The Last Days (short story)

When All is Quiet

11/11/1918

I awoke in the early morning hours, the whether was gloomy and cold, as per usual. The war would be over today at 11:00. But until then, we still had to fight. Our commander decided it was a wise idea to send us over the trenches to raid the enemies one last time. We only had a half an hour to go. I ran through No Mans Land as I had done so many times before. My stuff was heavy and I grunted as I ran. Once I reached the allies trenches, I jumped down and aimed my rifle around.

25 minutes.

I could hear the sound of sloshing mud coming from behind me. I whirled around to see a young French soldier. He was about my age, with dark hair and fear filled blue eyes. He was out of breath, but he still stood firm with his bayonet pointed at me. Though he didn't try to take my life. I immediately thought back to the first boy I killed.

20 minutes.

I didn't want to kill this young man in front of me, and it was evident that he didn't want to kill me either.

18 minutes.

I lowered my gun and I watched as he did the same. I placed it on the ground and held my hands up above my head to show him that I wasn't going to hurt him.

15 minutes.

I slowly reached my hand out in front of me, motioning for him to shake it. He hesitated, but reluctantly gave in. We shook hands and smiled at one another. Suddenly all the men that I had killed seemed to vanish from my mind. I only wanted to focus on the young lad whom I had just made peace with.

10 minutes.

I could feel tears forming in my eyes as let go, the same was happening to him. I started to weep harder than I had ever before. I reached out to the boy and wrapped him in a hug. He hugged me back, and we stayed that way for seemingly forever.

5 minutes.

We let go, but smiled at one another. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigar and offered it to him. The young lad took it and I lit it for him. We began to laugh with one another as we smoked our cigars.

2 minutes.

It felt as though making peace with this boy was making up for all my sins. Every night the deaths of all the men I've killed play in my head, and every night I sit and cry, wondering who they were or could have been if I hadn't taken their life. I wondered if they had a wife, or a girlfriend who waited for them. Or a child, or a niece or nephew. Or their parents or grandparents. They'd never see each other again, and it was all because of me.

In the distance the sound of gunfire and shelling ceased, and for the first time in years, I could hear the sound of birds chirping. Both the young man and I looked up into the morning sky. I looked back to him, and he looked at me.

"Ich.... Ich bin Joseph," he said.

"Ich bin Otto," I replied to him with a smile.

"S...S-Sprichst du Französisch?" Joseph asked.

"Un peu" I said. He looked at me, clearly surprised by my answer.

"Can I give you my home address? So we can write to one another? I do not wish to forget you, comrade," Joseph said.

"Sure," I smiled.

We exchanged addresses and chatted for a bit about our experiences and all that we've witnessed. After a few moments his sergeant called to him, and he waved to me before departing.

"It was good meeting you Otto!" He said.

"You too, Joseph!" I replied. He smiled and then turned and took off on the direction of his commander. I smiled to myself. I felt like all the bad memories had just been washed away. It felt like I was finally free.

I'll never forget that day. It was the last day of the Great War. The war to end all wars. All the fighting had stopped, and it was dead quiet. Years from now grass shall grow and flowers shall bloom where men once fell. The trenches and craters will scar the land for years to come, as to tell the people who see them to not forget what happened there. Do not forget the young men and boys who took up arms seeking an adventure. Do not forget the ones who disappeared or lost their lives fighting to return home. Do not forget those who lost their souls on the very last day. For that day shall live forever in the memories and hearts of many: and history shall remember our names.

On the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, every front grew quiet with the sound of truce and peace.