Collection of Short Stories

Dulce Et Decorum Est

This is another school assessment this time, this time the stimulus was a poem called Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Own. It is about his time in Wolrd War 1, I used this as an inspiration but I also told the story from the other side, the German side.

Germany, 1978

60 years. It had been 60 years and yet he was still plagued by nightmares. Nightmares that would never leave him not until his ending sleep finally came. The old man sighed, looking down at is wrinkly hands, time had changed them, and changed him too.

His life had taken a drastic turn in his youth. Those years of horror and bloodshed had never left his mind. His country had been torn apart, his people blamed for an inevitable war. He had cursed his enemies at the time alongside his soldier friends. But within time he had realised they were people with emotions and feelings, like him, like his friends. They were all pawns of war, a war that none other than the politicians of the time had been to blame. They had had no choice but to fight for the glory of the Kaiser and the Vaterland.

The wrinkled man, his once blonde hair now white as snow stared down at the old creased picture. It was him and his closest friend, Hans Bauer. They were young and handsome, full of bright smiles standing side by side proudly in their uniforms. How foolish they had been. How foolish they had all been. The man closed his eyes and breathed in old smoke, transporting him to another time, another place.

*

The trenches, 1917

The silence was deafening. The men had no words left as the cold seeped through their clothes. They were numb to the coldness and felt nothing, not anymore. They were tired, their once youthful energy diminished.

"Thomas?" Hans asked his friend coming to sit next to him and offering him a precious cigarette.

"Danke." Thomas replied gruffly, and eagerly took it. It would warm him up for the night, even if only for a couple of minutes. The men sat in silence. Smoke puffed before them, the coldness disappeared for just a moment.

"Remember the nights we used to go out with our girls, and dance the night away." He gave a small laugh. "Who would have thought we would be here now, in this slum of a hole." He added bitterly. Thomas nodded thoughtfully, inhaling the warming smoke.

"Gefreiter Müller, Bauer. Get ready for giftgas attack in 5 minutes."

"Kapitän." The two men stood up swiftly and saluted their Captain, who gave them a curt nod in return. The men grabbed their masks and made their way to their positions. Around them their fellow soldiers were doing similar actions, staggering as they walked. The war had taken a toll on all of them. The men sat in silence as they awaited their order.

"Feuer!"

Thomas aimed for the enemy lines. His gas bomb flew with rapid speed, falling behind the lines of the English. Score, he thought bitterly. Once he would have been proud of his perfect shot, but he was too drained, his only thought was to stay alive.

Thomas could hear the screams from behind the enemy lines. He guessed some had not been able to reach their gas masks in time. He grimaced. He knew the effect that the gas had on people. The skin would burn and itch, leaving yellow blisters in its trail. Eyes would feel as if they were burning through the socket. The lungs would feel as if they were exploding, the coughs brutal and harsh, as if choking on one's own breath. Thomas knew many men died, while others were affected for life.

He left his post, following the other soldiers undercover. The men shuffled along, many backs were stooped, from being in the trenches too long. Thomas sat by Hans and two other soldiers, eating their meagre dinner. The last of the screams had finally ended.

Time seemed to flow together. Thomas didn't know how much time passed, the days moulded into one another. The same routines were done daily.

"Englischer Angriff!" someone shouted, followed by gunshots. Men stumbled to grab their gear. Thomas cursed as he fumbled with his weapon.

A grenade exploded close to him he ducked, looking around to see who was hit.

"Hans..." Thomas scrambled to his friend's side, dragging him to shelter, avoiding bullets. Hans groaned in pain. There was so much blood. Thomas panicked. Hans's leg was all but gone.

"Nein...Hans don't leave me." He pleaded with his friend as he tried unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding. Hans opened his eyes.

"I'm...I'm sorry...tell her..." he whispered, his breathing stopped before he could finish. Tears poured down Thomas's dirt streaked face. His chest heaved with pain as he wept.

What was the point of war? Hundreds of deaths.

And for what purpose? Glory? Honour?

Nothing.

*

Germany, 1978

A teardrop fell on the old, worn-out picture. Thomas's life had never been the same after the war. His years had been spent dreading falling asleep and to see the trenches, the blood, the deaths of his friend and many others and the horror over and over again.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes once again. He smiled gently thinking of his wife, his family and his friend, Hans. He wanted nothing more than to see them again. Happy thoughts clouded his mind, sweeping away the nightmares of the past and for once he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

*

"Here lies Thomas Mueller 1893-1978

Beloved Husband, Father and Friend

We will remember"