Mud, Sweat, and Melee: The Story of A British Soldier, 1916- 1918

Section 1: June

June 2, 1916
This awful war shows no signs of stopping. I had only arrived in France two months earlier, but I am already feeling homesick.

June 3, 1916
Our commanding officer has stated to us that we are to move forward onto the frontline in another day or so. I have only been in the back lines so far, and things brings me great excitement.

June 6, 1916
After a minor delay, we are here, on the frontlines. I can already say I regret being so anxious to see what it is like. Conditions are awful. The mud is excruciating and I even saw a rat the size of a cat. These are poor conditions, not suitable for any man, no matter what.

June 14, 1916
Today, the enemy bombarded us with heavy precision. Shells reigned down hell upon us, and when it was over, men burst out from all directions, either a poor sucker injured in the blast, asking for medical help, or  a poor sucker going to aid one of the wounded. Conditions are still awful, not to mention the fact that the enemy are in another trench less than 200 meters away from us.

June 15, 1916
The enemy actually attacked us today. A couple hundred of them stormed across the desolate area between our trench and theirs. We cut them down. They may have been the enemy, but it was still manslaughter. They raced across open ground as we shot at them with our standard issue Lee Einfield rifles, but that wasn't enough for the officers. They ordered the machine guns to open up as well. The Germans fell like leaves in fall, so gracefully, yet so horrifically and disturbingly. As they finally fell back, they left behind at least seventy or so of their own men, half of them still alive and dying.

June 19, 1916
Again, we were charged. The Germans launched another assault, with less than half the men they'd had in the first attack. Again, it all just became a slaughterhouse. Guns all across the trench line opened up on the hapless Germans. I actually pitied them, watching them fall in agony, screaming in pain. They managed to reach our trench this time, and bloody melee ensued. The Germans only lasted a few minutes before we drove them back. As they retreated, some attempted to help the wounded. I saw two particular men dragging their wounded comrade away, when one of them was shot. The other soon encountered the same fate. One cocky soldier to my left had shot them both. I felt like shooting him at that moment, and not the Huns.

June 22, 1916
I have not written in a while and I shall not for awhile. We are being transferred from these godforsaken trenches to another trench line. Apparently it is located along the Somme river, and supposedly we are meant to take part in a massive offensive. The Somme Offensive.