From the Frontlines and Back
A/N: Hello! So, I'm writing this with special, special help from a great friend. He's brilliant, actually. Since this is AU, don't go yelling at me that it's inaccurate. IT'S AU FOR GOD'S SAKE. Please, enjoy!
PROLOGUE:
JASON'S POV
June 6, 1918. Belleau Wood. His heart hammered against his rib cage. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and down his forehead. His helmet chin strap was too tight. He was itchy. He felt sick. But he couldn't stop now. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins as he lay in the tall grass on the side of the Paris-Mentz highway. His Springfield rifle was in his hands. He was gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white. His long and sharp bayonet was attached to the end, ready to stab. To harm. To kill. His name was Jason Grace; he was a Lance Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. He was 22 years old. Originally born in England in 1896, his family moved to the United States in 1905. He had been drafted into the 6th Marine infantry regiment just a year earlier. At the time, the United States was going to declare war on Germany, and officially enter World War One.
Now here he was. He had left everything behind. His family, his friends, and his sweetheart, his love, Piper McLean. She sat at home in her warm house. While he was out here, getting shot at. Seeing men die; and experiencing horrors no man should ever see. He wanted to put his rifle down and leave. He had no business harming and killing men whom he had no quarrel with. He hated it. But he would be a traitor if he hadn't. He was doing this for not only Piper, but for the protection of both the United States, and United Kingdom. He had always had an instinct to protect, and to lead. It was the essence of his very being.
Explosions were ringing in his ears. Sounds of gunfire and mortars and artillery shells were raining down on the French troops as they retreated right towards them, warning them to retreat. Captain Lloyd Williams refused. He rallied up his men, and sent them on a wild bayonet charge into the hell that awaited them. The first few waves were slaughtered with machine gun fire. Bullet's whistled past Jason's helmet, blood sprayed up and spattered his hands and face. Dirt and grime covered his uniform. He jumped into a crater, taking cover. The screams of men mixed with the sickening crack of bones and sloshing sounds that made him want to throw up was all he could hear. He ran out of the crater, with other men next to him as the regiment surged forward. Soon, they were locked in a brutal battle with the Germans.
Fighting tooth and nail. Trench clubs and knives were used. Bayonets pierced skin and bullets broke bones and destroyed internal organs. More blood sprayed up into his face. He became locked in a hand to hand fight with other German, fists and feet were flying every which way, almost always finding their mark. Jason's helmet had been knocked off, now. So had the German man's. It was easier without it, anyway. The German tackled him, beginning to pound his face relentlessly with his fists. Jason reached for a nearby trench club, and smacked the German man hard in the side of the head with it. There was a loud crunch as his skull was broken. Blood sprayed from his lips and he fell, dead. Jason picked up his rifle and jumped into the trench that was filled with Marines and Germans all locked in battle. His hands and rifle was slick with blood, he was seeing red.
The Germans began to retreat. Leaving their weapons behind then ran from the trenches covered in blood and grime shouting to each other in German. The Marines followed suit, yelling at the top of their lungs as they charged. That's when the artillery hit. It rained down like fire from above, he could only hear the deafening roar of explosives as they slammed into the ground, sending dirt, blood, pieces of uniforms and rifles, and even bits of bone flying every which way. His eyes stung from sweat, he felt sharp pains in his right side from bits of shrapnel hitting him. But he couldn't stop now. Not when they were so close to winning. They followed suit deeper into the woods, everyone was spread out by now, to avoid massive casualties if an artillery shell landed near them. Suddenly, a shell exploded a few hundred feet in front of him. Body parts and equipment flew in every direction. The men in front had been turned into nothing but a red mist. Slowly dissolving in the air. Fewer men were around him. And suddenly, one exploded next to him. A safe distance away to not kill him, and enough to wound.
A blinding pain seared through his right leg and the upper part of his body. He was thrown like a ragdoll into a crater. He lay there, panting, moaning in pain. He looked down at his leg. It looked like hell. A large piece of shrapnel was protruding from his thigh, and blood was beginning to pool around him. He laid back, squeezing his eyes shut as tears flooded his vision. But he forced them down. He would not cry. Piper suddenly appeared in his mind. Her smiling face. Her beautiful, but uneven and choppy hair in braids. His heart began to hurt at the thought of her having to go on without him. Black spots were dancing across his vision, now. His last thought was of Piper waiting for him to come back. Writing letters to him, in which were never replied to. His vision faded to black; and he knew nothing more.