Paschendale
by Alpha Leader
In 1915, stalemate was beginning to show up all over the Western Front. For Russia, it was even worse. Tannenberg had taken its toll on Russian morale and forces. To the west, however, no-one was going anywhere.
After von Schleiffen's right wing plan had failed, the Germans dug in around the borders of southwest Belgium. The French had hoped to pop a hole through the Hindenburg line before it was even created, not knowing that the real threat had been narrowly thwarted. As the Germans relieved more and more men from Belgium, and began to build up on what would soon be known as the Hindenburg Line, the British had joined the war effort in favor of France and Belgium. Because Germany violated neutral Belgium, Great Britain's ally, it was very obvious to the British what side they would take. In less than three months, seventy percent of all professional BEF soldiers had either died, or been taken from the front due to injuries. Less than 30,000 of the 120,000 troops survived up until this point.
Because of her loses, Great Britain made a conscription army for the first time in history. Composed of young men who had no experience, and little more than six weeks of training, the tide turned for the Little Contemptible Army, which became a turkey shoot by itself.
In the Ypres Salient, which is where our story first begins, is a young British soldier from Wales, who is often called upon by Tommie, because of his last name. On the other side of no-mans' land, is Erich Hoffman, a machine gunner for the 2nd Army.
At that time, in the Ypres Salient, Belgium, it was raining weeks on end. It created difficulty for troop movements, and of course, all the waist deep puddles and shell holes completely prevented an attack.
"We're going over the top again tonight boys," started Sergeant Barnum.
"You're shitting me right? There's no fucking way we're going back out there! Chris was killed yesterday as we came out of the trench! The Germans have snipers all over in the shell holes," continued Derek Granger. "He received two in the helmet when he stood up for Christ's sake! If the lieutenant so much as blows his whistle, they'll just take aim!"
"Derek, you're getting ahead of yourself," said Barnum.
Ben Thompson came in to: "Well come on Sarge! Honestly, I was right behind him! Chris must have been full with bullets. You were at the front of the line, of course, but I was right there. The prospect of dieing isn't something that you want to think about-trust me."
A brief moment of smirks and chuckling followed.
Because of Ben's last name, it was often for people to designate him by Tommie.
"Tommie, you wouldn't know the first thing about being scared. Being the first one over is worse," continued the sergeant, "you get a foot hold, hope that you won't get a bullet in you as you stagger upward, and hope that your body movement didn't warn the krauts of where your platoon is coming from." Barnum took a breath, "You can't look back because all your worried about is that you make it. That's not the case when you're commanding men. When you're a commander of actual people you just hope that the machine gun won't come towards your platoon and rake half your men of their feet!" Sergeant Barnum took another breath, "And when you get to the other trench; if you get to the other trench, you can't fight-all you can think about is if you led your own men into a deathtrap.
"Okay, uh, we've been talking here about how Chris died, and what it's like to be a big brave sergeant, but the point is," private James Gambrel started, "we can't go back over tonight. Every one of you's forgetting that Chip Hanson got killed last night too. At this rate, we won't have a platoon in another week!
A soft pitter-patter of rain began. The water dripped and trickled down the men's steel helmets.
"Ah shit," complained a sentry.
"Well," said Barnum, "there's nothing I can do about it." He started down the south end of the trench, and then turned around. "You guys better have your weapons all loaded and ready to go by sundown- the leftenant said this is going to be a big one.
The men glanced at each-other, and then up at the sky. Dark blue clouds were hanging over Ypres.
Gambrel nudged Thompson. "Let's get in our dugout before it starts to come down any harder."
Ben wouldn't move.
"Come on Tommie, I don't want to be out here when the rain starts!"
Thompson staggered to his feet, and quickly bent his knees. The whiz of a bullet followed a second later. Gambrel laughed. Come on now, we've also got to reinforce our opening. I'm gonna get some wood and cigarettes from the leftenant.
"I'll stay here then, and watch the opening."
No sooner had James started walking southward, when the rain of sleepy sprinkles slogged into turrets of water. Gambrel started to jog. He needn't bend his head down to avoid snipers anymore-the rain wouldn't let them see shit.
Ben slowly knelt down and wrapped his blanket around his body as tight as he could. He angled his helmet to keep the rain off his head, and went to sleep.
"Get up you bastard!"
Thompson awoke to Gambrel, standing over him, with his arms on his hips.
"What the hell are you doing? Our opening caved in on our dugout! My rifle is in there, along with my helmet, rations, and dry clothes."
Ben stirred and fell back to sleep once more. Gambrel wasn't taking it though, and punched his partner in the armpit. "Get up!"
"Okay! Just.hold on." Thompson half went asleep again; but Gambrel seized his face and pinched his earlobes. "All right!" Ben screamed. He tossed his felt blanket to the side, and started helping Gambrel dig out what was left of their dugout.
"You didn't have to do that James," said Ben.
Gambrel let out a chuckle. "Of course I did. We're going up in about an hour."
It took Thompson a second to realize how light it was, and how much rain was going on. "You're not serious are you James?"
"I wish I wasn't. It's going to be slaughter. When we go over I'm intending to simply slump back into our trench as if I was wounded or something. We don't stand a chance you know?"
Thompson completed his digging and felt Gambrel's rifle in all the mud. "Here it is. I don't know if it will work though."
"It's okay Tommie. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have a broken weapon, but it gives me another excuse anyway."
"James, do you know what you're getting yourself into?"
"Hey, I'd rather have King George breathing down my throat than a German. And in either case, at least I can guarantee my own life for another day."
Ben Thompson gave up, loaded his rifle, shoved his helmet down, and prepared to go over the top.
In 1915, stalemate was beginning to show up all over the Western Front. For Russia, it was even worse. Tannenberg had taken its toll on Russian morale and forces. To the west, however, no-one was going anywhere.
After von Schleiffen's right wing plan had failed, the Germans dug in around the borders of southwest Belgium. The French had hoped to pop a hole through the Hindenburg line before it was even created, not knowing that the real threat had been narrowly thwarted. As the Germans relieved more and more men from Belgium, and began to build up on what would soon be known as the Hindenburg Line, the British had joined the war effort in favor of France and Belgium. Because Germany violated neutral Belgium, Great Britain's ally, it was very obvious to the British what side they would take. In less than three months, seventy percent of all professional BEF soldiers had either died, or been taken from the front due to injuries. Less than 30,000 of the 120,000 troops survived up until this point.
Because of her loses, Great Britain made a conscription army for the first time in history. Composed of young men who had no experience, and little more than six weeks of training, the tide turned for the Little Contemptible Army, which became a turkey shoot by itself.
In the Ypres Salient, which is where our story first begins, is a young British soldier from Wales, who is often called upon by Tommie, because of his last name. On the other side of no-mans' land, is Erich Hoffman, a machine gunner for the 2nd Army.
At that time, in the Ypres Salient, Belgium, it was raining weeks on end. It created difficulty for troop movements, and of course, all the waist deep puddles and shell holes completely prevented an attack.
"We're going over the top again tonight boys," started Sergeant Barnum.
"You're shitting me right? There's no fucking way we're going back out there! Chris was killed yesterday as we came out of the trench! The Germans have snipers all over in the shell holes," continued Derek Granger. "He received two in the helmet when he stood up for Christ's sake! If the lieutenant so much as blows his whistle, they'll just take aim!"
"Derek, you're getting ahead of yourself," said Barnum.
Ben Thompson came in to: "Well come on Sarge! Honestly, I was right behind him! Chris must have been full with bullets. You were at the front of the line, of course, but I was right there. The prospect of dieing isn't something that you want to think about-trust me."
A brief moment of smirks and chuckling followed.
Because of Ben's last name, it was often for people to designate him by Tommie.
"Tommie, you wouldn't know the first thing about being scared. Being the first one over is worse," continued the sergeant, "you get a foot hold, hope that you won't get a bullet in you as you stagger upward, and hope that your body movement didn't warn the krauts of where your platoon is coming from." Barnum took a breath, "You can't look back because all your worried about is that you make it. That's not the case when you're commanding men. When you're a commander of actual people you just hope that the machine gun won't come towards your platoon and rake half your men of their feet!" Sergeant Barnum took another breath, "And when you get to the other trench; if you get to the other trench, you can't fight-all you can think about is if you led your own men into a deathtrap.
"Okay, uh, we've been talking here about how Chris died, and what it's like to be a big brave sergeant, but the point is," private James Gambrel started, "we can't go back over tonight. Every one of you's forgetting that Chip Hanson got killed last night too. At this rate, we won't have a platoon in another week!
A soft pitter-patter of rain began. The water dripped and trickled down the men's steel helmets.
"Ah shit," complained a sentry.
"Well," said Barnum, "there's nothing I can do about it." He started down the south end of the trench, and then turned around. "You guys better have your weapons all loaded and ready to go by sundown- the leftenant said this is going to be a big one.
The men glanced at each-other, and then up at the sky. Dark blue clouds were hanging over Ypres.
Gambrel nudged Thompson. "Let's get in our dugout before it starts to come down any harder."
Ben wouldn't move.
"Come on Tommie, I don't want to be out here when the rain starts!"
Thompson staggered to his feet, and quickly bent his knees. The whiz of a bullet followed a second later. Gambrel laughed. Come on now, we've also got to reinforce our opening. I'm gonna get some wood and cigarettes from the leftenant.
"I'll stay here then, and watch the opening."
No sooner had James started walking southward, when the rain of sleepy sprinkles slogged into turrets of water. Gambrel started to jog. He needn't bend his head down to avoid snipers anymore-the rain wouldn't let them see shit.
Ben slowly knelt down and wrapped his blanket around his body as tight as he could. He angled his helmet to keep the rain off his head, and went to sleep.
"Get up you bastard!"
Thompson awoke to Gambrel, standing over him, with his arms on his hips.
"What the hell are you doing? Our opening caved in on our dugout! My rifle is in there, along with my helmet, rations, and dry clothes."
Ben stirred and fell back to sleep once more. Gambrel wasn't taking it though, and punched his partner in the armpit. "Get up!"
"Okay! Just.hold on." Thompson half went asleep again; but Gambrel seized his face and pinched his earlobes. "All right!" Ben screamed. He tossed his felt blanket to the side, and started helping Gambrel dig out what was left of their dugout.
"You didn't have to do that James," said Ben.
Gambrel let out a chuckle. "Of course I did. We're going up in about an hour."
It took Thompson a second to realize how light it was, and how much rain was going on. "You're not serious are you James?"
"I wish I wasn't. It's going to be slaughter. When we go over I'm intending to simply slump back into our trench as if I was wounded or something. We don't stand a chance you know?"
Thompson completed his digging and felt Gambrel's rifle in all the mud. "Here it is. I don't know if it will work though."
"It's okay Tommie. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have a broken weapon, but it gives me another excuse anyway."
"James, do you know what you're getting yourself into?"
"Hey, I'd rather have King George breathing down my throat than a German. And in either case, at least I can guarantee my own life for another day."
Ben Thompson gave up, loaded his rifle, shoved his helmet down, and prepared to go over the top.