The dreary battlefield was grim and dark.  Rain came down in sheets and the trenches were knee deep in mud and water. The pitter-patter of the rain was a steady rhythm in the gloom of the night.  Bloated corpses pale as chalk roiled with the filth of maggots and bobbed in the wind beaten water.  

Haggard soldiers in rain soaked uniforms caked in blood, sweat and sludge stood about shifting their weight or leaning against the earthen walls of the trench.  Many of them were so tired that they slept while standing.  Now and then a soldier or two would awaken from his slumber with a start at the sound of a distant explosion or reverberation of machine gun fire.  No one got sleep in the trenches.  Sleep was not a planned event nor was it very restful at all.  Sleep came in short bouts and crept up on during brief lulls but they would be wrenched away from their dreamless slumber at any given moment from a loud boom or a rat-tat-tat.

The bugles sounded and the call was given.  A patriotic song started up on the phonograph.  Thousands of troops emerged from the Allied trenches running through the debris, rain, and mud straight into an area that had a most fitting name: no man's land.  The enemy guns boomed in the distance and the shells roared as they came overhead, crashing into the mud and exploding into shrapnel that cut into hapless troops.  Countless screams echoed across the muddy fields.

"We'll sing a song, a soldier's song

With cheering rousing chorus

As round our blazing fires we throng

The starry heavens o'er us."

They dodged around the wires, caltrops, and mines.  Some weren't so lucky and succumbed to the traps in rivers of blood, choruses of screams, and a spray of rain and mud.  Artillery shells whined as they cut through the air and struck the ground.  Dozens of machine guns were barely heard through the splashing, the steady beat of the rain, and screaming.  Bullets whistled and ricocheted off the barbed wire and bits of debris.  A few found their mark and downed the oncoming troops as they rushed across no man's land.

"Impatient for the coming fight

And as we wait for the morning's light

Here in the silence of the night

We'll chant a soldier's song."

Lieutenant Corrin leapt over a set of barbed wire and over the writhing bodies of a few soldiers who were missing various limbs and other body parts.  A few desperate bloodied hands tried to grab onto his pant legs as he dashed past.  Corrin responded by tearing the groping hands away.            

"Out of the way!" Corrin snarled as he continued his mad dash, determined to reach his destination.

He nearly tripped as a hand shot out, holding his left leg.  A bloodied private, no older than sixteen, wept and begged for help.  Lt. Corrin's rifle butt contacted the private's helmet with a crunch.  The boy's body recoiled and fell back into a pool of muddy blood. 

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Corrin turned and continued to run.  Behind him, a shell exploded and peppered the field with shrapnel.  A severed limb flew past him. It embedded itself on barbed wire. But the Lieutenant simply pushed on.

The song was faint as it broke into a chorus and drifted across the battlefield,

"Soldiers are we,

whose lives are pledged to Ireland

Some have come from a land beyond the wave,

Sworn to be free,

no more our ancient sire land

Shall shelter the despot and the slave;

Tonight we man the Bearna Baoghal

In Erin’s cause.

come woe or weal;

'Mid cannons roar and rifle's peal

We'll chant a soldier's song."

Bullets whistled and bounced wildly all about him.  A lucky shot grazed him across the right shoulder.  He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as he gritted his teeth and staggered ahead.  Seeing the enemy trenches only a few feet ahead, he hurled himself forward and opened fire on the surprised enemy troops.

"In valley green or towering crag

Our fathers fought before us,

And conquered 'neath the same old flag

That's floating o'er us,  

We're children of a fighting race

That never has yet known disgrace,

And as we march, the foe to face,

We chant a soldier's song."

A path of carnage surrounded him when the smoke cleared.  Corrin crouched behind a pile of corpses for cover as he reloaded and looked himself over for any other wounds.  He saw he had taken a few hits but luckily, his armor had saved his life.

Corrin muttered as he wiped some mud off his rifle.  He only had a moment away from the action when his attention was caught by a sound. An object clinked its way towards him.  His head snapped toward the offending noise. His gaze fell upon a small round metal object resting at his feet.  Corrin squinted at it as his thoughts raced.

With a panicked motion, he snatched it up to throw it back. In a fluid motion, he picked it up and lobbed it into the air. 

Too slow. 

The grenade spun into the air. It detonated.  The explosive force slammed him into the mud.  His vision turned from blurry to a field of black.