The First Soldier

The first soldier.

When Stronvich looked into the night sky, it was so serene. He saw the stars he saw whisks of smoke from the fields before him. It was unfair, he thought, unfair that while he lived in a trench the stars could lie in heaven above. He looked down from the painting of beauty and down at the field. And the contrast between the two was as if a painter had tried to show the difference between heaven, and hell itself. Across the field from where Stronvich was entrenched there lie the maggot-infested corpse of a horse from the German cavalry, it's mouth open and dead eyes that seemed to bore right into the poor boy's very own. Even though the animal had been dead for a week, it still managed to haunt him by laying just out of reach. And even worse, while it may seem to be torturing him, it also tempted him. The young boy had not eaten in nearly two days. The Germans had made sure that they would have no time to rest as they threw shells and bodies at each other. But it was all they knew at this point, the Bolshevik had been drafted out of school to try and find someway to make money for his family. And for him, business was bullets, shells, and dead horses.

He kept looking over the field when a loud "crack!" And then a sudden thump on the dirt next to him stunned the boy. A hand yanked him from the sentry's perch and into the mud of the trench beneath him. "Fucking idiot!" A gruff voice brought the boy from his stunned mind. "Didn't they teach you a damn thing about snipers?!" It took a moment for the young Bolshevik to understand he had nearly died and froze like a boy with his hand in the cookie-jar. He looked up to see that Pytor was standing nearly straight over him.

Stronvich had met Pytor only two days after being shipped to the front. The man was only about 5 years older than the 17 year old boy, but he had saved him from an artillery barrage and taught the boy how to properly clean his rifle... much more than his deadbeat father had ever done for him. Pytor grabbed his forearm and helped pull the boy to his feet. "S-sRory sir! I was just distracted." "Well if you can't keep an eye on the field you might get us all killed!... that is if we don't starve first."

The troops were getting little to no sleep from the constant pounding of artillery, but they also had not received a proper meal in weeks. Some of them had already resorted to attempting to cook the horses that had been slaughtered in the fields. Petrovich had originally been repulsed by the idea, but a few days of starving had taught him to appreciate the somewhat undercooked meat. All he had to do was watch out for maggots and bits of lead and it was as if he was eating a feast for a king.

"When do you think the next batch of boots is coming in?" Another voice said from nearby. It was another boot that had arrived with Stronvich. His neighbor Dimitri who had finally convinced his mother to sign the paper by telling her it would be good for the boy to have some time away while subtly pointing at Stronvich's father.

Neither boy had known what hellscape awaited them when they signed up. They were told too many tales of honor and glory and believed they would walk back with medals and crisp clean uniforms. It wasn't until their first night when they had to fight off a German assault did they realize how bad it would truly be.

Thinking of that moment nearly brought the 17 year old back to the moment he killed his first opponent. Pytor saw him slipping into that mindset and smacked him on the shoulder, "hey. Get back up there. You're still on guard duty until the next charge."

"Right. Right" he shook his head and pulled himself back onto the elevated platform that would allow him to get some kind of line of sight at any incoming German boys... no not men, monsters. He had learned that calling them boys and men made it more difficult to kill them.

For the next hour, the only sounds he heard were buckets of water and quiet murmuring and soldiered looked to break the monotony of the silent field. Then, he heard a dreaded sound, not from the enemy but from behind him. A whistle followed by an officer screaming "CHARGE!!" And then boots on wood as soldiers brought themselves over the trench walls and began to rush towards the entrenched Germans. Stronvich waited for the first wave to go over and found himself frozen as he looked over the ridge. He was only a boy, not even of age. Never bed a girl or had a kid, yet here he was.

A click sounds behind him. "Go boy, unless you want to end up like the deserters" that was all that was needed to send the young boy to an almost certain death. Those who did not do as told, were killed by their comrades and commanders. Stronvich nearly slipped as his feet hit the muddy ground of no-man's-land. He held his rifle, bayonet affixed, and charged. It took him 11 seconds to reach the other trench. He had only slipped on 2 bodies one of a man he would never know , and one that was Dimitri.

Stronvich saw Pytor struggling with a German who attempted to stab him. Both men were on the ground, fighting for control of a knife that slowly got closer and closer to the Russian's neck. Stronvich wasted no time bashing his boot on the side of the Germans skull. Once the man was off Pytor. He kept on stomping until there was nothing recognizable. He didn't look as he aimed and fired at another man not caring to see if he died. It went like this for a while. Bolt. Trigger. Bolt. Trigger. As he and the other men fought for control of the trench. And soon it was theirs. They had taken the trench, but before they could celebrate, they were under barrage. Their own commanders were shelling the trench not realizing that they had taken it. "FUCK!" Stronvich tried to climb out of the trench when a shell blew him back into the muddy hole.

"Someone get them to stop!" Another young boy shouted as he rocked himself, holding his ears. Pytor shoved Stronvich into an underground bunker and hoisted himself over the side of the trench. He had tied a Russian flag to his rifle and waved it through the air. After about two minutes. The barrage stopped and more men came to help them fortify the trench. Now that they had taken some of the German guns, they stood a better chance of holding off an assault. But they had lost nearly a thousand men to gain less than a 100 meters of deathly ground.

Pytor fell back into the trench, guided to a bench by his young friend. "Well that makes three." Stronvich was confused until he smiled, kicking the older soldier's shin lightly. "This is our third? It's only been about six months!" Pytor glared at the younger man. "Some of us have been here for years before we could take even a single centimeter of land. You would do well not to joke about it."

Both men sat there until Pytor took out a cigarette and tried to light it. Stronvich grabbed his own lighter and offered it to the older man. "You carry a lighter?" Pytor scoffed as he took it and finally lit the stick. "What would your mother dearest think?" Stronvich groaned before sitting beside his friend. "Well she isn't exactly here now is she?" Both let out a chuckle as they sat there. They were all supposed to be cleaning the bodies out, but the tired soldiers decided that they deserved a break.
Smoke from various guns and fires obscured their view of anything more than 10 meters away. The flesh and mud left a rather unpleasant smell hanging in the air. But for now, it was better than being in an active firefight for the soldiers.

Little did any of them know; this is what would repeat for the next 2 years.