Bayonets and Barbed Wire

Chapter 7

German Front Line Trenches, Champagne District, France

Late October, 1915

10:42 A.M.

"Well lads, how does it look?" Ralf asked in his best British accent as he showed off the new steel helmets command was distributing.

"I think it'll hold your brains well," Krzysztof commented with a high-pitched laugh.

"Hey, hey, now you won't have to dig a hole for a toilet," Georg chimed in.

"You'd better hope they don't shine a light on you, you'll light up like a torch!" Otto cried.

Ralf took the helmet off, "You all laugh now, but when I take a shot to the head and survive you'll all be begging to have one."

"The odds of a Frenchman even coming close to shooting your head is unlikely, and even then, your head is too dense for it to do much damage!" said Anton, joining in on the conversation. The entire gang burst out in laughter.

Ralf resigned his argument and tossed the helmet off to the side of the dugout. Thunder rolled outside and a cool breeze blew rain through the doorway. It had been storming all day, and there was no evidence that it would stop any time soon. The light pitter-patter of the rain falling on the dirt above them was somewhat comforting though, and made for a good distraction from the constant drum of artillery and small arms fire.

Footsteps thumped outside as a short soldier entered the dugout, "Why aren't you all outside?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"Emil, give it a break, it's raining outside and besides, we're the reserve trench!" Krzys whined. "Here, you can even come and sit with us."

Emil just stared at him with his beady little eyes for a moment, "You know the Captain is still out there, right?" he asked flatly, "When you're outside you can hear him screaming between the blasts of thunder." Everyone lowered their eyes in shame.

Krzys stood up and grabbed an MP-18, "Then let's go rescue him, come on guys!"

Georg waved him down, "That's suicide you fool." Anton nodded in agreement.

"I'll go Krzys," Otto sighed. Ralf hit the back of his head against the wall and stared up at the ceiling.

"I guess I'll go too then," he muttered.

No Man's Land, Champagne District, France

Late October, 1915

10:00 P.M.

Mud squished under Otto as he crawled like a slug across No Man's Land. They had been searching for Captain Lange for the better portion of the last quarter-hour. At the easiest moments, the Captain's cries were loud and easy to track, and at the worst he was unconscious and indistinguishable from the other corpses in the scar. Emil was the one leading the search, and had taken up the appropriate position of being in front of everyone else. When the screaming started again, Emil hunkered down and waited, listening intently to determine where Lange was. This time, the cries were loud, close. He started moving again, and, upon peeking over the edge of the next crater, signalled for his party to follow him.

Otto crawled over the lip of the crater and rolled down the side. When he rose to a crouch he saw Emil at Lange's side around five feet away and Krzys and Ralf coming down the side of the crater with a stretcher. He slowly made his way to Lange, injected him with morphine, and began searching for the bullet's entry point. It was almost impossible for him to see anything in the dark, but eventually, through touch, he was able to find a hole in Lange's leg. He began searching for the bullet's exit point, but quickly realized that there was none. With one hand placed over the Captain's mouth, he used a pair of tweezers to pull the lodged round out. Lange spasmed a few times due to the pressure, and almost bit Otto's hand before the morphine kicked in. Otto stumbled through wrapping Lange's leg, then backed up so that Ralf and Krzys could roll him onto the stretcher.