In The Trenches
Chapter I: Why?
As Mark climbed out of the trench, shells began falling everywhere. Nobody dared to think; they just ran forth on instinct instilled in them at boot camp. "I've come too far to die now. I will survive" thought Mark to himself. Unfortunately, the number of those who weren't surviving was rising. Private Mark asked himself if the struggle was really worth it.
There was a buddy Mark had known since the beginning of the war. Private Kyle. The two of them were best friends. Suddenly Mark heard a familiar voice. The voice of Kyle. Only this time the voice was horribly twisted with agony and despair. Mark turned around. A canister shot from a Ghost's rifle had blown out Kyle's entire abdominal area. Kyle slowly sank to his knees, covered in blood. His intestines and other organs were slipping out of his gaping, cavernous wound.
"My God! Why the fuck did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?" Kyle screamed. "Why I am being punished?" He tried to pick up his detached organs and stuff them back into himself. He failed. He just kneeled there, crying in despair. "What am I fighting for anyway? Wh . . Oh my Go . . ." The rest was just wet gurgles. Blood welled up in his mouth, then spilled over onto his chin. His eyes glazed over, then shut for the last time. He fell forward with a splash into the puddle that he had created.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Screamed Mark. "WHY DID HE HAVE DIE? WHY COULDN'T HAVE BEEN ME INSTEAD?" Bullets were flying past his head. He could see some other men in his unit being shot to pieces. "Why am I fighting in this place? Is this my destiny, to die out here with everybody else?"
The assault failed miserably. Two-thirds of the unit, or approximately 160 soldiers, lay dead in between the opposing trenches. The remaining troops retreated back to their own trench. The air stank of death and dismay. Some friendly wraiths flew overhead, then began to strafe the enemy trenches. Spires of flame erupted throughout the enemy, sending corpses flying. Mark was in his trench with the 80 survivors.
"Where's the corporal?" Mark shouted.
"He got his head blown off 15 minutes ago."
"I see" said Mark. "I say we regroup and try to attack again."
"Why the fuck should we do that for?" someone shouted. "We're just gonna die."
"Because I want revenge against the enemy. You saw how many people they mercilessly slaughtered. Everyone here has been affected by them. I want to pay them back."
"Maybe this guy is right. I think we kill those bastards! But, how are we going to do that without getting killed?"
"We flank their lines, then attack from the rear and side" Mark said. "They wont expect another attack. I hope you guys don't mind if I take charge for a while."
"We're all with you boss. Just don't screw us over or I'll slit your fucking throat."
"Right . . ." Mark said. "Anyway, IT'S TIME TO KICK SOME ASS!"
And with that, the 80 remaining soldiers marched off through the trench toward the side of the enemy trenches.
Chapter I: Why?
As Mark climbed out of the trench, shells began falling everywhere. Nobody dared to think; they just ran forth on instinct instilled in them at boot camp. "I've come too far to die now. I will survive" thought Mark to himself. Unfortunately, the number of those who weren't surviving was rising. Private Mark asked himself if the struggle was really worth it.
There was a buddy Mark had known since the beginning of the war. Private Kyle. The two of them were best friends. Suddenly Mark heard a familiar voice. The voice of Kyle. Only this time the voice was horribly twisted with agony and despair. Mark turned around. A canister shot from a Ghost's rifle had blown out Kyle's entire abdominal area. Kyle slowly sank to his knees, covered in blood. His intestines and other organs were slipping out of his gaping, cavernous wound.
"My God! Why the fuck did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?" Kyle screamed. "Why I am being punished?" He tried to pick up his detached organs and stuff them back into himself. He failed. He just kneeled there, crying in despair. "What am I fighting for anyway? Wh . . Oh my Go . . ." The rest was just wet gurgles. Blood welled up in his mouth, then spilled over onto his chin. His eyes glazed over, then shut for the last time. He fell forward with a splash into the puddle that he had created.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Screamed Mark. "WHY DID HE HAVE DIE? WHY COULDN'T HAVE BEEN ME INSTEAD?" Bullets were flying past his head. He could see some other men in his unit being shot to pieces. "Why am I fighting in this place? Is this my destiny, to die out here with everybody else?"
The assault failed miserably. Two-thirds of the unit, or approximately 160 soldiers, lay dead in between the opposing trenches. The remaining troops retreated back to their own trench. The air stank of death and dismay. Some friendly wraiths flew overhead, then began to strafe the enemy trenches. Spires of flame erupted throughout the enemy, sending corpses flying. Mark was in his trench with the 80 survivors.
"Where's the corporal?" Mark shouted.
"He got his head blown off 15 minutes ago."
"I see" said Mark. "I say we regroup and try to attack again."
"Why the fuck should we do that for?" someone shouted. "We're just gonna die."
"Because I want revenge against the enemy. You saw how many people they mercilessly slaughtered. Everyone here has been affected by them. I want to pay them back."
"Maybe this guy is right. I think we kill those bastards! But, how are we going to do that without getting killed?"
"We flank their lines, then attack from the rear and side" Mark said. "They wont expect another attack. I hope you guys don't mind if I take charge for a while."
"We're all with you boss. Just don't screw us over or I'll slit your fucking throat."
"Right . . ." Mark said. "Anyway, IT'S TIME TO KICK SOME ASS!"
And with that, the 80 remaining soldiers marched off through the trench toward the side of the enemy trenches.