Tuesday, 16th November 1915. My time to go on the front line had come again, dread flooded through me, but I couldn't argue. I had never seen a rotting corpse before I went on the front line. The image was gruesome, my dreams were bursting with the horror of numerous decaying corpses, lying in every direction, surrounding me. I found no escape from the terrifying images, in my imagination and real life, lying before my eyes. I had mentally adjusted to the shock the war had given me, it was a wake up call, and you find yourself lost and alone, even though all of your fellow troops encase you. The stench of death pierce your lungs and the deafening sounds of the guns threaten to burst your eardrums. That is what war is about, not being a hero but dying, alone and very, very scared. You have my word on that, since being one of the troops sent out into battle, I must state that I doubt this troop will emerge from this war alive. The war to end all wars wasn't ending, the opposition wasn't retreating and sadly, I wasn't going home. The sounds of shells crashing down and wounded men falling to the ground with a fearful cry filled the air, night and day. The repulsive smell that wafted up from the muddy, grimy trenches swamped my lungs. I had gotten used to this by now, I had been on duty here for over 6 months, the frightful sounds and smells were what I had become accustomed to. The immense cold whipped around me. Due to the fact it was a tremendously cold November my fellow comrades and I had found ourselves, numerous of times, letting our thoughts drift off to a warmer place in our heads. The cold had taken over my body, taken away any feeling I had left in my limbs, I was completely numb. It was the same for my friends, there was no escaping the cold, no matter how hard you tried, just like many soldiers say there is no escaping death, no matter how hard you try, it will get you in the end. I felt all alone as I took my position on the fire step, rats scampered in various directions as I stamped my feet to try and regain my feeling in my legs. A severe pain erupted from my foot; my trench foot had completely taken over. I had open sores all over my swollen feet, my eyes shut tight against the pain. I ducked in case a stray bullet connected with my head. I was in agony, along with half of the soldiers fighting in this war. Once I had recovered, I edged towards the front of the fire step, my heart raced as I knew that this is one of many times I was risking being first for a horrid, painful death. As I wearily razed the heavy gun and poked my head above the top of our trench, my breath caught in my throat. No mans land was like a horrific nightmare, overflowing with death and destruction. Why would people submit themselves to that gruesome death for the sake of a few hundred yards of waste land?ΜύIt doesn't make sense. None of this war does. What's the point of fighting? My head was spinning with these thoughts, that was when I got hit. Excruciating pain erupted from my shoulder, my gun dropped heavily to the floor. I felt my self fall, hard, on the soggy floor of the trench. Blood gushed from the wound; I remember shouting before I blacked out. |
