British Army, tonight we have the job of taking control of the German trench ahead of us, grab a foothold, and then secure the area for an Allied push that'll come a week from today. On my whistle, you will hop the trench wall and you will run through the barbed wire ahead of you into the enemy line ahead. Do not fear, you will be fine, artillery will be covering your advance and other areas will be making similar pushes. Tonight is the night, the greatest push..." He went on like this for awhile, there was no masking the shaking fear in his voice. The NCO's shifted nervously, and the man to his right was shaking crazily. Artillery roared from somewhere behind them, and they saw bright flashes as they impacted on the enemy line ahead. The NCO's told everyone to stand still as enemy artillery responded, the man to his right dropped down. He looked over his shoulder and started running, hopping over the wall and attempted to flee back to the reserve line. Dabney watched an NCO whip out his pistol and shoot the man dead in his tracks, there was no retreat now. He remembered primary school, a fat boy named Jackson Haldwell called out, "Fishy, Fishy, cross my ocean." Thats what this all was like, a game, except this time the Haldwell was over there calling, "Dabney, Dabney, cross my muddy trench."

The whistle came, bayonets were fixed, and the men roared as one hopping over the wall and ran straight into no-mans land. Dabney didn't quite know if he was moving or not, his feet were carrying him but adrenline was pounding through his veins. He had one mission, he had to get to the enemy trench, that was his job. All around him friendly soldiers fell over dying and screaming as the enemy opened up on them. A strange sickly yellow mist appeared somewhere to his left, and men were screaming and vomiting violently. He kept running, the trench, he had to get to the trench, Haldwell, he had to show him he wasn't afraid, he'd cross his muddy trench. A mans head ahead of him exploded in a fountain of blood and jerked backwards into the dirt as he got clipped in the head. The juniour officer was some ways ahead of him, trying to lead the men on. An enemy machine gun opened up and the officer got caught in the wire, he screamed as the bullets punctured his chest and and ripped out the back of his body.

It didn't matter, he had to get to the trench, he could hear Haldwells voice in his head, "Come on Dabney, Come on, Cross my muddy trench!", his feet kept carrying him. He stumbled once and a bullet whizzed over his head and hit the man behind him in the throat. He could hear him gurgling, choking on his blood and falling over sobbing. Ahead, he could see a little hill, the trench, he was almost there.

He felt a sharp pain in his thigh but he kept going, his objective was just ahead, another nearby friendly soldier fell dead in his tracks bullet wounds covered him from head to toe. An explosion came out to his left and men cried out in agony. He was almost there, he could clearly see Haldwell now, that big fat grin all over his face, sliding into the cover of the trench wall he let out a small cheer. He'd made it, he'd crossed the no mans land, yes, he'd finally made it. He had a wicked grin on his face, "Hah! Haldwell, I crossed that muddy trench of yours!" He looked around, Haldwell was no where to be seen. Behind him, he saw friendly soldiers dropping, some making it to the trench wall, others getting stuck in the wire and ripped to pieces by machine guns. He looked at his thigh, a deep gash, he'd been hit. Crimson blood was flowing from the wound and he laughed, he'd made it. He heard voices somewhere behind him, now he had another mission, he'd take the entire bloody trench system. Now he heard movement and rasp voices spoke out, they were German. He risked a glance over the wall and saw their spiked helmets, there were at least two dozen of them running down the trench. One of them carried a machine gun, the rest were riflemen.

Private Dabney Bradford took a deep breath, hefted his rifle, roared out and hopped over the trench wall.

 

cross my muddy trench it called, cross my muddy trench.

Author's Note

World War 1 - not a fun time, not a fun time at all.

Reviews

[Latsyrk llorrac]

This was a very very interesting story. I really enjoyed how the ending is. The reader doesn't know what really happened but in the back of our minds we know, Private Dabney's fate.. Great story. Keep it up

[Ben]

Very good!