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Final Words

The mud clung like glue to his boots and uniform. Overhead, the thunder of exploding shells hurt his ears, and shook the ground endlessly. He hunkered down, squinting at the piece of paper he tried to keep clean as he wrote, the first words already smearing.

Dear Mary

I'm writing to you from a trench near the front lines. I can't say where exactly because of censorship, but this morning, in the sunrise, I saw the steeple of a church that reminded me of the one where we used to picnic. The sky was pale blue, and there were even a few birds soaring about the sky.

The shelling will start again soon, and I might not get another chance to write. Most of my comrades are doing the same thing. We have a messenger who gathers up the letters and gets them back to headquarters. He's a brave young kid. I don't even know his name. Anyway, I wanted to tell you--

The shelling began right on time. The enemy worked like a clock. Chunks of dirt and debris rained down into the trenches and the men buried themselves as deep as they could for protection. An officer came scurrying down the line issuing orders. A counterattack was expected shortly.

Up and down the winding trough there were grumbles and complaints. The smell was overpowering. Days of sweat and fear, mixed with the open latrines, the moans of the wounded and dying. Rats that had to be fought as well as the enemy. Disease was rampant, yet the soldiers gritted their teeth, squeezed their rifles and cursed the enemy.

The shelling was endless. The noise was endless. The misery was endless.

--I have to write faster, Mary, we'll be going over the top soon, and I don't want to miss the kid when he comes to collect the mail. I love you with all my heart, and can't wait to get back home to our cottage and the life we planned for. Keep your eyes on the post, and don't despair.

Tell my parents I will write to them first chance after this. It may be a while, we have to get across a field of wire and craters, but our boys are up to it. The enemy is in for a big surprise. I wonder if they are as miserable as we are out here. Seems hard to imagine.

The whistle just sounded, love, I must go. Keep me in your prayers, Mary, and remember I love you. I love you always.

Dan

Word was passed down the line to get ready. Men shifted their positions, setting their feet for the thrust needed to go over the top. Last minute prayers could be heard along with the rattle of canteens, as dry throats were rinsed with warm water. They hear the officer yell 'Ready' and then the whistle blew.

There was a roar of voices as all along the trench, men scrambled over the top, screaming and shouting as they charged across the empty ground. The enemy Maxims open fire, raking the field mercilessly. Men tumbled like children's blocks, some in fear, some with purpose, some dead.

Still, with the whistle ringing in their ears, they rose and charged again, and again, leaving friends hung on the wire or face down in water filled craters, their goal within reach over the blood spattered muddy ground.

Running crouched, down the length of the trench, the kid gathered up the discarded letters and stuffed them in his pouch. Bullets whined overhead, and he slipped and fell more than once. One letter was stuck beneath the hand of a fallen soldier, and the kid rolled him over to free it.

A bullet had gone right between his eyes as he started out of the trench, and his letter was squeezed in his fist. The kid pulled it free and lowered the man down. He straightened the letter as best he could, the words I love you. I love you always. Dan, were smeared with blood.

Carefully, he tucked the letter in with the rest and with a respectful salute; he left, hurrying down the rest of the trench.