So, I was going to submit this for the holiday fanfic contest on the NML, but after reading the rules it doesn't qualify and I don't know if I can center one that does, so here I am sharing with you. This is a lil something that came to me while reading another fanfiction and the fact that the History channel has had war specials going all day. So with the wonderful lil plot bunnies that occur here is what could be a soldiers prospective of the Christmas Truce of World War 1. Reviews are welcome, however flames will be used to roast chestnuts thus furthering my christmas mood! Peace out!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, if you can call it that.
Jack Kelly was sick of the rain, mud and mostly sick of the war. "It is your God-given right to defend your country," or at least that's what the headlines told him. One by one, he watched his friends go off to fight the Kaiser. Finally, reluctantly, he had enlisted as well. Now here he was, in a forsaken trench outside of Flanders, Belgium on Christmas Day. Christmas, he thought scathingly. What do the Germans know about Christmas? Peace on Earth, good will to men; that's rich we're in the middle of a War for land's sake!
His regiment was huddled together against the December chill, waiting almost expectantly for the firing to begin again. Then he could lose himself in the moment and not think about the fact that it was Christmas and a soldier on the wrong end of his rifle would never see his family again. Stubbornly, his own thoughts turned back to New York, the way Sarah had begged him not to go. She'd already lost one brother to this atrocity; did she need to lose her husband as well?
"Hey, what's that?" A young British soldier asked pointing to the enemy lines. From all appearances, the Germans had put up a Christmas tree in the middle of the field, complete with candles.
"It's a trap," He replied cynically. Just like something they'd do. Lure them out and then shoot them all dead on the spot. Jack shook his head, when had he become so cynical? He supposed that somewhere between hawkin the headlines for a living and seeing the horrors humanity was capable of, he lost the innocence so crucial to one's survival in this world.
"They're waving a sign!" Another soldier cried out, standing to his feet.
"Get down!" Jack yelled preparing to tackle the soldier just out of his teens. Before he could, he saw the sign the soldier had seen. "You no fight, we no fight," it read in crudely drawn English.
"What on earth?" Jack asked seeing the sign. Slowly, the soldiers in the trenches began to emerge and walk towards each other across "No Man's Land". No one held their guns, but the first from each side shook hands over a fallen soldier. Waving white flags, both sides began to bury their dead. It was a silent affair, the men saying a silent farewell to the brothers that had fought so valiantly beside them just yesterday. Once that was finished they turned back to each other, not sure where to go from there. Jack reached into his pocket; he didn't really have anything but twenty-five francs, a handkerchief Sarah had given him before he left, and a precious flask of cognac. He bit his lip and haltingly held it out to a German soldier. The enemy soldier took it but not before offering him a dark lump wrapped in a thin handkerchief. Jack nodded as he accepted the gift. He peeled back the thin cotton to find that it was chocolate.
"Danke Schoen, th-thank you," the soldier said indicating to the flask.
"Welcome, bitte schoen," he replied having picked up a little German in the months he'd been away from home.
Soon, the other men had begun to exchange gifts as well. They weren't glamorous by any means but they made due since all they could give was what they had on their persons. Somewhere in the middle of the impromptu gift exchange, someone had produced a soccer ball. Where did that come from? Jack wondered as a small group divvied up into teams.
As darkness fell, someone lit the candles on the tree. It was a wondrous sight to see in the middle of a battlefield in Europe. A symbol of what was good and holy in this world, standing in such bleak comparison to all that was wrong. A hush fell over the crowd all staring at the beauty before him. Jack thought of Sarah, she'd always loved Christmas time. The gray streets of New York would be bleached white by snow. The lakes and ponds would be frozen over and skaters from all over the city would be circling them. Mothers would be holding babies cooing in delight over the brightly lit trees. She'd be holding their son; she said that he had Jack's eyes. Then a quiet sound rose from the group of soldiers, rousing Jack from his thoughts. They had started to sing.
Hark! The herald Angels sing
Glory to the newborn king
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic hosts proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! The herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn king
A single tear slid down his cheek, this was pure unadulterated Christmas spirit. And for that brief day there was peace on earth and goodwill toward man.