The First Soldier

Trench bleeder

Stronvich woke up with a cold sweat broken across his forehead. It was the first day of his break, three days off after being on the front for months fighting the Kaiser's forces. He was gasping for breath when a hand started to shake him violently, "Oi! OI!" He swung and made contact with the voice before realizing that it was just Pytor. "You look like shit," Pytor said as he rubbed his jaw. "Didn't have to hit me though..." "Sorry..." Stronvich said as he shook himself out of his nightmare induced stupor.

The sound of muffled conversations around the two brought him back to reality. That's right, he thought to himself, I am not in that damned trench for now. Stronvich made his way down to a tent where beans were being distributed to the other soldiers. "But these rations are for the 200 men of the 15th!!" Someone was screaming, the cooks and soldiers were at each other's throats. "You damned fool! We are the 15th!" The company had been brought down to less than 50 men since they had last been deployed.

Eventually, everyone got their food. Stronvich and Pytor gorged themselves. They ate like rabid animals. To most, soggy beans and bread would be an insult. To the ravenous soldiers it was as if the gods had cooked their food. In less than an hour the rations meant for 200 men had been consumed. In a nearby patch of dirt, men could be seen playing with anything from cards to sticks. Stronvich sighed, he looked to the west where two days ago he had been killed, and tomorrow they would all go back to that hellscape...

Tomorrow came too quickly, and the company was marching to the front. At the halfway point, they met the 21st company. Of the 400 men that left, only 127 returned. "The hell happened to you?" the commander of the 15th company asked a soldier who was sitting, staring at the ground. The man didn't respond, lost in his own mind. "Hey! What happened to your company!?" The commander reared back and kicked the soldier. The man hit the ground and started to violently cough. Stronovich watched as blood started to pour from his lungs. "What the fuck!!" the officer jumped back, as they watched the man die.

"Shit, it's that damned gas..." Pytor mumbled. The 15th company walked past the men, some helping the others, taking whatever they wouldn't need to carry back. Things like ammo pouches or worn boots. "When you get to the afterlife, tell my mother I'll be there soon." A soldier said to Stronovich as he headed towards the camp set up as the break zone.

When the company reached the line they held, the forces there were few. "I was told I was getting 100 men from the 15th?" another soldier said as he noticed the men set up alongside their comrades in the zig-zaged trenches. "We are all that's left..." Pytor said to the man. A silence fell upon the soldiers as they knew they couldn't hold against another charge. "Well, I say we charge them! If we prove our valor we can have more men sent by nightfall!" The commander of the 15th company said, raising his fist.

He was ignored as he tried to force men into a charge. Back at the camp, he would have been respected. Out here, all the grunts knew he was nothing more than some kid of a wealthy man. He was only a commander because of his status, not his tactics.

13 hours. That's how long the men stood in silence, looking over the ridge of their trench as they feared the sound of a whistle from either side. Then it sounded. Like Gabriel's horn, it signaled the end. Roars of beasts dressed in gray with helms of iron reached the ears of the Russian soldiers. To Stronvich's right, a puff of red was seen as the machine gunner was killed by a German sniper. "Get that machine gun running, NOW!" Pytor said to Stronvich as he started to lug a bucket of water through the trench, shoving other soldiers aside along the way.

Stronovich ducked down, and ran to the gun. He made it and tried to get it firing. The damn thing didn't have any water. The young man decided to fire his rifle into the wave of incoming germans. Bolt. Trigger. Bolt. Trigger. Bolt. Trigger...