In 500... (or less)

Regimen

The little black lump bobbed in the Maconochie. It was supposed to be a potato.

"This is what passes for stew these days, chaps," Percy quipped. We all chuckled. Not because it was funny, but because it was the fourth time this week he'd make the same wise crack.

"Between this slurry, what passes for a loo in these parts and that swill which passes for rum," Yeats said, "our own army might kill us before we ever get out of this God-forsaken trench."

"Come now, Will, it isn't as bad as all that." Davies always seemed to appear out of nowhere in the middle of a conversation.

"Look lively," Percy laughed. "It's the cheerful corporal!" It was true, Davies always seemed to wear a smile.

"Back from HQ, are you?" Yeats asked. "What's Boss Haig up to these days?"

"Just word that the Huns have a new rail gun, huge barrel, shells as big Kaiser Bill himself," Davies said. "Spotted by one of the fellows flying over in a Sop."

"Wish they'd shoot old Billy boy over here," Percy said. "I'd like to have a word or two with him. Perhaps feed him a tin of Maconochie."

Davies went on about what he'd heard back at HQ, much to our disinterest. You can only hear so often about shelling, Sops flying this way and that. As long as we didn't hear "going over the top", we surely did not care.

"Off you go, Davies," Yeats implored. "Shut eye is a-calling and I intend to answer."

"Cheerio, then," the corporal chirped. We complained quite a bit about Davies, but there wasn't a one of us who didn't secretly look forward to him stopping in. A smile was a rare as a glass of fine brandy in these parts.

You'd think by now we'd be able to sleep through the shelling. Lord knows the Huns never seemed to run out them.

Then we heard it. It was different.

"Wait for it!" Yeats yelled. What else could you do? You waited and prayed.

The shell let out an awful wail as it sailed overhead. It was like someone loosed the devil himself from the gates of hell, with a host of screaming demons hot on his tail. It was hideous.

It landed a few hundred meters beyond us, raining down dirt and splinters on top of the trench. We knew another Kaiser Bill was on its way. And so were the Germans. 

It was pointless. Lob some shells, scramble over the top, scramble back under a hail of bullets. Look around to see which friends hadn't made it back. We were no different than the enemy when it came to this sorry routine.

If you made it, you woke up to cheap rum and another day of tinned meat. Then you waited for it to start all over again.

It was well into the afternoon, closing in on tea time, when Percy rousted us from our afternoon naps.

"Any of you chaps seen Davies?" he asked, almost panicked. Come to think of it, we hadn't. We asked around, but already knew. The huge crater behind our front line. Poor Davies. No time to mourn. Only time to wait for it all to happen again tomorrow.