Belleau Wood
By Gabriel Bell
Disclaimer: I do not own Rifts or any related material. These are the property of Kevin Seimbeida and Palladium Books. I also do not own the song 'Belleau Wood'. This is owned by Garth Brooks. I am using these published works without permission and for no intent of profit. I just want to tell a story. That's all.
Private Thompson lay in his foxhole with three of his comrades, two of whom were wounded. They were trying to get to an evacuation point when a heavy shelling by the Quebecois force's Glitter Boys opened up. He and the Corporal with him were forced to throw the two wounded men into a ditch and dive in after them. They waited for the shelling to stop and finally it did when a barrage of artillery fire from CS Abolishers swept over the area.
They then waited for rescue. They waited...and waited, but none came. The Corporal called in an evac team, but no response was forthcoming. Thompson idly observed that snow began to fall as Quebecois soldiers moved in, steadily decreasing the distance between them. Then they suddenly halted.
The Corporal informed Thompson that there was a temporary truce in effect to gather wounded from both sides and in observance of an ancient holiday. Thompson mused that it was High Command's intent on boosting the morale of the troops on the ground and maybe to cause a stall with the Quebecois forces by making a 24-hour truce in remembrance of a man of peace.
Oh, the snowflakes fell in silence,
Over Belleau Wood that night.
For a Christmas truce had been declared,
By both sides of the fight.
Hours passed and still no sign of rescue was evident. Thompson and the Corporal had eaten their day's worth of rations and tried to get the two wounded men with them to eat. Thompson noted how badly one of them was dehydrated.
The two slept when they could, taking watch for the other as they rested in shifts. It was the first time Thompson had anything resembling real sleep in almost a week. The Corporal awoke him, telling him that it was less than an hour before the truce was over and they would be forced to fight off Quebecois soldiers again. Thompson readied one of two grenades he had left and his laser pistol. He had been saved by his rifle taking a shot meant for his torso.
Suddenly, the daylong silence was broken by an open channel broadcast, from very close by. The voice was a woman's and the words were French, but the song Thompson knew. His mother used to sing it to him and his sister when they lived in the Chi-Town 'Burbs. She always sang it around this time of year and he always repeated it on one evening of the year. It was now called 'Humanity Remembrance Day' or some such nonsense, but Thompson would always know it by what his mother called it; Christmas.
As we lay there in our trenches,
The silence broke in two.
By a German soldier singing,
A song that we all knew.
He listened to the song, which his mother called 'Silent Night'. A tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered his mother and how she would give special gifts to him and his sister on Christmas. They were poor and she only got them little things, like some candy or a small toy, but he and Ellie always appreciated it. That seemed to make their mother happy.
His train of thought was broken by the Corporal, who seemed to be singing along quietly to the song. He wasn't transmitting, but was loud enough that his voice penetrated both helmets. More tears rolled down Thompson's cheek as he heard the words. This song had always put him at peace when all in the world seemed wrong. He lay back against the wall of the foxhole and began whispering the words to himself, the same way he did after the men who took his mother left, leaving him and Ellie alone.
Though I did not know the language,
The song was 'Silent Night'.
And I heard my buddy whisper,
'All is calm, all is right'.
He thought a lot about his mother and his sister in what seemed like hours of thought, but in reality was a few seconds. As he listened to the broadcast and the Corporal, an idea struck him. It was nuts, insane actually, but somewhere deep inside, he had to do it. He knew very well he would die if he was wrong about that Quebecois soldier, or if others didn't share the same peace she did, but something told him the fact she was still singing meant that others had not tried to stop her.
Taking the biggest risk of his life, he unclasped his helmet and stood up. He took only a brief moment to look around the battlefield and tried to locate the trench or foxhole where that soldier was and looked directly at it. He then filled his lungs with air and began singing the song in the loudest voice he could. He wanted to make sure even those flying in SAMAS armor overhead would hear him.
The fear and doubt surrounded me,
Because I'd die if I was wrong.
But I stood up in my trench,
And I began to sing along.
When he paused to take a breath, he heard something that filled him with unspeakable emotion. Other voices were raised in song. He heard the Corporal beside him singing, then someone on the Quebecois side, then another CS soldier in a different foxhole not too far away, a couple more Quebecois, and the list went on. It seemed that everyone within earshot was singing, remembering family and how today was for a man who only wanted to save humanity from itself.
He raised his voice again to finish the final lines of the song in a voice louder than before, fueled by a warmth in his heart that he had not felt since his mother last sang to him.
And across the frozen battlefield,
Another's voice joined in.
Until one by one each man became,
A singer of the hymn.
As the song finished, he remembered hearing some of the voices starting again with the song. Tears flowed openly now from the joy in his heart. It seemed blasphemous to smile in a place of war, but the wideness of his lips was not from the carnage of war, but from the knowledge that this is how it should be, humans from both Chi-Town and Quebec sharing what they had in common, not killing each other over their differences.
Then I thought that I was dreaming,
For right there in my sight.
Stood the German soldier,
Beneath the falling flakes of white.
As he scanned the battlefield, he nearly dropped to the ground. Thompson saw a Quebecois soldier standing in front of him. He took a closer look and saw she had her rifle slung and her faceplate removed. She adjusted her comlink and raised her hand and smiled. She spoke to him and he could hear her voice through his headset.
"Nous espère ici les deux vie pour voir que nous trouvons une meilleure façon." (01)
He raised his hand and smiled at me,
As if he seemed to say.
'Here's hoping we both live to see us,
Find a better way'.
Suddenly, the air was split open by bluish-green light and the 'whumps' of plasma missiles exploding. He dropped to the ground and stuck his helmet back over his head. He grabbed his pistol and stuffed the grenade back into his utility pouch. He then heard SAMAS buzzing overhead, laying down rail gun fire, presumably cover for the skelebots that suddenly appeared around their foxhole and began to motion for them to get out while the cover was good. Thompson and the Corporal picked up the wounded soldiers and began running back to friendly lines.
Thompson began to cry again as he ran. Something had been given birth on that battlefield that night and was quickly killed by those in power, both desiring a quick end to a war it seemed that neither side wanted. He ducked and dodged laser fire and swore he felt something hit him. The Corporal stopped him and told him to drop the soldier he was carrying. When he did, Thompson saw that a laser blast had killed him, shearing through the man's helmet and vaporizing his head.
Thompson was numb as he ran away from the corpse.
Then the devil's clock struck midnight,
And the skies lit up again.
And the battle field where Heaven stood,
Was blown to Hell again.
When he finally got to the camp, he fell down in a medical bunk, exhausted. As medics stripped his armor from him to treat any injuries he might have, as well as his mild case of dehydration, he thought back on that woman who had shown the same faith in humanity he had. They both could have died out there if even one person did not believe that this war was crap.
He barely felt the IV being slid into his skin to give him much needed fluids. He instead thought about how he could help others see what he had found. Heaven wasn't some mythical place in the sky. It was to be found anywhere there was hope, happiness, or love. It had the power to dispel fear and doubt when the power of those emotions should reign supreme.
He found himself crying again as he made a promise to himself. He would find that Quebecois soldier and thank her, even if he had to do it standing over her grave.
But for just one fleeting moment,
The answer seemed so clear.
Heaven's not beyond the clouds,
It's just beyond the fear.
Years later, Mitchell Thompson stood at an altar with a woman whose face he had never forgotten. Her voice was like a song to him. They kissed at the conclusion of their wedding ceremony, amid the cheers of friends and family, from both Chi-Town and Quebec. He looked into her eyes and smiled when the kiss was parted. She had tears of joy running down her cheeks as he held her close, remembering the Christmas night when they first met. He was in Hell and she was an angel that showed him the way to Heaven. Her voice led him out of darkness and he could never thank her enough for that.
He told her this and she said the same to him, that she was calling out a prayer and he answered it. Their wedding vows had been simple, given in their native languages.
"We will make a better way."
"Le ciel nous a trouvés ici." (02)
No Heaven's not beyond the clouds,
But for us to find it here...
01) Here's hoping we both live to see us find a better way.
02) Heaven has found us here.