The Last Days (short story)

Under Fire

11-9/10-1918

Peter and I stood guard that night, staring off into the dark, star speckled, sky.  It was rather peaceful tonight, usually the sounds of shelling echoed throughout the night and continued on into the morning. It was as though the enemy never slept.
    "Quite nice out, isn't it?" Peter said, gazing at the stars that shimmered up above.
     "Very," I responded with a smile.
     "Cigarette?" He asked, pulling a pack and lighter out of his breast pocket. I nodded and reached out to grab a cigarette. I lit it with the lighter my mother had sent me last year for Christmas. The silence continued as we looked back up to the sky. Nights like these were ones that I wouldn't mind remembering. There had been many like these, Peter and I had made friends with a corporal who was around our age. The lads name was Heinrich. The three of us would stand guard and sing Wo Alle Straßen Enden over and over again. We tried to beat our record of 57 times, but we lost could at around 40. Heinrich was a cheerful boy, no matter what situation he was in he never let it get to him. He was injured pretty badly about a week ago, and he's been in the hospital since. He got a chunk of his side blown off. I still remember him lying on the ground with a big smile on his face.
    "I guess I'm by myself," he joked, pointing to his flesh that sat next to him.
I missed the lad, but I knew he'd be back soon.
*****
The morning came to us quicker than expected. And just as any other morning this one was not a pleasant one. The shelling began early, and didn't stop until later in the afternoon. Casualties were always heavy whenever they shelled us for hours on end. Sometimes they did it for days, weeks even. After we got used to the constant shelling, Peter would roll his eyes and get mad when it happened.
   Good lord in heaven up above..." he'd mumble. It always made me laugh when he got mad, Peter could come up with some of the funniest insults or phases when he was upset. The shelling grew quieter with every hour, Peter crossed his fingers all afternoon to the point where his skin turned red. When the obnoxious noise ended, Peter threw his hands into the air and shouted "Hallelujah!" Never a dull moment with that man, never.