Ben Thompson
Thompson stood next to James Gambrel with growing resentment. It was horse shit. His friend was risking being tried of treason.
A rotten, pale-green arm poked out of the bloodstained mud. Thompson looked away.
"Do have any idea what the fuck you're doing?" he hissed into Gambrel's left ear.
"Shut up. I'm not getting killed out there," Thompson's friend answered. "Just shut your trap before they find out what I'm planning."
"Fine. Go ahead. Just you go and get those tiny, white, fluffy feathers. I hear they might give you four or five if you really did well."
Machine gun fire chattered in the distance. Screams and wails from British troops to the south broke the silence. Starting to the right, Lord Kitchener's men were all eventually making their way out of the trench.
The leftenant before them was having a lot of trouble. Thompson could see him, because of the way the trench twisted and zigzagged around. "Over the top!" the leftenant shrieked. After about 5 seconds, he yelled again. "Are you guys all bloody cowards?"
His sergeant put forth a sentence Thompson never forgot. "Excuse me sir, but they're all fucking dead!"
Thompson heard no more from that leftenant, for now it was their turn. Leftenant Richard Potter hollered at the top of his lungs the infamous statement, "Over the top!" Gambrel made his mistake early, and decided to show he was hit before anyone could even manage to stand up. Potter didn't pay any attention though as he slipped on the mud and made out a fake cry. Gambrel screamed though a muffled smile, "Ahhhh! Fuck! I've been hit!"
The rest of the platoon had no time, however, and scrambled up the wall towards the German Iron Division. Thompson shifted his weight from side to side as the platoon weaved in and out of the barbed wire.
Thompson gazed at Jimmy Hendricks as he keeled over, caught in the wire. Cuts and blood mixed in with mud littered his legs. There also was, of course, the large, gaping bullet hole present in Hendricks' thigh. He was gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in pain.
It did no use to show compassion, however, so Ben Thompson just kept hurrying through the wire. After fifteen seconds, he was out and running for his life at the crossroads on the horizon. They were all this attack was for-to gain an intersection. Thompson then remembered the river of mud at the center of No Man's Land.
Sergeant Barnum, who had originally trained in the professional BEF, made it to water's edge first. Yellow streaks of gun fire diced into the sickening sea of dirt. Barnum, with 70 pounds of supplies on his back, shifted it on his shoulders, before losing his balance as his knees buckled underneath him. The sergeant had been hit in the lung, and he was now drowning in the mud and his own blood, which was flooding into his chest at a rate that could not be helped. Barnum managed to choke out a surprised gasp and moan for help before his face disappeared in the 'quicksand' of earth.
The rest of the men in Thompson's platoon took after the sergeant, and began wading their way to the horizon with their Lee-Enfields above their heads.
Along with the rain and thunder were the splashes of gun fire colliding with the water and explosions of German artillery. Potter halted at a roasted, felled poplar tree and allowed the platoon to catch its breath. To the north-east were the dozen pillboxes. All of them housed multiple machine guns along with the hundreds of German infantry supporting the defense.
Their leftenant confirmed all the men behind him were people he knew, and started off again. All of them knew it was suicide, and that it useless to even try, but notwithstanding they still advanced.
Some fortunate platoons to the north were breaking through the center of No Man's Land, and had made it up to the 37 meters of German barbed wire. The reconnaissance trenches had long since been over run by British troops. Once the soldiers made it up to the wire, however, it was a completely different story. . .
Thompson stood next to James Gambrel with growing resentment. It was horse shit. His friend was risking being tried of treason.
A rotten, pale-green arm poked out of the bloodstained mud. Thompson looked away.
"Do have any idea what the fuck you're doing?" he hissed into Gambrel's left ear.
"Shut up. I'm not getting killed out there," Thompson's friend answered. "Just shut your trap before they find out what I'm planning."
"Fine. Go ahead. Just you go and get those tiny, white, fluffy feathers. I hear they might give you four or five if you really did well."
Machine gun fire chattered in the distance. Screams and wails from British troops to the south broke the silence. Starting to the right, Lord Kitchener's men were all eventually making their way out of the trench.
The leftenant before them was having a lot of trouble. Thompson could see him, because of the way the trench twisted and zigzagged around. "Over the top!" the leftenant shrieked. After about 5 seconds, he yelled again. "Are you guys all bloody cowards?"
His sergeant put forth a sentence Thompson never forgot. "Excuse me sir, but they're all fucking dead!"
Thompson heard no more from that leftenant, for now it was their turn. Leftenant Richard Potter hollered at the top of his lungs the infamous statement, "Over the top!" Gambrel made his mistake early, and decided to show he was hit before anyone could even manage to stand up. Potter didn't pay any attention though as he slipped on the mud and made out a fake cry. Gambrel screamed though a muffled smile, "Ahhhh! Fuck! I've been hit!"
The rest of the platoon had no time, however, and scrambled up the wall towards the German Iron Division. Thompson shifted his weight from side to side as the platoon weaved in and out of the barbed wire.
Thompson gazed at Jimmy Hendricks as he keeled over, caught in the wire. Cuts and blood mixed in with mud littered his legs. There also was, of course, the large, gaping bullet hole present in Hendricks' thigh. He was gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in pain.
It did no use to show compassion, however, so Ben Thompson just kept hurrying through the wire. After fifteen seconds, he was out and running for his life at the crossroads on the horizon. They were all this attack was for-to gain an intersection. Thompson then remembered the river of mud at the center of No Man's Land.
Sergeant Barnum, who had originally trained in the professional BEF, made it to water's edge first. Yellow streaks of gun fire diced into the sickening sea of dirt. Barnum, with 70 pounds of supplies on his back, shifted it on his shoulders, before losing his balance as his knees buckled underneath him. The sergeant had been hit in the lung, and he was now drowning in the mud and his own blood, which was flooding into his chest at a rate that could not be helped. Barnum managed to choke out a surprised gasp and moan for help before his face disappeared in the 'quicksand' of earth.
The rest of the men in Thompson's platoon took after the sergeant, and began wading their way to the horizon with their Lee-Enfields above their heads.
Along with the rain and thunder were the splashes of gun fire colliding with the water and explosions of German artillery. Potter halted at a roasted, felled poplar tree and allowed the platoon to catch its breath. To the north-east were the dozen pillboxes. All of them housed multiple machine guns along with the hundreds of German infantry supporting the defense.
Their leftenant confirmed all the men behind him were people he knew, and started off again. All of them knew it was suicide, and that it useless to even try, but notwithstanding they still advanced.
Some fortunate platoons to the north were breaking through the center of No Man's Land, and had made it up to the 37 meters of German barbed wire. The reconnaissance trenches had long since been over run by British troops. Once the soldiers made it up to the wire, however, it was a completely different story. . .