Collection of Stories

Half

Word Count: 3,455 Words || Estimated Reading Time:  17 minutes

The weather was gloomy that day. The clouds hovered over the trenches, blocking the little rays of sunshine all the soldiers were wishing to bask in. No Man's Land was silent, and neither the French nor Germans dared cross it. Everyone was on edge. Both sides were ready to either attack or counter attack, but the troops sat there in their trenches, camps, or on tree stumps, restless, waiting for either one to strike.

The newest of the groups, brand new recruits fresh from England or somewhere in France, were sent immediately to the frontlines. While the majority felt pity for the poor souls whose eyes were already bulging out of their sockets and their knuckles turning white at clutching their bayonets, others felt a sick satisfaction watching inexperienced men, charge the frontlines and trenches and meet their inevitable doom.

"Look at them, Detienne," Sergeant Reinhardt chuckled, "young, inexperienced, and fearing for their life."

Corporal Deitenne turned to Reinhardt, a brow raised, "You find it entertaining, Sergeant Reinhardt? Young men, some fathers, scared shitless on the frontlines?"

"Hilarious, Detienne!" the sergeant roared but not so loud as to call attention to the two, "They're like babies, released too early from their mothers! Cowards is what they are!"

Corporal Detienne rolled his eyes and sunk back in his seat, taking a puff of his cigarette. He looked to the trenches, the helmets bobbing and some stationary, one could even assume they were dead. Detienne's brows furrowed, surveying the group. Others had been there for over a year since 1915 while others arrived a few days ago from a truck that drove away as fast as it came.

There were a few, screaming and shouting bloody murder, chasing for the truck. A futile effort, Detienne scoffed at the time, but he remembered, vividly, the looks of terror and damnation in the young ones eyes. It wasn't just the young ones. There were older ones as well, most likely in their thirties or early forties. It took awhile for the others to pry their manic comrades from the ruins of an evacuated village, but soon the men were silenced. Detienne thinks that the men were silenced a bit too much as during supper, they ate with such extreme silence one could hardly determine if they were even chewing.

"Well, Corporal," Sergeant Reinhardt stood up and tossed his cigarette to the ground, "It doesn't seem like the Germans will be attacking this time."

"You are too complacent, Sergeant Reinhardt," Detienne said. "Do not come screaming to me if you find a shell has entered your body."

The sergeant laughed, "And you, my friend, are much too on your toes. If I find a shell in my body, you will be the first to know."

With that the sergeant departed for his tent, grabbing a slice of bread and a can of beans for a snack. Detienne sighed, tossing his cigarette on the ground and descended to the trenches and tents of the rest of the men. All the men yawned and slouched, their eyes sunken in and some already looked thinner than a bamboo. The corporal snaked through the soldiers, hoping not to be seen, but luck would not be on his side.

The Corporal stood out like a sore thumb in the muddy uniforms and rust colored stains of those in the trenches, but he wasn't met with scowls or snarls from the soldiers. They welcomed Detienne with small smiles while some even waved and whistled at him. He took his usual place under a birch tree, seated with a few of the more experienced recruits. The four soldiers he joined smiled at him, offering him some bread and beans along with half a mug of ale or what tasted like ale anyway.

"It's been a long time, Corporal Detienne," the older of the soldiers, Hallman, said with a tired smile. "Sergeant what's-his-name keeping you from us?"