The Eye of Odin

Part 7

Through a settling haze, I could see that the entire hill in front of us was gone. Where the trenches had continued for another hundred yards, there was nothing left but a new inlet into the valley beyond. The jagged edges of wooden supports stretched out into the hole from a scant few feet in front of me. If we had been any further into the trench, we would have been gone as well. The utter silence ended only when we heard a rallying cry from across the field. The men behind us, utterly shell-shocked, roused at the sound. I shoved myself to my feet, grabbing Wes by the back of his uniform jacket and pulled him up as well.

"Everyone to the wall!" I shouted, leaping up onto the step. My rifle came up solidly against my shoulder, and through the disappearing smoke of the Eye's blast, I could see dark forms rushing for our trenches. The Germans had gone over the top. "Fire! Don't let them through!"

No one questioned my command. The remaining soldiers opened fire, the initial fusillade tearing through the ranks of the men running for us. The Lewis gun I had sent to the opposite corner of the trench opened up with a roar, the rapid fire machine gun devastating the enemy lines. Despite this, the enemy kept approaching, a seemingly endless wave of harsh faces and dark uniforms. I could hear my breathing coming more quickly, my vision swimming, the rifle in my hands barking angrily. Each shot found a mark, a man falling, as I cycled the bolt and chambered another round. When the fifth brass case had ejected from my rifle, I fell back, dropping into a sitting position on the stand below. I tried to catch my breath, darkness threatening my sight. Reynolds came up, his Enfield rifle planted on the ground next to me.

"--sters" I heard, as sound came roaring back. "Masters! Are you hit? You're pale as a ghost."

I stared up at him, seeing his lips move, and shook my head. I swayed dangerously as I stood and pointed down the trench the way we came.

"F-find me an intact communications line! I need to call in support." I could hear my own voice through a veil of ringing silence. I attributed it to the Eye's explosion, but it was just as likely my nerves. Reynolds gave a quick nod and rounded a corner in the trench, disappearing from my sight. I yanked a stripper clip from my satchel, jammed it into my rifle, and pushed down hard to refill the internal magazine. I flipped the metal tab off and to the side, chambered the first round, and stood back over the edge of the trench.

The Germans were closer now, but there were fewer of them. There were plenty of enemies who could easily seize our trench. I drew in a deep breath, the world around me settling for a brief instant, and counted down from five, cycling the bolt in between each number. Five more men fell, their lives snuffed out by my gun. I fumbled for another clip, only to feel a heavy hand on my shoulder. I nearly lashed out with the butt of my rifle on reflex, but found Reynolds staring at me once again. He held up a field telephone, its wire stretching back down the trench. I nodded solemnly and called into the mouthpiece.

"Lieutenant Masters, Special Courier Service!" I shouted, hearing the tinny response.

"This is Meuse command, Masters. We received authorization from above. What's the situation?" The voice was oddly accommodating, but I should have expected as much. There was one thing the major could still handle, and that was setting up our fire support.

"Trenches are breached, I need a Mark IV to fill the gap."

"We have one en route, Masters. Hold the line."

I swallowed heavily and handed the receiver back to Reynolds. He set it down off the side, and we both climbed back up against the wall. I could see individual features now, a thick mustache below a pointed helmet, thrown back as my shot connected with a man's jaw. Harsh eyes and an open mouth full of startlingly white teeth. My breathing was shallow, too quick, throwing off my aim. I missed, the first time since we'd arrived, as my shot went wide. My intended target fell to the dirt of no man's land and fired back, catching a soldier to my left. I ducked back into the earthworks.

Our numbers were dwindling. I could see the still forms of dead infantry lining the trench. Sound was still oddly muted for me, but the soft keening and wails of the injured filtered in through the ring and rumble of artillery. Reynolds carefully reloaded his rifle and stood back up. Further down the line I could see Doyle and Wes standing side by side, Doyle's rifle cracking, Wes' trench gun a duller thud.

The first German reached the trench and leaped down into the pit between the four of us. Wes turned and struck the man full on with his shoulder, knocking him down. I turned my head away at the sound of Wes's shotgun firing. There were remarkably few enemies visible in the deep gouge left in the hill by the Eye's blast, and I felt my heart skip a beat as I discovered why.

A metal monstrosity, creaking and belching smoke, came into view through the mangled end that had once led to further trenches. The Mark IV tank fired from each high-caliber gun in turn, single-handedly preventing the Germans from flanking us. I could see rifle rounds skipping off of the tank's heavy armor and felt myself grin as I stood back up. Our tank was causing grievous damage to the enemy lines, but they kept coming. Their push had shifted to the far end of the trench, and as I watched, an explosion rocked the site of the second Lewis gun. With the added pressure gone, they spilled into the trench. I ran past Reynolds, Doyle, and finally Wes, taking up a position at a turn, giving myself some form of cover.

There was no apprehension now, no shaking of my hands, no shallow breathing. My heart rate slowed, my vision faded from black to red, and I only saw glimpses of the scene before me. I fired my rifle, cycled, fired again, and whenever I expended the magazine, I reloaded automatically. The men in German uniforms now seemed apprehensive to advance, as I cut them down in quick succession. I only saw brief glimpses of the action, like a moving picture that had been cut together incorrectly.

The trenches around me faded, and I saw instead the cloistered stone walls of Fort Vaux, the terrible inferno brought forth by the German flamethrowers, the hissing, insidious entry of poisonous gas, and the cries of the dying soldiers all around me. I fired, reloaded instinctively, and fired again. My rifle soon ran dry, and I couldn't find any further clips in my pockets.

There was one man left, tall, looking partly confused and partly enraged. He ran at me across the bodies of his compatriots, and I ducked behind the wall. I fumbled desperately through my jacket, completely forgetting the handgun at my belt, and found instead the heavy brass weight of my trench spike.

A combined pair of brass knuckles and a four-inch sharpened metal spike, the device easily slid onto my fingers. I rounded the corner and used the incoming bayonet as a pivot, barely avoiding the deadly point as it shot past my side. The rifle fired, far too late, and the man's scream was cut short. The spike buried into his throat, and I drove his body to the ground as his death cry came in the form of a distressing gurgle. The light of consciousness flickered out of his eyes, and I sat alone in the trench. Fort Vaux slowly drifted away like the mirage it had been, and dozens of dead soldiers, German and Entente, filled the trench before me. I drew deep, shuddering gasps of air that tasted of metallic blood and sulfurous gunpowder.