the ones who were left

A report came from a nearby flank that the enemy’s guns were on the move, ‘time to strike’ said our CO, ‘over the top tomorrow we shall go.’

A cold night in mid-November and still we managed warmth, our greatcoats spread out and buttoned together with others to make a vast blanket. Songs were kept to a minimum, as many men shuddered, me included; thinking of the day ahead, all quiet that night from the ones who were left.

Dark upon darkness. A few were on the watch that night, though all of us in B Company were awake. A man called Bill lit a cig and was shot through the heart, at least he went out as quick as his spark, many envied him and his swift depart.

The dawn brought bright yellow sunshine, as we all prepared. I cast a look around the silent ground, some men kneeling, praying, clutching crosses with closed lids, others drank from flasks which made them wince; me, I just thought about my worst times back home, though none were as worse than those I came to know. Just as I was to make a breakthrough, the Captain’s whistle blew and we tumbled over as one mass of green and brown.

I lost my hearing pretty quick, many others picked their way through the mud, our losses were untold that day. Flashing light and a coarse sensation came upon me, I was thrown skyward coming down on top of friends I knew. I gathered myself, picked up a stray rifle and jumped away running at a sprint, not turning, not looking back until I made it…

This short story is dedicated to all the people who have fought in those great conflicts that have shaped our world, so we can have the privilege of freedom. Thank you. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.