Ghosts of War

War

Men clutched onto their rifles with a vice-like grip, holding them close to their chests as they scrambled ungracefully onto the shore - oblivious to the number of machine guns that preyed on them from above, manned by their eager, merciless operators. Impenetrable fog masked the expressions of the baby-faced men as the feelings of anxiety overwhelmed their spirits. Nervously, they advanced, stumbling over the bodies of their recently deceased allies. The atmosphere was tense and humid; no breeze dared blow across this sin-sodden land. This left the air concentrated with the grotesque stench of fresh cadavers, salt water, smoke and earth.

The sinister silence left a feeling of uncertainty and confusion on the troops. Why was it so quiet? Spontaneously, there was an apocalyptic collision of sound: deafening explosions, cursing and screaming and erratic eruptions of gunfire. Random detonations hurled men twenty feet into the air, and they crashed violently onto the beach, breaking several bones as they made contact with the solid ground. Those who were able to stand frantically tried to subdue the flames that lit up their uniform, but their efforts were futile. They collapsed onto the sand as their skin flaked away and their faces were devoured by the remorseless fire, exposing the chalk-white bone which was once concealed with tender, pink flesh. Faint, ghostly, breathless screams escaped from between what was left of their lips - the sound of a soul leaving its body. Bullets rained down upon their heads, spearing men from all angles: a rival behind the machine gun would silently celebrate when he saw his opponents drop like flies.  Gruesomely injured men urged onwards in an almost zombie-like trance, as if this was a mission they must achieve to fulfil the purpose of their living. One unlucky soldier was shot directly in the ear and he jerked around in a disturbing fit for almost two minutes, but no one took notice of him, no one wanted to help him, no one had time...

Finally, the attacking side was able to penetrate the defender's front line and they attacked with a vengeance. Throats were slit, guts were spilt, vomit was spewed, limbs were torn and bones were manipulated into unnatural positions. An all-around repulsive display. Those who tried to become recluse were quickly found and destroyed. There was no mercy here. They may pray to their God and he may have granted them mercy, but these men had become inhuman and beastly, their shocking transformation from a father, brother or cousin into this unrecognisable deliverer of death, would have shocked those who let these men handle their children and live in their homes. Without thinking of the consequences, gas bombs were casually tossed into the trenches, and like a ghostly predator, the toxic fumes attacked the lungs of whatever man dare to breathe it in. Its victims died in agonising pain, as the air that once gave them life had been morphed into this toxic gas that melted their eyeballs within their sockets.

The enemy trench had been infiltrated and there wasn't a single survivor. But the attacking side were not done yet. Determined to leave a mark, they set up their secret weapon: Gavon336, the most powerful and destructive rocket of its size. Patiently, they waited until sunset, the optimum time to strike, before letting of their firework of devastation. At a suitable distance the men observed the take-off of their rocket, knowing that after this their mission would be complete and they could return home. Flames jetted out from underneath the rocket, thrusting it skyward into the dark clouds to mask it from the view of any unsuspecting villagers. It was surprisingly silent and gracious as it arced across the sky like a bat. Shameless men celebrated and cheered as they settled down for the night, without thinking twice about the souls that they were about to torture...

2:30am, Gavon336 arrived at its destination, right at the heart of the sleeping city. As it hit the ground it sent a powerful shockwave like a moderate earthquake, shattering a few small buildings (and this wasn't even the initial explosion). Trembling townspeople anxiously peered out of their windows, as the air-raid sirens blared out their ear-piercing song. People fumbled for their gas masks and hurried to gather their children and get them to safety, but it was too late. Gavon336 detonated and sent an intense heat wave turning everything within a two mile radius into ashes and molten matter. The area resembled a desolate hell and the remains that were once people frazzled in the fire, a disgusting resemblance to the coal in wicked furnace.

How sick is war? It is a monstrous beast with a maleficence beyond compare. Stupidly created by the hands of mankind as a weapon against our own race, it is an ancient art piece, painted crimson with the blood of its victims... Every one of these men were merely names. A name. Just a name to be added to an infinite list of dead people, some of them never even to be remembered at all! We mourn for them, but they will never find peace, for war continues through death; in war they live, in war they die - they are the Ghosts of War.