Tavern Beneath the Trenches

It was the year 19...19-something. I was in the midst of a German offensive in France in the heart of the first World War. It was...Hectic, to say the least. Chaotic...Would be an understatement. I was in the mud, ducking down as deep as I can to avoid gunfire. My face was pushed up against the ground as bullets from bolt action rifles whiz by above my head. The sounds of my comrades screaming commands to each other were muffled. As I looked around me, I couldn't differentiate between the dead, the living and the ones who were both. My rifle laid stiffly next to me and for a split second I hesitated to pick it up. Of course, I did eventually, springing out the empty shell from the chamber and loading it bullet by bullet--round by round. I lock the hammer in and point my gun forward, aiming for anyone who isn't one of us. Shot after shot, they fall but for every one that tumbles onto the ground, five more charge up from behind the small hills. It was a storm of steel. The Germans kept on coming and some even came with flamethrowers and tanks.

I was a part of the United States 369th Infantry. We were and still are, widely known as the Harlem Hellfighters. That day we lived up to our name of "Hellfighters". The sight before me that day is one I'll never forget. We were being outnumbered and overwhelmed by their power. I remember my friend calling out to me and gesturing me to follow him into a somewhat stable looking structure. I'm sure now, that they saw us enter because as soon as we were about to forge up a plan to somehow fight back, two stick grenades fly into the room. We both traded looks before the bombs went off. The explosion flung me across the room and I felt my body hit the soft, moist and muddy soil outside, rain starting to fall onto my face before I blacked out entirely.

Then I woke up to find myself in a place that was dark. Very dark. In the distance, I saw a light shining dimly. I was still curious as to where I could have been. Suddenly, I heard footsteps and voices from above me, followed by a choir of gunfire. I looked back at the light and got up, making my way towards it. When I reached it, I found myself standing in front of a door that was slightly open. Inside, I heard loud chatter. Like a coffee shop on a Sunday. I knocked on the door a few times and it all went silent. I could only imagine what I'd find behind the door. A secret German outpost? A room full of politicians pulling the strings of the war? Or German soldiers getting ready to gun us down?

The door swung open and I see men inside with glasses of what looked to be beer in their hands. The man who opened the door gestured me to come inside and he welcomed me warmly. I was trying to get rid of the look of awe on my face that I knew was there but I couldn't. I noticed the uniforms that the men inside were wearing. There were both American and German soldiers present there along with soldiers from other armies--both allies and enemies--and they all seemed friendly with each other as they continued their drinking and chatting. "what is this place?" I managed to voice out.

"Ah. Welcome to the Muddy Tavern, friend. Please, have yourself a seat. What would you like to drink?"

I couldn't answer that question. I could barely say anything. I was just in shock. My eyes were wide open, looking at what was going on around me. People who should have be enemies, who should be at each other's throats, were sitting together happily drinking their lives away. As if on autopilot, I sat down at the bar and they randomly slid over a pint of bright, golden beer. I pointed at it and looked over to the bartender. "I didn't ask for this,"

"Well you didn't ask for anything," he said. "so just take it, yeah?" He said quickly before going off to tend to other people. The man who greeted me at the door before sat down next to me with a bottle of whiskey and chugged down a good amount of it. 

"What is this place?" I ask him.

"Didn't I tell ya? This is the Mud-"

"No, I got you the first time," I cut him off. "What is this place?"

"Ah, this is a tavern. But the trick is, this place? It's under the trenches. If you haven't noticed yet, war is goin' on above us. You probably heard it on your way in. Don't worry, we're safe down here. No war, no conflict. We're all comrades here, we don't give a flying mortar about country or race around here. As you can see," he gestures to everyone in the tavern. "We have people from all the different armies down here havin' a good time. This place is run by soldiers, for soldiers," he chugged down more of his whiskey.

I drank my beer and enjoy the taste, the feeling of it running down my throat. I finished my pint and asked for another, already enjoying myself more than I probably should have. "Ya like the drink?" The man asked me. Only then did I notice his thick Scottish accent.

"It's the best drink I've had in a while, yeah," I looked at his uniform. I noticed that he was wearing full white and he was totally clean, as if he were an angel. Then I noticed that he wasn't bearing a flag at all. As I grabbed my new pint of beer, I asked the man. "Hey, what army are you a part of? What country? I don't see any flag on your uniform,"

"Oh I'm from a place high up above. It's a beautiful place. We have no flags there, we dare not differentiate ourselves in such a way. Everyone is equal. It is where you will all go eventually,"

I didn't get what he meant but I just shrugged it off.

One last question I still had to ask him before I knew what this place really was. "Hey, what's your name?"

He turned his head toward me with a smile so genuine it felt like the sunrise was shining it's light on me. In the sweetest tone, he answered my question.

"My name is Azrael,"