That Stench in the Air

I wait for the dawn to come – perhaps for the last time. The stench of bodies here in the trenches is unavoidable; the decomposing matter of what once was my mates creating a foul smell that assaults the senses.

This assault is probably the worse. From when you wake up in the morning, till you finally get some sleep to the chorus of high pitched whistles and deep booming blasts of the enemies attack, always smelling that terrible stench. Always reminded that your mates won’t be going home, that some poor bugger’s family won’t get to hold them ever again, speak to them again.

I’m broken from thoughts by the sound of a lone bugle; the signal to wake up and get ready for the tough day ahead. In some cases, a day where you won’t hear the sound of the piercing instrument again, not to wake up, not to cease fire.

“Private,” a loud, thunderous voice shouts from a few metres away. It was him, the Major, someone who never brought good news.

“Yes, sir,” I reply quickly, standing at attention, not wanting to get in trouble for not showing respect. It’s not just the enemy that punishes you here.

“We’ve have a space in the fourth wave of soldiers for the Nek. I’ve suggested you for the job.” The pompous Major said with an air of importance, sounding like I should be happy that I was being sent on a suicide mission.

“But, sir…” I stuttered, trying to think of something, anything that would help me get out of it, even though I knew he wouldn’t accept any sort of excuse.

“No buts Private be there or you will be punished for cowardice,” he said with an air of finality. With that he walked away, pompous arse. Even though I wanted to argue, oh how much did I want to argue, I knew I couldn’t, if I wanted to have any chance to survive the next few hours, the few hours I had left to live, I just couldn’t argue. No matter how much of an arse the Major was. Bloody git.

With that I got ready, ready for certain death. I wrote letters to my family, tears staining the already dirtied pages, making the ink run, but I didn’t care who saw me. I was going to say goodbye to everyone properly, with words I was too proud to say on the day I left for this bloody place, anyone who didn’t do the same were idiots.

The call came, everyone who had been, for the most part, dragged unwillingly to the Nek got ready to face what was on the other side of the trenches.

Explosions went off. They were meant to be a distraction, so we could all get over and attack the Turks. What happened then?

Unsynchronised watches, that’s what happened. No one had thought to make sure there watches showed the same times. Bloody gits.

Tension ran high; the Turks were already in their trenches, a death trap for us.

A high pitched screech from a whistle cut the almost tangible presence of the tension. It was time for the first wave to go across.

Shouts of courageous men filled my ears; then the sound of the machine gun fire. No more shouts after that.

The men had been cut down violently by the bullets cascading out of the guns like waterfalls. Except blood was the replacement for water.

“Surely they won’t make us run,” an anonymous soldier in the second line whispered, hope filled his voice, “not after that.”

Everyone around him just stared, like he had two-heads. We all knew that wouldn’t be the case. Our superiors wouldn’t care that we died, we were pawns. No, not even that; to them we were lower down than the mud that we lived in.

Another high pitched whistle pierced the air. The second wave was to go.

They went much like the first. Falling one by one, side by side; survivors who tried to crawl back into the trenches, brutally killed by the machines of the enemy.

For what seemed like a lifetime, we waited. We waited to see what the superiors would say. Would they make us run into our deaths? Or would they wait for a more convenient time, one where they could say we died for a good cause?

All I can remember is that the third line went. Ran for their lives they did, some even getting to the trenches, only to be killed by the sharp knives of the Turks.

Then there was confusion. No one seemed to know what was going on. A whistle blew and half of the fourth line went and half didn’t. Being the idiot I am, I pushed myself up and out of the trenches and started to run as hard and fast as I could.

All I could see were the dead bodies of my comrades lying in the positions they fell. I knew that I would soon be joining them.

The sound of machine guns battered my eardrums; pelting bullets down on me like rain during a Queensland storm.

Pain was all I could feel after that. Not knowing where I had been hit was the hardest thing to wrap my head around. When I looked at my body all I could see was the deep crimson liquid that ran through my body to keep me alive. Well, at least it once did; now all it was doing was seeping into the muddy ground, fertilising the barren wasteland.

I could feel the life drain out of me; I was getting weaker and weaker by the second. All I could think was waiting for that last dawn this morning; I would have savoured it if I had actually known it was my last.

I draw a deep heavy breath and know it will be my last. I die thinking of the poor blokes who will have to put up with stench of my death in the trenches now.