The Wire

The hundredth anniversary of the cessation of fighting in WW1 will be November 11th. Specifically, the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. But this is a story from 1917.

The Wire

The attack would come tomorrow at dawn. Straight into the rising sun, which made no sense to Sargent Pennington as this would only blind the English attackers and hide the German emplacements. And it would also splendidly illuminate the advancing English regiments and make them fine targets for the machine guns. But a lot didn't make sense these days.

Sargent Pennington and six of his seven men trotted across no mans land with their rifles slung across their backs. Something that was very unwise in this dangerous territory. But it had to be done as each of the six men used his two hands to carry a large roll of chicken wire. The seventh man trotted point with his rifle at the ready.

Panting made the smell of no mans land worse. A smell of rotting horse flesh, cordite, feces and freshly turned moist earth. And a strong smell of unwashed dead men. A combined smell that Sargent Pennington likened to Hell. Bodies were pretty much recovered, but the men hit by the shells and atomized were painted across the moist earth, and Sargent Pennington thought this was what gave the note of grizzly death to the area. There was no moon and the men almost sobbed in gratitude.

They were headed towards the German barbed wire. A rats nest of coiled wire, five feet high and fifty feet wide, anchored by posts and spikes in the ground. Coils and coils of vicious nettles that sprung up and grabbed men, and then held them until the machine guns could turn on them.

The last attack had become entangled in the barbed wire and it had been cut to pieces with machine gun and artillery fire. And even the officers realized that running headlong into this formidable barrier a second time was futile. Even so, a second try would probably have been made at the onset of the war. But not now, men were becoming scarce in both the French and English armies. And reinforcements were usually no good. Too young or too old, and always too green, and quickly killed by the hardened and experienced enemy. A kid took it yesterday while gazing over the trench top like a tourist.

They arrived at the wire, at a spot where an eight foot wide ribbon of chicken wire was spread over it. From the English side to the German side.

Sargent Pennington commanded, “You, Shoemaker, you go first”.

Private Shoemaker sat his cylinder of chicken wire at the base of the ribbon of chicken wire running over the barbed wire. He and two other soldiers staked one end to the ground with eighteen inch spikes and leather laces. They didn't hammer the spikes as this would make noise. Instead they pushed the spikes into the soft ground with pieces of wood. The ground was soft as it had been turned by the shelling.

Once the end of his chicken wire was staked down, Private Shoemaker began to unroll his cylinder of chicken wire over the ribbon of chicken wire already covering the barbed wire. The idea was to create a bridge over the wire upon which thousands of men could run during the attack. A ribbon of men that would make a fine target for the machine guns and artillery. The wire gave under Private Shoemaker's weight as he crawled along, but the bridge would grow stronger as more layers of chicken wire were set down. And as the barbed wire was packed down by the bridge builders.

Private Shoemaker's roll of Chicken wire ran out about three quarters of the way across the bridge. As quickly as he could he tied his Chicken wire to the mesh already in place. And then, as quickly as the sagging chicken wire would allow, he continued to crawl forward until he was on the German side. Much better to be here alone, where he could lay flat, than five feet above ground on the wire.

A few minutes later, a man appeared from the darkness, crawling along the bridge with a roll of chicken wire on his back. Without speaking, Private Shoemaker and the other soldier staked down the end of the roll on the German side, and the soldier began to roll it back towards the English side. After giving the soldier a few minute head start, Private Shoemaker followed him. His comrades silently patted him on the back upon his return. And a new roll of chicken wire made it's way over the bridge towards the German side.

Sargent Pennington saw the whole terrifying effort as foolish, although he said nothing and simply did his job. The chicken wire would save many lives tomorrow, but lives that should not have been endangered in the first place. The armies were exhausted and there was talk of a sort of armistice, an end to the fighting. Everyone simply returning to their original borders. So why, for God's sake, attack tomorrow?

“Bloody stupid”, Sargent Pennington silently spat.

A forth roll of wire was rolled back from the German side when the clouds parted and the moon came out. It seemed bright as day and everyone froze and then slowly dropped to the earth. They were experienced and could instantly locate a rise as small as six inches to take cover behind.

They had survived three years of this war and their senses were as sharp as any wild animal. As they lay motionless, they saw the German squad. On the other side of the barbed wire and about fifty yards down. They were repairing and reinforcing the barbed wire where the shelling had damaged it. A Sargent kept watch while the men worked.

The night was silent and perhaps their breathing gave them away. Or perhaps the German Sargent had seen motion before they got down. Or perhaps a sixth sense that had kept him alive for the past three years simply kicked in. But the German crouched and began to stare intently at the spot where the English squad lay. He motioned to his men to be still and silent.

And the situation devolved into a staring match for the next fifteen minutes. The German Sargent unsure of what he was seeing and the German soldiers melting away as they took cover in the moonlight.

The German Sargent then stood, and continuing to stare at the English, gave a slow wave over his head. He then motioned for his men to return to repairing the wire.

Sargent Pennington stood and returned the wave. “Let's get moving”, he whispered, “We have two rolls to get up before dawn”.

The English rose and began to stake down the fifth roll. They were all ready to drop at an instant's notice, but there was no need. The Germans absorbed themselves with their repair of the wire while the English installed final two rolls of chicken wire on the bridge. The air was gray with dawn when they finished.

There was a distinct scrape of boots on the ground and the Germans departed and jogged back towards their trenches. The English watched them for a full minute before turning and returning to their muddy trenches. The would be returning here when the sun was full up and the whistles blew. The whistles that signaled the attack.

Reviews

[Cherrie]

What a strong ending. You kept the tension and the story steadily advanced. I enjoyed this.

[Miss Fedelm]

Thanks for reading.

[barleygirl]

I've noticed you don't have many new postings here lately & I just wanted you to know that I really enjoy reading your stories, so I hope you will be posting more in time. Don't give up on this website, if people are not reviewing you, since poems seem to be the preference. You have an amazingly original & analytical way of conceiving a story & then writing it to clearly convey your vision. Your stories aren't fluffy & entertaining, so maybe people aren't as inclined to read you here. But believe me, we storytellers really do appreciate the detailed, intelligent way you tell your stories! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Miss Fedelm]

I have had some health problems, an allergic reaction to Cipro, and have not been writing much recently. I am too distracted by the rashes and itching. It has been horrible.

[barleygirl]

Yes, that is torturous. I'm sorry to hear your absence has not been due to pleasant distractions! Here's sending soothing balm vibes!