Cold war
Connor looked over cautiously. His helmet peeked over the safety of the wooden trench. He pulled his wool trench coat closer to his chest, visibly shivering. He stepped back down quickly, sitting down uncomfortably on the dirt ‘floor’ of the trench.
His eyes scanned his surroundings, a fellow soldier had told him to never lose focus, or else he’ll freeze. He watched as his brothers in arms walked around the zigzag formation of the trench. Carrying boxes of ammo, cans full of food, their snow-covered equipment shaking as they sprinted around.
One man stood out to Connor, officer Garfield. The man walked around with pride, like everything was going his way, like half of his soldiers were not freezing to death, and the other half dying of disease.
The officer suddenly spoke, voice loud and commanding.
“Men, all of you! Get your weapons, your gas masks, and your water canteens! We’ve been commanded to go over the top into the enemy trench!”
Connor gripped the rifle in his lap, why now? Couldn’t they see how reckless and dumb this was? The other soldiers seemed to be thinking the same, as Connor watched their expressions shift into ones of anger and fear.
They had no choice however, as each soldier slowly and carefully climbed out of the trench.
Connor climbed out last, looking over at the frozen stream and leafless, snow-covered forest that protected them from the enemy.
He trudged through the snow, attempting to ignore the feeling of his boots getting filled with water, his soggy socks irritating him. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, anything could happen out here.
He gripped his gun tighter with his frostbitten fingers, they were approaching the stream now. He looked over to officer Garfield, wondering if he knew how exposed they would be as they crossed the sheet of ice. Nothing to block the enemies' bullets.
The soldiers almost slipped and fell as they slowly crossed the thin sheet of ice. Connor was barely moving, he felt scared, he hated that he couldn’t hide it. He suddenly felt a rough hand on his shoulder. “You scared? It’s alright, we all are, just don’t show it. Heard the enemy's dogs can smell fear.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The office whispered; his voice laced with quiet chuckling.
He was laughing?! How could anyone find this situation funny!? Connor was about to speak out, but before he could, something flew by his head. What?
A loud bang came next, then the splatter of red. He tried to scream, but it was drowned out by a barrage of light and the smell of gunpowder.
They were being shot at.
Connor ducked down immediately, ignoring the limp body of the officer behind him and the taste of iron in his mouth. The ringing of bullets continued, accompanied by the screams of soldiers and the cracking of wood. Connor forced himself to move, rolling onto his back. He pulled his rifle off his back, his arms shaking violently. He could see a mounted gun peeking out from the other side of the stream, shooting at his comrades.
He barely pulled the trigger, shooting at the branches. The knockback made his shoulder ache, but he kept shooting. The blood on his face blurred his vision, and the ringing in his ears caused his head to ache, so he couldn't even tell if he hit anything but the trees.
After what felt like hours of mindless bloodshed and gunfire, he felt his body being pulled back into the forest by something. He let go of his gun, he couldn't feel his arms anymore. He slowly closed his crusted eyes. He was just going to take a little nap…
Connor opened his eyes to the mangled wooden roof of the trenches medical tent. The smell of fresh blood and flesh hit his nose like a wave. He sat up straight on his makeshift bed. He looked around, there were tons of soldiers in the tent, some were fortunate enough to be dead, the others…weren’t. Bloody bandages covered his forehead, all his equipment and his trench coat laying on a chair next to him.
A very nervous nurse walked over to him, “S-so you finally woke up? I can’t imagine how it was out there…you're lucky to be alive.”
Was he? He didn’t feel lucky. The fear from the battle still lingered on his mind, and the splatter of the officer's blood on his face felt imprinted onto his skin. “What about…officer Garfield…was he…?” The nurse looked down at her shoes, her face full of obvious sadness. She didn’t have to answer the question, he already knew the truth.
After getting checked on by the doctors, Connor was allowed to leave and go back to the dreaded trench. He put on his newly washed trench coat and went back to the familiar zigzag tunnels that he called his temporary home. He walked past the soldiers who survived the ordeal with barely any injuries, they chatted idly, like nothing had happened. How could they be so calm, they had seen their comrades get shot and injured.
Connor stopped in his tracks. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t muster a single tear for officer Garfield. He felt numb, he didn’t even notice the weight of his gear on his back, or the chill of the cold. He frowned, what was wrong with him? He stepped down into the underground barracks, rusty bunk beds lining the dirt walls. He sat down on his bottom bunk, hunching over and looking at his hands.
Dried blood and snow covered them, but he blinked, and it was gone. He looked up at the single lantern on the roof of the barracks, illuminating the dirt with a sickly yellow color. He sighed and took off all his equipment, and then his boots.
Connor practically dropped onto the hard bed, staining the sheets with blood that he wasn’t even sure was there. He should get comfortable; it seemed like this place was going to be his home until he's either killed…or he goes mad.
The End