The date was April 6, 1917. The Western Front of northern France lay as evidence to the desolation of World War I. No soldier on this no-man's land would know that this grapple with hell would last for five years, resulting in twenty million deaths and forty million casualties. The world had not yet seen such mass destruction and desolation. Countless young, bright-eyed boys kissed their families good-bye to enlist and make history for themselves and their country. The few that survived a few years later returned as poor, wayfaring old men. It was undeniable to them all that those who had joined never returned without invisible scars. But after all, is it not "dulce et decōrum est prō patriā morī?" (It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country.) These men are called "the lost generation."
"[This] is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. I will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped the shells, were destroyed by the war" - Erich M. Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front
A peaceful field of green grass and white flowers lies just off the trenches, untouched and open. The day would have been more pleasant if it were not for the thick spread of grey clouds blotting out the sky. Lance Corporals Blake and Schofield lie resting in the field. Twnety-seven year old Schofield, a veteran of the Somme, and Blake, a stout, younger man with an optimistic personality have their eyes closed.
However, when kicked by an approaching officer, both open their eyes in a rude awakening, their calm, enjoyable peace gone. Addressing Blake, the officer curtly says, "Pick a man, bring your kit." They had a mission.
Walking across the grassy make-shift camp, Blake and Schofield grimly joke about what little food they expected in camp. As they enter the trenches, Blake brings up the fact of the delay in his leave, and Schofield sorrowfully yet knowingly answers, "It's easier not to go back at all."
In a dark room dug out in the trenches, higher officers give the two friends their dangerous mission: to carry a message to Col. Mackenzie of the Second Battalion of the Devonshire Regiment, which would call off an attack that would jeopardize the lives of sixteen-hundred men, including Blake's older brother because of a German trap. To do so, they must venture over the desolation between their trenches and the Germans' because telephone communications have been cut. And they had to do it alone.
"Sir, is it just us?"
"Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, he travels the fastest who travels alone."
With their mission heavy in their minds, the two men make their way through the trenches - Schofield cautious and Blake propelled by determination. He has to save his brother and the other men of the Devons. They do not know what dangers this one mission could bring, but they silently understand their duty.
In the trenches, they pass countless men who are starving, huddled, and dead silent. Everything else but waiting is pointless; they cannot move from the trenches. Several men working on the wires above had already been retrieved, shot and mangled from enemy fire. Despite his war experiences, Schofield's gaze still lingers on a bloodied man carried on a stretcher in the opposite direction. Schofield moves on.
A rightfully cynical officer motions the two men toward a ladder leading to the level ground above. His views are the same as every man who stepped foot on this dead man's territory. "Cheer up; there's a medal in it. Nothing like a scrap of ribbon to cheer up a widow." He scoffs at the two men due to the folly in their mission.
Knowing they could be shot at any moment, Schofield then Blake began picking their way with rifles poised through the absolute desolation of the land between the enemy lines and their trenches. The sky was grey-white. There was nothing but turned-up black, scarred earth, barbed wire, and masses of bodies. Rotting human and horse corpses alike lay splayed awkwardly, collecting hoards of flies. There is only pulsing silence.
Suddenly, Schofield falls into the rotting corpse of an ally - or perhaps an enemy, yet rats scurried out of its chest cavity all the same. As the two continue, countless corpses lie half-swallowed by mother earth, hugging their lifeless forms into herself as they rotted into the very dust from which she was made.
They hear nothing... only pulsing silence. Even so, they have to continue.
The two friends' trepidation and determination as they finally approached the enemy line was almost tangible in the thik arit. But - "They really have gone!" They lowered their guns from aiming into the German trench.
The recently deserted trench mirrors the allies', yet no man was left. They were not gone long. Upon entering a bunker, hoping to find a way through, Schofield peers at a faded, abandoned family photograph. Though it's certainly no revelation to him, these men, too, have families, even if they are on the other side of no-man's land.
There is a tunnel at the end. In a moment of pure terror, a rat activates a setup tripwire, and Schofield is buried beneath the initial rubble from the resulting explosion. As the whole structure begins to crumble, Blake bravely remains to dig him out, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. Regardless of the danger to his own life, Blake retrieves his friend from death's door. Desperation and collaboration pull them through in time.
"Why in God's name did you have to choose me?" Schofield groans as he shakily washes the caked dust from his eyes when they reach open air. Regarding their mission, Blake defensively replies:
"I thought it would be easy."
Though Schofield may seem to be opting out of the mission, his close brush with death is just another in the face of his previous service. He knows what it really is to die for one's country; it is certainly not a "sweet and fitting" thing as numerous ignorant adults might say to their sons. Nevertheless, the two friends steadfastly and loyally continue on, even beginning to tell stories on the way. Their major life-threatening experience simply becomes a thing of the recent past. Though a rat had just triggered danger, Blake tells Schofield of an amusing story about a comrade whose ear had been bitten clean off by a rat because of hair oil. However, the two remain ever watchful of the trees and ridges, their expressions unchanged. They have to continue.
As they trek through the trees and across grassy fields, Schofield thanks Blake for his bravery, figuring he could receive a medal for it. Knowing Schofield once received a medal for the Battle of the Somme (a dismal failure where almost 20,000 British soldiers died on the first day), Blake inquires about it, but Schofield does not have it.
"I didn't lose it. I swapped it … for a bottle of wine … I was thirsty."
"You should have at least given it to your family. People died for that."
"Look, it's just a bit of bloody tin! It doesn't make anyone special. It makes no difference to anyone." His sharp reply makes clear he is disillusioned by war. When countless needlessly die in the war simply to gain a few inches of ground, what honor is there in gaining a medal bestowed by those who don't even participate in the fighting themselves?
Suddenly, the two find themselves at the edge of a vast expanse of green fields with an abandoned, run-down farm not too far off. They discover an orchard of cherry trees - freshly chopped down and in full bloom. As they lament the senseless act of destruction, Blake states with hope that their seeds will now spread.
"You'll end up with more trees than before."
After ensuring the security of the vicinity, the two friends witness a German plane begin to fail during an aerial dogfight. This would destroy both their worlds as the plane crashed into the shed where they were moments before. Although they retrieved the German pilot from the burning wreckage, Blake violently cries out because the German hun stabs him with a knife in his stomach. Two shots from Schofield's rifle end the pilot's life, but it's too late; Blake writhes in agony as he bleeds into the mud. Trying to support his dying friend, Schofield frantically presses bandages into Blake's side. Blood stains their nails as every movement causes a fresh spurt of blood to fountain over their fingers.
"Am I dying?"
"...Yes, I think you are."
Blake's face of frantic disgust at his end is overcome by terrified acceptance. Pressing Blake's family picture to his bloody chest is about all Schofield could do as his friend dies in his arms.
"Will you write to my mum for me? … Tell her I wasn't scared. I love them."
Schofield soothingly comforts him by describing the direction he will take. He has not lost their way, but the mission must continue. They have to continue.
"Then I'll find your brother, just like you, a little older." He trails off because he realizes his friend is lifeless. This younger man had much to live for, yet he did not even live to see his older brother again. After taking his rings and dog tag, Schofield starts in alarm because two British soldiers called out to him, having seen the wreckage smoke. Hey help him carry Blake's body towards a rotting shed. A superior officer of their passing British unit approaches Schofield.
"A friend? … Come with me. That's an order ... We can take you part of your way."
"Sir?" Schofield whispers. After a moment however, he rises and obeys with one more glance at his fallen comrade's slowly cooling body as it lay in the mud. Denied this basic human act of kneeling and grieving for his fallen friend, Schofield cannot even afford the time to mourn. He cannot do what seems like such a fundamental right toward this dead man, who only moments before was speaking about hope in cherry blossoms. The mission must be completed.
A whole British unit had arrived at the farmhouse. A grim-faced Schofield is greeted with the angry voice of a British higher-up as he sits in his cushioned vehicle, growling about the uselessness of soldiers as his men struggle to lift a fallen tree obstructing the road.
Forced to move on from the tragedy he just witnessed, Schofield clambers into the covered vehicle with a band of young sweary soldiers. Their jokes might have come across as raw, irreverent, and anger-invoking, but there was nothing Schofield could have done for Blake. There was nothing left to do. Life must move on. What did they know?
He only stares ahead. As they drive away from the farm, Schofield's grief is clear in his dead eyes as he looks back one more time at his friend's resting place. Upon hitting and sinking into a pothole, Schofield's anxiety grows, knowing he has to reach his destination by the morning. He pleads with the nonchalant men to help him push the vehicle free. He has to continue.
"We haven't the time … please, I have to go now, please."
Putting all his grief and desperation into the endeavor, the men succeed in pushing the truck out. The men now know that Schofield has some higher mission.
"Why did they send you on your own?"
"They didn't. There were two of us."
"You'll never make it."
"Yes, I will."
Schofield leaves the unit by a destroyed bridge near Écoust-Saint-Mein. One soldier, seemingly more knowing and kindly than the others simply states: "I hope you get there." Sixteen-hundred lives are on the line, including Blake's older brother. He has to continue.
Schofield resumes on foot, picking his way across the decimated bridge. Suddenly, the sharp crack of a rifle jerks him into frantic action. Though the cover is not scarce due to the destruction, Schofield shoots at the lone sniper's window enough times to safely reach the foot of the sniper's building. Knowing the enemy is on the other side of the door, he heavily breathes while clutching his gun. One false move and sixteen-hundred men die with him. Upon opening the door, both men - one German, one British - shoot each other simultaneously. Schofield blacks out.
He awakens in the darkness to water dripping on his face. While tapping his watch confirms it is broken, he knows this must have cost him hours of time. Thus, he has no more to lose. Picking himself up once more, he stumbled out of the building.
Magnificent, sweeping shadows accompany the sight of bursting pure lights in what is left of the town. While absolutely decimated, a number of brick structures still stand, casting vast shadows as great glowing orange lights burned in the distance. The town was on fire, and yet the shellfire's light reached Schofield's dazed eyes. The shadows rise and fall as the light changes. One moment, it is as clear as day, the next as dark as the night. The shadows continue to swell. They were both terrifying and beautiful, grotesque and captivating. Schofield's frantic stumbling turns into a blind sprint as shots fire at him from nowhere. He throws himself on the ground for cover, but he has to continue.
He safely hides from the intense danger in one building only to find it a refuge for a young French woman and a child who was not her own. She pleads with him in terror.
"Anglais! Not German! I am a friend!"
Despite not understanding her French well, Schofield confirms that he is on the right track, but he cannot help but stay a moment, offering the woman the entirety of his food as if he senses the immediateness of death. He sits with them as he allows the infant girl to play with his cracked and dirtied hands. He softly recites a poem to her.
"They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve."
A moment of tender peace and respite in the chaos of battle. Young, innocent life is made more beautiful in the face of hardened, broken lives and dreams smashed by the destruction of war. The distant striking of a far off bell signals to Schofield that it is early morning. The woman pleads with him in supplication, but he cannot give up his mission. He has to continue.
Schofield shoulders his weapon and enters the burning town. Schofield encounters more German soldiers, strangling one and pushing past another who is drunk. He soon finds himself running through the shadowed streets, multiple enemy shots barely missing him. In order to escape, Schofield abandons himself to fate and jumps into a raging river, knowing from the woman that it will lead to the forest. It is his last chance.
His struggles weaken until he clings to a floating branch, relaxing his will to live due to his utter exhaustion. Despite all his struggle and sheer will power to live and continue, the pain of war bears down on his spirit, and he nears defeat. The whitewater is too strong.
It isn't until small pinkish-white specks catch his eye when he lifts his head to find himself surrounded by hundreds of fresh cherry petals floating on the calm river beside him as birds chirp above. Several cherry trees line the water's banks. Blake had died for their mission. Though he was cut down, his efforts must live on. He has to continue.
Re-invigorated, Schofield propels himself forward. He only dully reacts when he sees a number of blue-skinned and water-logged corpses clogging up the flow of the river. Their faces are swollen, and one man's tongue is bulging out of his mouth. After clambering over the corpses, Schofield breaks down by the water's edge. He begins to half sob, half retch from the past twenty-four hours' events. There is no rectitude or virtue in them, simply two men struggling to fulfill a single purpose in ugly reality. It is dawn now.
The faintest tones of far-off singing break Schofield from his daze, and walking as if half-dead, he follows the angelic yet mournful voice through the woods. As the voice becomes clearer and clearer, he stumbles in on a large group of soldiers sitting and listening to one standing man who is singing a sorrowful song before they enter battle - to their deaths.
"I am a poor wayfaring stranger
I'm trav'ling through this world of woe
Yet there's no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home
I know dark clouds will gather 'round me
I know my way is rough and steep
Yet golden fields lie just before me
Where God's redeemed shall ever sleep
I'm going there to see my mother
And all my loved ones who've gone on
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home"
All the men, most no older than twenty-five, are silently listening to this requiem, and Schofield, entranced, can only lean his head on a tree as he sinks to the ground, silently echoing every soldier's longing for home. Haunting and beautiful, the song provides a perfect reflection into the identity of all soldiers - poor wayfaring strangers, trav'ling through this world of woe. However, it is up to the cruel choice of fate whether any soldier goes to "that bright land" or ironically lives to mercilessly fight another day.
When the song finishes, the soldiers immediately clear the area after a few scattered claps. Schofield realizes they are from the 2nd Devons, the last wave of the attack which Schofield's letter is intended to prevent. Schofield pushes through endless soldiers as they flood the trenches in the nearby battle field. He desperately tries to locate Col. Mackenzie on several occasions, but everyone directs him further on. Endless soldiers are positioned and ready to attack, but he has to continue.
"Where is Col. Mackenzie?!"
Schofield screams into the sobbing face of a commanding officer who has lost his nerve. Many soldiers sneer at Schofield's "madness," and others even try to restrain him, thinking he's gone insane from the pressure. It's one man's word against sixteen-hundred men's orders. The trenches are too crowded; he cannot make it in time.
Just as the attack whistle blows, Schofield climbs the wall of the trench and begins running freely on the level ground above, wide open for enemy fire. Because the attack sounded, the first wave of men charge toward the German lines, unaware of the trap before them. Droves of men sprint forward across the plains ready to fight with their lives while one, solitary man runs perpendicular. Artillery shells fly in all directions. The earth tears up as dirt sprays everywhere, leaving craters behind. This war zone would soon become that no-man's land Schofield and Blake earlier trekked across. He has to continue.
At last, Schofield jumps down back into the trenches and bursts into Col. Mackenzie's sheltered room. Despite his pleas, Mackenzie disregards Schofield's claims. After all, it's one man's word against sixteen-hundred men's orders. After Schofield's persistent pleading, Mackenzie grudgingly reads the letter. He reluctantly calls off the attack. As whistles of retreat sound outside, Mackenzie disappointedly speaks to Schofield who had risked every life and limb, lost his dear friend, and... though surviving the shells, had his life destroyed by the war:
"I had hoped today would be a good day. Hope is a dangerous thing. That's it for now, then. Next week Command will send a different message … Now fuck off, Lance Corporal."
For all his efforts, Lance Corporal Schofield brokenly leaves the shelter with only a "well done, lad" from an older officer.
Men now flood the trenches, hurrying to the healing tents and carrying their dead and wounded. It mirrors perfectly the time when Schofield and Blake went up the down trenches, ready to begin their mission. Despite his war experiences, Schofield's gaze still lingers on a bloodied man carried on a stretcher in the opposite direction. Schofield moves on. There was one more mission left to carry out. He has to continue.
Schofield inquires to several people as he searches the hospital tents for Blake's older brother. Every time he is dismissed and sent away. Several men lie screaming on cots as surgeons and assistants try to administer sedatives, amputate precious limbs, and bandage arms and legs with flesh chunks gouged out. One man faces his death as he bleeds out from a stomach wound on the ground, his good friend trying to comfort him and stop the hemorrhaging. As Schofield scours the tents, one man's voice catches his ear.
"Blake?"
The man turns, a leaner, more weathered version of Lance Corporal Blake peers back at him. Schofield had found him. For the first time, Schofield uses his first name.
"William Schofield. Will."
When Lt. Joseph Blake learns that Schofield had shared the same division as his brother, he hesitates to break the sorrowful news of his brother's end to the lieutenant. Schofield's silence confirms the worst of his unspoken words. When he reveals Blake's rings and dog tag, it confirms the credibility of his words. Lieutenant Blake receives his younger brother's belongings. He is devastated but grateful that Schofield was there with him. Schofield himself shares the same grief and gratitude.
"He was a good man, always telling funny stories… He saved my life."
"Thank you, Will."
The two men shake hands, and Will turns away to squint at a peaceful green field, fresh and unscarred. At first glance, it appears all is normal, but this one man knows the wounds of war will only become the scars of peace. A tall lone tree stood out among the green. He stumbles toward it.
It ends how it starts. Finally, his mission over, this one wayfaring stranger among many finds solitary repose under a tree. Exhausted and nearly broken, he finds shade and shelter beneath it. He pulls out a protected case and looks lovingly at pictures of his wife and two daughters labeled: "Come back to us X~"
He has come to rest once more. It all will continue.