War Stories

Excerpt from "The Great War" Short Story (World War One)

Written Summer 2022

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Note that this is an excerpt from the complete work. The full work is kept offline for publishing purposes. Reach out to me via email for inquiries or to read the complete work.

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September 12, 1918

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The night was so dark that I could barely make out the shadowy tree line in the distance. Laying on my stomach in the dead grass between Roy and Frank, I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. Chills ran through my body as the rain poured down. Water gathering in the muddy puddle beside me overflowed, seeping through my uniform and adding to the cold.

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We weren’t ordered to attack until 8:00, but we had to be in position in front of the artillery assault units ahead of time. Waiting was miserable; it meant hours lying out in the open, soaked, frozen, exposed, and terrified. We waited in silence.

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I flinched at the sudden sound of a thousand shells ripping through the air above us. The sky above glowed with a hazy yellow tint, reflecting down onto the landscape below. Everyone around me stared intently at the sky, their gazes transfixed on the explosion of light above.

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“Well, shit,” Frank said, his breath billowing out in a white cloud. “If they didn’t know we were coming before, they sure do now.”

 

A rather thin, wiry person, Frank carried a constant pessimistic air about him, which he often tried, in vain, to cover over with humor.

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To Frank’s right, Arthur broke his gaze at the sky and glanced toward me. “That means it’s about one, right?”

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“Yeah,” answered Milford, our squad sergeant, from beside Roy. Milford was one for frequent interruptions. I think it was his way of asserting his authority over the squad.

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“Damn, it’s gonna be a long night,” Arthur replied, again staring at the glow from above. “Mhm,” the Sarge mumbled, mesmerized by the sky.

I shivered, wondering whether I’d even survive a few more hours laying on the frozen ground. One breath after the other, I thought, inhaling. In, out. In, out.

The rain came down harder now, sending a sudden chill down my spine.

I focused on my breathing. In, out, I thought, listening to the rain’s relentless barrage against the sodden earth. In, out.

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After eight long hours, it was finally almost H-hour. The icy stiffness in my bones made it difficult to move. Groaning, I pushed myself to my feet and shook the numbness from my limbs.

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“God, I can’t feel my legs,” Frank said, smacking his fist repeatedly against his thigh.

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“Give ’em a minute,” Arthur said, stretching. He twisted left and then right, his back cracking with a few loud pops. “They’ll come back.”

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I adjusted my rifle belt and field pack nervously. Roy shivered quietly beside me, staring at the hazy morning glow along the horizon.

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“Alright, boys,” Milford said, straight-faced. “It’s almost time.”

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I glanced towards Roy, but he’d closed his eyes and bowed his head. A touch of waning moonlight streaked across the front of his coat, forming a soft contrast with the rest of his dark uniform.

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“The hell’re you doing?” I asked him.

“Praying,” he murmured. His eyes stayed closed.

“Huh,” I said, confused. “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not,” he said. A hint of thinly veiled annoyance clung to his voice. “But it’s worth a shot.”

“Well, finish it up,” the Sarge interrupted, clapping us both on the shoulder. “Cause it’s 8:00.”

The sudden rumbling of the barrage behind us signaled the advance. From either side of our squad, the line surged forward. Bending over a little for leverage, I held on tight to my Springfield and rushed ahead into the blowing rain. Artillery shells zipped overhead as we ran, the ground rumbling as they met their targets. Joining the line, Roy and I ran side-by-side, trying not to lose each other.

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The lack of consistent return fire signaled that our barrage hadn’t yet passed the German artillery line. Most of their gunners were still hiding out and waiting for the firestorm to pass.

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We hurried to the distant tree line, praying we’d make it there before the return fire intensified. Sprinting across the open field, we were easy targets, and our rifles wouldn’t do much against German machine gunners shooting from behind cover.

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Breathing heavily, I kept moving, zigzagging around a bunch of tangled barbed wire that had been smashed into the ground. Oh God oh God oh God, I thought, half-tripping over a rock poking out of the earth as I ran. Don’t get shot don’t get shot don’t get shot.

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I neared the tree line where we’d planned to stop and regroup. Heart pounding, I focused on the spindly trees as I ran, pumping my legs hard to reach them.

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My foot caught on something. I went down hard, knocking the wind out of me as my body smacked into the frozen ground. My hand, pinched between my rifle and the icy mud, stung sharply. I tried to stand, but I quickly realized I couldn’t – my boot was tangled in some barbed wire. Panicking, I kept my head down, clawing at my boot to try and free it.

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A few yards ahead of me, Roy glanced over his shoulder. Realizing I wasn’t coming, he hunkered down and scurried over to me.

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“Don’t touch that!” He ordered, dropping to the ground beside me. In my blind panic, I’d reached to tug at the spiked wire with my bare hands.

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Roy leaned over my boot, trying to see it better through the pouring rain. I watched in horror as he tried to steady his hands, which shook terribly from adrenaline and fear. He let out a shuddering breath and reached for the caught wire.

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He cautiously unwrapped it, tugging as he went along to get the half-imbedded spikes out of my boot. His face, tense with concentration, was spotted with dirt and sweat. Stopping for a second, he reached into his pack and pulled out his wire cutters.

I focused on holding my foot steady as he clipped the loosened wire. My foot didn’t hurt, but I still wondered whether I’d find any cuts on it when I took my boot off later.

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We both jumped suddenly at the piercing sound of gunfire cracking nearby.

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“Shit!” Roy swore, his face pale. I followed his gaze to his right hand. An inch-long gash ran along the skin between the thumb and pointer finger, split open by the wire. Blood spilled from his hand, running down his palm and dripping onto my trousers.

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“Shit,” he repeated. “My hand jerked.”

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I didn’t reply. Instead, I reached for my pack and rummaged through it until I found my aid kit. I snapped it open and pulled out the little strip of gauze that was inside. Ducking at the sound of gunfire, Roy gave me his injured hand. I wrapped it quickly, pulling the gauze tight at the end to try and stop the bleeding. Roy winced, his teeth clenched, and turned back to the wire.

Working together, we tugged at it until, finally, my boot was free from the last bit of wire.

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Freed, I scrambled to my feet. Roy and I immediately sprinted towards the tree line, hunched over with our packs bouncing steadily against our backs. I glanced at the ground repeatedly as I ran, afraid I’d catch another wire – and afraid that, if I did, I wouldn’t be as lucky the second time around.

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Our pace slowed to a jog as we reached the line. Roy and I were breathing heavily as we crossed into the spindly woods, exhausted but also somewhat relieved.

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A lot of guys from our division were there, too. Spread out to both sides of us, some tried to catch their breath while others shuffled about nervously, anxious to get going. Struggling to breathe, I put my hands to my knees and stared down at the frozen leaves littering the ground.

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Excerpt finished. This is not the complete story. There are also two other examples of my short stories from this project, one highlighting World War II and one highlighting the Vietnam War. Please reach out to read these stories.