Breathing. The eerie sound of a dozens of men trying to hold their breath around Thomas was the most unnerving thing he’d ever experienced in this damned war. Dozens of men he knew might not survive the next five minutes-- dozens of men who were writing letters, or stabbing dog-tags into the sandbag wall at their back for loved ones. It made him feel sick, nausea overcoming him as he kept staring at his watch…waiting as his head spun for the second hand to hit that fateful mark…
Then, precisely at 1300, explosions shook the earth. The scream of artillery crashing through the air tore into Thomas’ head, the reverberations of their payload hitting the hill across the no-man’s land rattling his teeth. The men around him all let out their breaths, adrenaline picking up as their wait suddenly had a much…much more real purpose. His own breath, which he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, seemed to come easier as adrenaline pumped through him. He lowered his arm and hoisted the rifle from his feet, checking over the weapon one last time as he closed his eyes and offered up a prayer.
The ground shook, and the officer at the far end of the trench was covering his ears. His eyes were focused into the binoculars set into the trench, however, as he kept an eye on the enemy trench. Thomas felt a pang as, through the vibrations in his skull, he suddenly realized what he was about to do…
He gulped, shakily grabbing at his pocket and pulling out a worn-out picture. The woman in the photograph was smiling, and it was signed ‘Come home soon! I’ll give you a hero’s welcome… –Claire.’ He kissed the photograph before placing it up against the base of the trench, along with the dozens of other mementos of his comrades.
Oh…Claire…Seeing her picture always made Thomas wonder why he’d ever lied about his age...So many people were skipping out on the draft that he’d managed to sneak in without much trouble. Only his dear Claire knew he was out here in this Hell…
Then the explosions ceased—and not a second later the shrill whistle of his commanding officer sounded. A single, unanimous, shout erupted from those around him, sending his already wracked brain into a stupor as he moved with the masses. His vision seemed delayed behind his actions…He saw himself turning and leaping, grabbing for the top of the trench and wrestling himself up and over the top alongside the dozens of comrades he’d grown to befriend.
The first few feet of his sprint were fueled by adrenaline as his brain struggled to keep up with his actions. His throat was sore, screaming and lack of water for the past few days having taken its toll—and yet he still screamed now, in this suicidal rush across the wasteland. A few more feet and more explosions erupted from the other side of the stretch of barren land, only this time their biting flashes were aimed in his direction. Grunts and screams of men erupted around him, cutting their war cry into ribbons as they charged headlong into the gunfire. Blood sprayed, limbs were mangled and shattered, and death danced through these wastes with glee.
Looking to the left was the worst decision Thomas ever made in his life. His scream caught in his throat as he watched Keith, his friend, die. It was all still so very slow for the boy…it all was playing back as if after the fact…Keith’s body was moving forward, but his head was rolling back; blood and gray matter exploding out the back and sides of his head. Thomas wasn’t sure if he choked up from the sight or from the blood splattering across his face…
He tore his gaze from Keith and continued rushing forward…if he stopped now he’d die; just like the scores of those around him…He turned a blind eye to the carnage and focused on making it to that trench just a yard ahead of him.
