It took three weeks for my vison to return to me. I was prepared to suffer for a few months but thankfully it didn’t take that long. I regained photosensitivity within a week, faint colors within two, and partial vision within three. The nurse that had been working with me all this time had unfortunately been transferred over to another medical camp that had been overwhelmed after a different battle. It was a shame she left before I could ever see her face, but it definitely not the worst thing that has happened to me so far.
Despite her absence, I understood the demands of war and the need for medical personnel to be deployed where they were needed most. I hoped she would continue to provide her exceptional care to those in need, even if it meant I couldn't personally express my gratitude.
In the wake of her departure, a new nurse took over my care. Although I missed the familiarity of the previous nurse, I appreciated the dedication and expertise of the new one. She continued the treatment plan and guided me through the final stages of my recovery.
…
“It’s a miracle that you regained your vision. The doctor said that with the extent of your chemical burns you were likely to remain blind.”
I felt the corner of my eye twitch, what an uplifting prognosis. If I was being honest, it was Ms. Adams that kept me going for the longest time. I couldn't help but let my thoughts drift as I buttoned up my new uniform. To my displeasure, as soon as I recovered enough to be in fighting shape, a sergeant came in to inform me that all surviving members of the 501st Infantry regiment were being switched over to the 502nd.
Enough of the previously 800 men had died during the gas attack and subsequent attacks that 8 out of the 10 companies where almost completely wiped out. The pending transition to the 502nd was met with mixed emotions. On one hand, I understood the necessity of reorganizing and consolidating surviving soldiers after such devastating losses. On the other hand, leaving behind the familiarity of the 501st and the bonds forged in the trenches weighed heavily on my heart.
Once my new uniform was donned and my cap was on head, I started packing my rucksack.
…
I stood outside the door that led to my new platoon. A sergeant approached and stood by my side.
"This is your new company, Private."
I could feel his eyes on me, judging me and trying to decide what kind of soldier I would be. It didn't matter, I would make sure that I would be a soldier that I was proud of.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to meet my new platoon. The room was filled with the murmurs of soldiers going about their business. Some looked up, their eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and weariness. I could sense that they had experienced their share of losses and hardships as well.
The sergeant introduced me to the platoon, and I could feel the weight of their gazes on me. I knew that I had to prove myself, to earn their trust and respect. The transition from the 501st to the 502nd might have been unexpected, but I was determined to adapt and make the most of this new chapter.
As days turned into weeks, I worked hard to integrate into the 502nd platoon. The camaraderie that I had cherished in the 501st was slowly beginning to emerge here too. We trained together, shared stories, and supported each other through the physical and emotional challenges of being soldiers at war.
…
I opened the latest newspaper, only one paragraph was directed to the western front. It was an acknowledgment of our deadlock with the enemy. It was hard to get here, and it has been very bloody. But the deadlock will hopefully soon change. Due to the city of Reims. It was currently held by the central powers but not for long. The entirety of the 5th and 4th Infantry divisions along with the 100th and the 101st bomb squadrons were about to begin an all-out assault.
Reims was an old siege city with tens of thousands of years of history. So, naturally, it was heavily fortified. But this was no longer the age of swords or muskets, this was the age of machines.
As the date for the assault on Reims approached, tension and anticipation grew within the ranks of the 502nd. The city's strategic importance and its heavily fortified defenses meant that the battle ahead would be intense and perilous.
In the days leading up to the assault, we underwent rigorous training and preparation. The commanding officers briefed us on the battle plan, emphasizing the need for unity and cooperation among the different regiments and squadrons involved in the operation.
…
The stomping of troops filled the air, as over 50,000 men marched to the same beat. We were moving through allied fields, passing auxiliary positions and bunkers. We were only three miles out from the city of Reims. Fighting had already begun yesterday as the 6th and 7th divisions tried to occupy the city, and now that the enemies were nice and softened up, it was now our turn. Twelve hours of artillery fire and bombing had reduced the once great city to a hellish landscape.
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We unslung our rifles and began enacting the battle plan. We split into our regiments and fanned out and sat in the city outskirts to wait for the signal. A single green flare. With a heavy heart I affixed my bayonet and waited. It was not my first revisit to combat, but this was going to be my biggest battle by far.
With a flash a shooting star lit up the morning, a sickly green color emitted from its blinding form. It was time. The dirt crumbled under foot as adrenaline pushed my body beyond its limits. Shock and awe were our tactic, and blitzkrieg was our goal.
…
Smoldering buildings enclosed around me. Bodies littered the ground as I took aim at two figures in the distance. With a steady hand my sight picture came to view. Headshots were but a fool’s errand, so I took aim center mass. With a clean click followed by a bang, the first man fell. I took another breath as I felt the smooth action of the Enfield’s bolt.
I adjusted my aim and squeezed the trigger once again. The second figure crumpled to the ground, a lifeless heap. The cacophony of battle roared around me, but in this moment, my world narrowed down to the cold metal of my rifle and the task at hand. Each shot was calculated, each movement deliberate, as I picked off enemy combatants with precision.
The city streets were a warren of chaos and destruction. Our platoon pushed forward, using what remained of the buildings for cover as we engaged in a deadly dance with the enemy forces. The once-proud city of Reims had been reduced to a battlefield, a place of death and destruction, where survival hinged on split-second decisions and well-honed skills.
Our advance was met with fierce resistance. Enemy soldiers emerged from the rubble, firing their weapons with a desperate resolve. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I moved from cover to cover, my senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
…
It was around noon when the incident happened. A mortar hit the building I was in. The deafening explosion rocked the building I was in, sending shards of debris flying through the air like deadly shrapnel. I was thrown off my feet and slammed into a crumbling wall, a searing pain shooting through my leg as I landed awkwardly. The world spun around me, and for a moment, all I could hear was a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
As the dust settled, I realized that I was trapped. Rubble and broken beams pinned me down, my leg crushed beneath the weight. I tried to move, to free myself, but the pain was excruciating. Each attempt sent shockwaves of agony through my body, and I could feel the warm stickiness of blood soaking through my uniform.
I frantically surveyed my surroundings. The building was a scene of utter devastation – smoke, dust, and chaos reigned. My comrades were nowhere in sight, and I could hear distant shouts and gunfire echoing through the air. Panic welled up within me as the gravity of the situation sank in. I was injured, alone, and trapped in the heart of a battle.
Summoning all the strength I could muster, I managed to free one of my arms from the debris. With trembling hands, I reached for my belt and pulled out a tourniquet. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I tied it tightly above the mangled mess that used to be my leg. The flow of blood slowed, but the pain remained relentless.
Using the tourniquet as a makeshift anchor, I managed to drag myself free from the rubble, inch by agonizing inch. The world swam in and out of focus, and I fought to stay conscious. Every movement sent waves of nausea crashing over me, and I could feel the cold sweat of shock coating my skin.
My rifle was lost in the rubble, but I was determined to find another. Slowly, I crawled through the debris, my injured leg trailing behind me, a constant source of searing pain. My fingers brushed against the cold metal of a fallen comrade's weapon, and a surge of relief washed over me. With trembling hands, I retrieved the rifle, my fingers closing around the familiar grip.
Using the rifle as a makeshift crutch, I managed to pull myself to my feet. Every movement was a struggle, and I could feel the world tilting around me. But the instinct for survival pushed me forward, overriding the agony that coursed through my body.
The battle raged on around me, the cacophony of gunfire and explosions drowning out all other sounds. My head throbbed, and I could feel blood trickling down from a gash on my forehead. I leaned against a partially collapsed wall, my breathing ragged, and surveyed the chaotic scene.
Enemy forces were advancing, their figures obscured by smoke and dust. With a surge of adrenaline, I raised the rifle to my shoulder and took aim. My vision swam, and my hands trembled, but I forced myself to focus. I squeezed the trigger, and the rifle bucked in my hands as a shot rang out.
The enemy soldier fell, and a sense of grim satisfaction washed over me. But there was no time to savor the small victory. I needed to find cover, to regroup, to find a way to signal for help. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pushed forward, each step a battle in itself.
Finally, I managed to reach a partially intact section of the building. I collapsed against the wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My vision blurred, and the edges of my consciousness began to fray. The pain was overwhelming, and I could feel darkness closing in at the edges of my vision.
But I couldn't give in. I couldn't let myself be consumed by the void. With a fierce determination, I fumbled for a piece of cloth in my pocket and tore it into makeshift strips. Using them, I fashioned a hasty bandage for my leg, cinching it tightly to slow the bleeding.
My place of cowardice happened to have a good view of the battlefield. Through the shattered remnants of a window, I could see the relentless clash between the opposing forces. The city of Reims, once a symbol of grandeur, now lay in ruins, a testament to the horrors of war.
Despite my own desperate situation, a surge of determination coursed through me. I may have been injured and trapped, but I still had a role to play. I reached for my rifle, using it as a support as I hobbled closer to the window. Leaning against the frame, I took aim at an enemy soldier who was advancing too close to our position.
My fingers trembled on the trigger, my vision wavering, but I refused to give in. I steadied my breath and squeezed. The shot rang out, and the enemy soldier crumpled to the ground. It was a small victory, but it reminded me that even in my weakened state, I could still make a difference.
As the battle raged on, I continued to take potshots at enemy soldiers whenever they ventured too near. It wasn't the heroic combat I had envisioned, but it was a way for me to contribute. Each shot took a toll on my already battered body, but the adrenaline and the urgency pushed me beyond my limits.
Time became a blur as I fought to hold my ground. The pain in my leg was nearly unbearable, and my vision swam in and out of focus. The ringing in my ears seemed to intensify, drowning out all other sounds. But I clung to consciousness, to the determination to keep fighting.
Suddenly, a distant explosion shook the ground, sending a fresh wave of debris raining down. I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face, but a piece of shrapnel found its mark. Pain seared through my side, and I stumbled back, collapsing against the wall. My breathing grew shallow, and the edges of my vision darkened.
I knew I was fading, my strength waning. But even as the darkness closed in around me, I held on, my fingers gripping the rifle as if it were my lifeline. My mind raced, thoughts of survival and the hope that help would arrive intertwining with the ever-encroaching void.