Green Fields of France

Chapter 1

One more step. Just a few more steps and they would reach the front lines. One more step closer to a living hell. Everything he carried felt heavier with each step, each passing second. His rucksack seemed to be filled with boulders. William could have sworn his feet were made of lead. The weight of his rifle seemed to go up with each life he took. A new pound for each new taken life. His bagpipes were no longer his fun, childhood entertainment. They were a moral booster, alarm and pass time. They too were burdened with the death of this bloody war. Yet one more step and there they were. The front lines. Where Ares feasts upon the death of man and the extreme violence of mankind. This was home now. A damp, slimy hole in ground in the middle of a living hell.

William removed his Brodie helmet mark II. The newest model of helmets for the British Expeditionary Force. He tucked it under his armpit for a quick moment. Running a hand threw his reddish brown hair he took a deep breath. A slight breeze rustled his depressing beige kilt. The horrible smell of rotten corpses, infected rats, spilt blood and vicious killing wafted up the young Scottish private's nose. He gagged putting his helmet back on. The stench was unbearable. Willy threw his bagpipes over one shoulder and placed them on top his rucksack. Straightening out his beige uniform and shifting his ammunition bag and trench mace. Sighing once more, he grabbed his rifle and hopped into the trench.

William wandered the labyrinth of tunnels, trenches and bunkers. Pausing only for a quick second to read a sign or to chat briefly with an officer. Arrows and signs pointing this way and that way. One such sign read off roll call and check in. That is where he needed to be. Setting off in the direction of the sign was pointing. He passed by machine gun nests, medical bays, barracks and cafeterias. He walked by soldiers from all around the world, Australia,New Zealand India, Canada, Belgium, France, Britain, Japan, the rest of Europe, fellow Scots and the rest of the British empire. Some were laughing and drinking, others were serious and on guard. William was taken back by everything, all the different people and all the different places in this trench system. This place was home. It was shelter. He was lucky to be here. Part of his battalion had been killed, fighting to get to this trench system. Fighting to bring supplies, reinforcements and other survival needs.

He shuddered, trying not to remember the horrific scene. The bloody face of his dying lifelong best friend, classmate and fellow musician. William could not stop the image from replaying over again in his head. They had been ambushed by the Germans. Machine guns firing at them from all sides. Sniper rounds whizzing past their heads. To his right and to his left soldiers fell. His best friend Charlie McConnor was struck in the chest. William would never forget the blood curdling scream Charlie made as he collapsed. Charlie had clutched his chest and cried for his mother. William witnessed the events unfold, helplessly like an abandoned puppy as Charlie went limp. He'd cry that night for Charlie, clutching Charlie's celtic cross necklace and a photograph of his best friend.

William patted the pocket where he kept the important objects to him. A photograph of his mother, father, younger brother and baby sister. A photograph of Charlie. Charlie's celtic cross necklace. His most prized possession was a small picture of his beloved mother and one of his beautiful sweetheart. William smiled briefly at least he had them to think about. Those few happy memories that kept him alive. All those times hunting with his father in the woods or playing with his younger siblings. Causing trouble with Charlie. A hard tap abruptly threw Willy back into reality. He spun around to see who had startled him. William looked up to see a large, muscular officer standing over him. "Name and company or battalion," The Lieutenant commanded in loud french accent, muffled by his thick mustache.

"William McBride, 102nd Scottish Highland Regiment, 3rd company," he responded, hesitantly. He had to admit the lieutenant scared him a little. The lieutenant pointed to a group of soldiers with beige shorts on, high knee socks, the same jacket service dress as him and either a slouch hat or a basic Brodie Helmet Mark I as head wear. William concluded that they must have been the Australian New Zealand Army Corps. With them William could tell that the 102nd Scottish Highland Regiment was also there.

He joined up with the soldiers. They quickly shared news and chatted about the war. William and his fellow highlanders told the Australians and New Zealanders about the German plan to attack from the rear. This sparked a few laughs and a few serious topics. William being at the ambush first hand knew what the Germans were planning. William tried to have them believe him. Only a few would. "Eh mate, you're crazy. If you think the German's gonna attack than go tell the senior officers, no us." An older Australian soldier replied. Elbowing his comrades, he chuckled at Willy's remarks. "Look lad, why don't you play your instrument back at the school band? Okay mate?" The soldier joked again, sparking a few laughs and chuckles from his friends. William looked down at his feet. He lost all hope. They weren't going to listen. He would have to yell. Defeated Willy sulked away.

"Scots, Australians, New Zealanders! Anyone who will listen! Listen to me! The Germans are planning a massive attack!" William shouted frantically. Panic and anxiety washed over him. He didn't want to have a repeat of the ambush. No one would listen. No one ever batted an eye. They figured he was just a child with a big imagination. Why would they listen to him? He was only a delusional child who was scared to fight in the war.

Darkness quickly fell upon the soldiers like a thick blanket upon a frigid soul in the middle of a frosty winter. All the days problems was numbed with a sudden tense feeling. As soon as night fell upon the trenches William piped down a notch. He no longer needed to worry about the attack. Laying his weary head down on the rock hard pillow. Instantly he was out cold. Worn down and exhausted by the week's events. William prayed silently that he would die tonight or at all.

William jolted out of his uncomfortable bed under the ground. The ear pricing raid whistle broke the silence of the night. William had no time to throw on his over shirt. Rushing out of the small bunker doorway with bagpipes under his arm. Rifle in hand. William saw the raid unfold. Firing his rifle at seemly endless waves of German soldiers. Click. Click. Click. He rifle jammed. In utmost anger he threw his rifle onto the ground. Bending down for only a moment to see if his combat knife was still safely sheathed in his sock. He looked up. All seemed lost. William stood in the Allied trench and played the tune of Auld Lang Syne. He still had hope. His bagpipes gave hope to all those who would listen.

A/N: Hey this is my first serious writing piece. Please critique it as much as you want. Hard and fair. I want to make this a truly wonderful work of art. So please tell how I can fix this. The more feed back the better! Anyway I hope you enjoyed this story chapter

-Cat Out =^.^=