The Fire-Step
I'm standing on the fire-step. Cold creeps over me; frost bites my skin and grips my clothes. Mud is all around me enfolding my boots, enfolding the bodies. I look across no mans land, just a filthy, dark cesspit. I've been stood here for so long it feels like I have almost rusted from the misty rain. I clutch my gas mask close to my chest hoping it will protect me from more than just sickly green gas. I hope, I want,I need this simple object to protect me
From this horrible place of festering evil.
Rubbing my hands together, trying to get some warmth back into my frozen fingers. Looking left down the bomb pummeled trench. A man his playing his harmonica; it's a sad mournful tune. I feel every note pass through my veins before it takes off into the twilight sky. My eyes fall apon a soldier holding a fallen comrade grasping the corpse and willing it to breathe life again but the eyes remain unseeing his soul already walking into death's warm embrace. The man cries to this sky his body shaking with sobs his voice is filled with anger, desperation and sadness that his friend has left him to fight alone in the depths of hell,this desolate land.
My fingers fumble for the photograph in my trouser pocket. It feels cold to the touch after spending months in my pocket being slowly dampened by the rain. A baby stares back at me from the picture its eyes never blinking and sapphire blue, unaware of the inhuman war unfolding. Its soul still as pure as water touching ones lips after weeks in a barbaric desert. Somehow I draw strength from the image, both physical and emotional. I take in a deep breath and try not to think of the bloodshed the next day will bring.
Thoughts remind me of the old mill,the smooth stream rushing out to meet the sea and the orchard filled with ripe apples ready to be picked by my daughters and me. I smile, it's been a long time since I've done that, I feared I'd almost forgotten how, having no reason to in this god for-saken place.
The dark clouds are smoldering into red as dawn breaks, I forget the sound of monstrous, angry gunfire which reaches my ears almost everyday. I block out the memories of the shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells. My eyes give in to this bright glory that shines down from the very sky almost blinding me. Turning my back on this delight I walk away down the mud drowned trench.
My mind travels back to my first day in the army, the day I signed my life away on a piece of paper. My heart felt so proud that morning as we marched into the town centre, the breeze in my face, ruffling my hair, the children waving flags bright eyed and excited. My smile never leaves my face as the train rounds the bend away from a peaceful life. But I laugh and joke with my friends not caring or even knowing of the terrors this war would bring.
That glory day now long forgotten I bow my head in remembrance of those who didn't make it this far. When this war is over (if I live to see that day) I do not think we shall get such a happy welcome back. Dreading the feeling of survivors guilt that will hit me as soon as I step off that train. I almost wish I could join the city of chalky faces that lie beneath the mud.
Raising my head once more I take a deep gulp of icy air into my lungs. My eyes wander along the trench resting on the wounded, the dead and the mad. I sigh as the thought hits me, We wont be home for christmas.
Crows soar above the enemy defense line feeding on the rotting german corpses. They have lost many in this war, too many of them young, wholesome men, their journeys ending on the road of life so soon. My eyes close, wanting me forget all but their faces intrude my thoughts. The faces of friends, their bullet torn bodies and their blood caked uniforms. Lying as still as posts, frozen as statues.
My only wish is to be free of this Un-natural place, for the endless shelling to end, for the ceaseless killing to cease, for the screaming man to silence himself.
There is a small wooden cross in front of me that had escaped my gaze until now, It stands upright amongst all the earth churned up by missiles. A note nailed to the cross reads: "Let us reflect on the burden borne by all those who gave their all when asked to answer their country's call that we at home in peace may live" My mouth can utter no words to describe my emotions.
As I turn to leave I take one last look at the mountains miles beyond clashing with the now blood red sky of dawn. I don't smile at the scenery; my face is lacking expression, my mind already knowing what tomorrow brings. The board is set and the pieces will soon be moving but I am ready as those before me were. Ready to do my duty.
By Cameron Philp 10H