25th of March 1919
8 kilometers south-east of Reims
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The sound of exploding artillery shells were tearing up the air and made the ground tremble. The vibrations going through the ground and dirt flying over the heads became a new normal for soldiers hiding in the trenches. The Great War, which was supposed to be over for Christmas, to everyone's surprise, was now dragging out for almost 5 years, without any end in sight.
The sun was setting down over the no man's land full of craters, unexploded shells, and annihilated buildings. Decapitated bodies were lying under the leafless trunks of trees, half buried in mud. Both sides, the Entente and Central Powers, were hiding in a real labyrinth of trenches and machine gun bunkers.
Two war veterans, Alphonse Gobbart and Marius Lefebvre, were sitting next to a ditch in the ground called a bed. They were playing on a chessboard found somewhere in one of the abandoned houses in the countryside. Half of the pieces were missing, so two companions replaced them with small pebbles they found nearby one of the bunkers. Every time an artillery shell hit the ground nearby, they would bounce slightly into the air.
Somewhere to the right a small group of soldiers was watching rats roaming around the trench. A young boy was eating a diluted soup, watching two companions play chess from afar. All of them were wearing a typical military uniform, a typical helmet, equipped with a typical military rifle.
"Fucking hell," Marcus said, picking up one of his pieces from the mud. He was broad-shouldered and tall, making him stand out in front of other soldiers. He looked around using his tired eyes. "Where was it?" he looked at his companion sitting on the other side of the chess set.
"It was on D4," Alphonse answered with confidence. He was much smaller and younger than his companion. He couldn't walk properly and was wobbling on his left leg, so his companions began to call him a 'wob'. He was always laughing when someone would call him like that. It's better not to be personal during a war.
"Yeah, shit. It was on C4!" Marcus stood up and gazed at his opponent as he was about to punch him.
Alphonse, however, knew his companion too well to be scared off. "No, it was on D4," he insisted.
"He is right," a boy eating soup interrupted, "It was on D4."
"I have told you," Alphonse chuckled as Marius cussed under his nose, "Your turn."
"Bishop B7," his companion moved his piece and looked at the boy, "What's your name, boy? In fact, what the hell are you doing here, kid? Aren't you too young for a war?"
"Private Edouard Dupont, 18 years old," he raised his chest proudly, "I am a volunteer."
"Eight-" he gasped, "Eighteen? I don't know who you want to trick, but if you are truly eighteen, then I am a whore from a brothel."
"I am 18!" the kid raised his voice. "I turned 18 last month!"
"Fucking sure. For how long have you been on the front for?"
"For three days," Eduoard answered.
"Three fucking days?" Marcus exclaimed, moving away to make space for a group of soldiers running past him," If you haven't died yet, you might survive this war." he gazed at his chess opponent, "Knight C3, your turn."
"I didn't come here to survive the war!" he answered offended, "I came here to teach boshes a lesson, and I am not coming back without Alsace-Lorraine in our hands. I don't want to die like a rat."
"Die like a rat?" Alphonse chuckled, "There was one guy that didn't want to die as a rat. He had just arrived at the frontline, excited that he will be able to fight for his country. At first, he was surprised that a typical soldier's dinner consisted mainly of dried bread. Then, he wanted to see what no man's land looked like. He stuck his head over the trench, aaand puff! He didn't have a forehead anymore," he looked at his companion, "Queen B4, your turn."
"But I am not like that," the kid insisted, "I have sworn to my father that I will come back home dead or with Alsace-Lorraine in our hands."
"Oh, fuck," Marcus said, "Do you really think that we will take it back? We are losing this war! Nancy has fallen, Verdun is under siege, and boshes are marching at Marna. Give them a few days and they will cross it."
"What?!" Edouard shouted in outrage, "We are losing the war?! What you are saying now is a high treason! Do you want me to report that to the sergeant?"
"Oh, shut the fuck up. Do you really think that anyone here believes in that nonsense? Our sergeant thinks the same, he just doesn't have the balls to say it. If I were you I would stop bitching around and think of ways to survive an assault on the boshes' lines, or you are going to end up, well, in the eternal darkness."
"Eternal darkness? Since when are you a philosopher?" Alphonse chuckled, "What about angels? Knight E4. Your turn."
"The fuck?" his companion answered, "Angels do not exist."
"Isn't that a sad opinion to have?"
"Look the fuck around! Do you think that God would allow for so many innocent people to die?"
"And who do you think started this war, God or humans?" Alphonse answered, "I am sure that someone up here is watching over us. Do you remember that one time when I almost died?"
Edouard's eyes lit up. "Tell me about it," he asked.
Alphonse laughed. "A year ago I took part in an attack at the German lines. An artillery shell exploded nearby, and I got badly wounded in the leg. I was lying down in no man's land for two days. I thought that I would croak half buried in mud, I had to ward off rats," he said, "At the second night I was saved. Our soldiers found me and took back to our trenches. Before the attack, there were almost a thousand people in my regiment, and only a few dozen came back afterwards."
"You were just lucky as fuck," Marcus interupted, "Nobody was watching over you."
"You know what?" Alphonse smirked, "What would you say about a bet? I say that there is something after death. You say that there isn't. If we ever find ourselves at the brink of dying, one of us will tell the other who won. Deal?"
Marcus laughed, "Yeah, whatever," he said, as four medics ran past him, holding a groaning soldier on a stretcher. "Maybe we will ask him?" he pointed at the running medics.
Alphonse shook his head. "It needs to be one of us."
His companion smiled. "Alright. But don't cry like a woman when you lose."
"Cry like a woman? Man, here everyone cries every two hours," Alphonse laughed.
"Because they are pussies, not true men. True men do not cry, even when death looks into their eyes," he answered and scratched his head, "Whose turn now?"
"Actually, have you ever looked into the eyes of death before saying that?"
"I was the eyes of death," he answered, " Have you ever heard the phrase, that you can recognize a real man not by the way he starts, but the way he finishes? I have killed many bosches in my life. Some of them were lying down with pee all over their pants. Some were looking at me in silence without any emotions behind their eyes. Those I respect the most."
Alphonse looked away at the chess board. "Who's turn now?"
"I asked the same question a moment ago," Markus answered, "Anyway, the sun is setting. We won't even finish the game."
His companion nodded. "Yeah, we should better get some sleep before the watch today."
Edouard's eyes lit up again. "Tonight is my watch as well!"
"I wouldn't be so happy about it," Alphones chuckled, "At least you will have someone to talk to."
Alphonse looked at Edouard. "So, where are you from?"
All three of them, alongside another soldier from their regiment, were lying down on a small elevation. Through holes between sandbags they could observe the entire no man's land - the deserted houses, barbed wires, primitive mine fields and anti-tank entanglements. Not that far away they could see a dimly lit line of light coming from the trenches of their enemies.
It was a new moon, so the stars were unusually bright tonight. With no clouds, a breathtaking view of the milky way above was visible. Artillery fire stopped, which resulted in an overwhelming silence, only broken by the sound of roaming rats. Everyone, on both sides, was enjoying the precious few moments of calm they had.
"I'm from Paris," the kid answered.
"I am not surprised. This whole war is your fault," Marcus said.
Eduoard blinked a few times, "How so?"
"You wanted this fucking war. All city slickers idiots who only think about yourselves. My mom said well - do not trust them. If one comes to the village, it means that shit will go down. And now we all need to reap what you sow."
"I am from Algier, am I a city slicker as well?" another soldier from their regiment interrupted. His name was Andre Philippe and he had a huge scar all over his face.
"You are different," Marcus answered, "You are the only city slicker that I like."
"How am I a city slicker?" Eduoard exploded, "All what you, uneducated farmers, want to do is to devour carrots, have sex and drink for the rest of your life! Can't you really see what's important to our country? Do you even have a slightest sense of patriotism? Any sense of what our nation had to go through in 1871?"
"I don't fucking care," he responded annoyed.
Edouard opened his mouth to say something but got interrupted by Andre. "You know what? Let's talk about something else."
"You are right," Alphonse interrupted, "This war is so pointless. It only splits up the working class even further, while the rich people laugh in our faces."
"If you are such a communist," Marcus said, "Then why the fuck you don't join Red Army in Russia?"
"I have plans for that," he smiled, "right after this war ends."
"And I thought that you hated the war," Andre sighed.
"I hate this war," he answered, "Here we are fighting because a few rich people didn't like each other. Over there, people fight for a better tomorrow, for everyone of us. And that 'better future' is the future I'm willing to die for."
"It's easy to say that for you," Andre chuckled, "since you don't have any kids that are waiting for you. Marcus, did you get any letters from your wife?"
"She sent me the best wishes," he tried to keep a straight face, "she also said that once I come back from the war, we are going to have the best night we had ever had, if you know what I mean," he smirked, while the rest of the group burst out laughing, "And what about you, Andre?"
"My wife sent me the picture of our daughter," he said, taking out an image from within his pocket, "look! She is learning to write! 'Best wishes, daddy,'" he laughed, "I haven't seen her for 2 years. I can't wait to see her again," he sighed and looked away, "what about you, Edouard?"
"I haven't received a letter yet," he answered.
Andre chuckled. "What kind of wife do you have that doesn't send letters?"
"I've been here for three days. She probably didn't have a chance to write one. And she is not my wife, more like a lover. I am planning on getting engaged with her after the war."
"Yeah, that's fair," Andre smiled. He looked at Alphonse, "How do you survive here without letters from your family? Don't tell me that you think about revolution all day."
"I think about my home village," he answered.
"Where are you from?"
"I live just by Rhône."
His eyes lit up. "Rhône? Where exactly? How is it there? I have always wanted to visit this place."
Alphonse looked away. "I live in a small town called Valence. It's surrounded by grape farms and vineyards. Every morning the sun rises over the white tops of the Alps… Children run around the shallow streets, merchants are shouting over each other trying to sell their things…" he sighed, "There is one guy, he sells the most amazing apples you have ever tried, trust me."
"But nothing will beat Alger in the evening," Andree said, "The cool breeze of the sea over your face, the sounds of seabirds, the sound of waves, the sun setting over the sea, while you are standing on the beach… The small lights of the city, while you are standing on a small cliff in the suburbs…"
The silence emerged between all four of them. They were listening to the overwhelming silence, broken by the sound of rats and the buzz of crickets. Marcus started to play around with his weapon in his hands. Alphonse lied down onto the ground, watching the stars.
"You know what?" Andree started, pointing his head in the direction of the no man's land, "Do you... Do you think that they talk about their loved ones right now, like we do? About their hometowns?"
"I don't think so," Edouard answered, "They are not humans. They are animals."
"Yeah, the kid is right," Marcus answered, and a silence emerged between them.
"So what do we talk about now?" Alphonse suddenly asked.
"I don't know," Edouard said, "All I know is that I need to pee."
Marcus chuckled. "Go on."
The kid stood up and walked towards the darkness of the trenches, towards a small ditch they called a toilet. He moved past sleeping soldiers, lying equipement and a group of rats. Why are there so many of them? He shrugged once he approached the hole and started to unzip his pants.
Suddenly a dark figure appeared behind him.
Edouard immediately turned around. "Holy shit, dude, you scared me to death!" he yelled and turned around, only to see that the other person was as surprised as he was. They were staring at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds, until Edouard's eyes widened in fear.
He inhaled, but the only sound that could come out from his lungs was a quiet shriek, while he was falling onto the ground with a cut throat.
"So, what do you want to do after the war?" Andree asked Marcus.
"Nothing much," he answered, "I would like to sit on my ass with my wife, get a son, start farming and forget… about all of this," he sighed, "And you?"
"I don't know yet," Andre answered, "I was thinking of taking my wife on a trip to see Rhône, to see Paris… and then, maye, we could immigrate to the USA. Who knows? What about you, Alphonse?"
"I want to volunteer for the Red Army," he said.
"And what after that?"
"After that I will be happy," he smiled, "Everyone will be. Without gods nor masters, as an englishman would say."
They all laughed. "And after?" Andre insisted.
"I don't know," Alphonse thought, "Maybe I will write a book? Who knows."
"A book?" Marcus laughed, "You know what? You are the only communist that I like. I would drink for your health, but those bastards won't let you bring even the smallest amount of alcohol here," he looked around, "Where is the kid? Shouldn't he be back already?"
"Maybe he got lost? Andre joked.
"What the fuck is that?" Marcus said, pointing at an object flying over their trenches. It was a flare. A... pink flare.
All of three of them gazed at each other and then quickly jumped out of their elevation. Andre rushed towards the bell, ringing it loud.
He woke up one of the soldiers. "What's going on?" he asked with a sleepy voice.
"We are being attacked!" Andre screamed, as the soldier's eyes widened up, looking around in fear.
A ferment rose in the trench. Half asleep men were trying to find their rifles and position themselves onto their fire positions, pointing their guns into the void. Someone was shouting orders. Someone took out a well hidden flask and started to drink it frantically. A distant sound of firing machine guns reached their ears. And then, suddenly, everyone heard a whiz in the air.
Everyone stared at the small dot of light slowly flying over the No Man's Land. It was slowly slowing down, hovering over the area between the trenches. The new french recruits were staring at it curiously, while the dot suddenly exploded with a blinding light, exposing everyone under neath.
And then, the french artillery rang out as well.
The Germans cried out and rushed towards the french lines. They had nowhere to hide themselves against anymore. The flare illuminated the entire area with strong light, as it was midday. The loud explosions could be heard from the distance - it was the german infiltrator stormtroopers blowing up french artillery and machine gun positions.
Those, who were first, were quickly thrown back onto the mud by the bullets flying through their bodies. One of the unlucky Germans stood onto the landmine, sending his remains flying over the trench and his soul alongside a few others nearby into heaven. Soldiers were running around in chaos, trying to find a place where to shoot from. Some of them were passing the ammunition towards their friends. Several new recruits were lying on the ground, crying.
Andre stuck his head out of the trench aiming at the nearest german soldier. He put it perfectly in the line of sight of the german sniper lying in the distance. The french soldier didn't even realise his death when a bullet shattered his skull. The remnants of his body dropped onto the ground. He didn't have time to worry about his children, he didn't have time to worry about his wife. That kind of death is the best one you can receive during a war - it was fast and painless.
"This way!" Marcus shouted towards the Alphonse and pointed at the bunker nearby. The Germans were already near the barbed wires, with a small wall made out of their dead bodies and wounded soldiers. No one tried to bandage them - they wouldn't be able to join the fight nor come back to their trench. They were useless. And the victory of their friends was their only salvation.
"They have tanks!" someone shouted, as four almost perfectly cubicle machines appeared from the night. They were driving slowly through the mud, as a predator slowly approaching his victim in a dead end. The prey already knows that he cannot run away, trying to hide in a dead end. He is going to get eaten. And the predator wants to have a little fun.
The german soldiers were running towards the french lines between the tanks, through the machine gun fire cutting through their bodies like butter, through the artillery fire shredding their bodies apart, through the deadly fire of the French rifles, but they didn't care. They had one goal in mind and one goal only: To win the war. To drive the French out.
There were more and more Germans approaching the trenches, while French forces seemed to be weaker and weaker by the minute. Where the one German had fallen, three of them replaced the fallen comrade. And the French reinforcements were not coming. Somewhere a machine gun jammed, and the Germans jumped inside, slaughtering everyone present. In another place the first German reached the trench, jumping inside. He was quickly killed with a bayonet stab, but more and more soldiers started reaching the french positions.
And then, the critical mass has been reached, with the Germans flooding the trenches. Everyone stopped shooting and started fighting with bayonets.
It was a dirty fight. It's something different to pull the trigger and kill someone from a hundred meters. It's not you who kills. It's the bullet. It's much harder to stab someone in the chest, staring into his eyes from which life flies away. Chopping of arms, biting, scratching - here everyone did anything just to survive, just to extend their life for those few precious moments. No one fought for others. Only one thing mattered: to survive.
The German forces pushed forwards through French outposts and bunkers, slashing the weakening French defense. One of the tanks buried itself in the mud. The other one was immobilized by an artillery shell. But two left were still slowly pushing forwards, slashing everyone in the sea of iron.
Marcus and Alphonse were standing together, defending the entrance to one of the nameless bunkers scattered all around the frontline. Alphonse was already wounded at the arm, but it didn't stop him from firing at the closest German. Marcus on the other hand, had just pulled his bayonet out of his enemy's stomach.
"Where is the kid?" he shouted, as Alphonse gazed at him instinctively.
And it was his grave mistake.
A german suddenly jumped into a trench, firing a gun into Alphonse's chest, and then jumped towards him, stuffing his bayonet into the Frenchman's chest. Marcus charged at the enemy soldier with a rifle, but his opponent was able to jump away, barely evading the incoming knife.
Then, the German kicked him hard into his solar plexus, pushing away Marcus onto the ground. He landed on his back, snapping his ribs. He tried to locate his weapon, heavily breathing, which was lying down in the mud a meter away. The German moved towards the Frenchman, without wasting further time, wanting to deal a final blow. Marcus, however, was able to regain his composure - time to feel pain will come later.
He waded into the unsuspecting enemy, completely surprising him. The German let off his weapon as well, and soon the both landed on the mud, hitting each other with fists. They were trying to bite, throw mud into the enemy's eyes, using their nails - everything to win.
Marcus, more muscular than his enemy, was gaining an upper hand. But then the German was somehow able to place himself on top of the Frenchman. He reached into his pocket knife and tried to pour it into Marcus' neck, only to be stopped at the last second.
They began to muscle on hands, none of them willing to give up, fighting to the bitter end. The German started sweating, putting all the strength he had left into his one hand holding the knife. Marcus was able to free his other hand and slap the German's face with it.
The blow only concussed the German for a moment. His right hand was getting closer to Marcus' throat, while the Frenchman's hand was slowly reaching higher and higher, at first chin, then mouth, and the nose, until he finally reached the eyes and started to pressure them with the little strength he had left.
At first, nothing happened. But then the German's face twisted, and he started to scream. Terrifyingly scream. Loud. Louder. The black blood started to rush from his eyes, and finally Marcus' fingers collapsed into the German's eyes socket. He jumped off the frenchman, screaming horridly, rolling in the mud like a madman, and grabbing at his eyes he won't be able to see anything anymore.
Marcus grabbed the knife and plunged it into the German's throat, and the scream ended as suddenly as it began. The Frenchman stood and looked around concussed, with his ears full of the sounds of fighting all around him. "MEDIC!" he screamed, rushing towards his friend, "MEDIC!"
"They are breaking through!" someone screamed to his right, casting a spell on all french soldiers. They started to run away from the Germans, run towards their life, towards their survival. But then, right in front of them, a tall figure appeared and fired a gun into the air. "Bastards, stop!" the officer screamed, "Why are you running?! Do you want to die as a German? Do you want your kids to be German? Do you want to die, cursing the day you could have saved this country? What will you tell your raped wife, your kids staring at your burned house - that you are Germans now? That you are boshes now?" He and a bunch of other soldiers were able to rally and charge at the overwhelming German forces.
And then something strange happened.
Most of the soldiers stopped in their tracks to watch the few men charge at the Germans. But then one of them joined. And another one. And another. All of them were now rallied around the French officer, joining him in their last, desperate charge, with the only and only goal in mind - To win the war. To drive the Germans out.
They clashed in the brutal melee fight, killing, stabbing, dying. Why won't they throw away their weapons, why won't they surrender? Why are they running towards the war they hated so much twenty minutes ago? Is no one waiting for them in their homes?
Marcus kneeled in front of his friend. "MEDIC!" he screamed once more, looking frantically around. He grabbed his friend's hand, his friend who was now lying on a mud in a puddle of blood. "You are not going to die," he said, "not with me."
"You know that it's not true," Alphonse answered, coughing the blood out. Marcus stared at him as he was enchanted.
"No, no, no," he shook his head. He tried to shriek, he tried to call a medic once more, but something got stuck in his throat. No one will come here… no one could.
Alphonse just stared at him with wet eyes…
"Don't die," Marcus begged Alphonse, "Don't do this to me. Think about your wife, think about the revolution!" he felt something wet on his cheek, "Who is going to free us from the exploitation if not you?" he whispered, staring at his friend.
Alphonse's eyes lit up. He tried to laugh, but he couldn't let anything out of his throat besides a cough of blood. He looked straight into his friend's eyes. "You won," he whispered.
"No," Marcus answered, but what could he say? He tried to shout out for a medic one more time, but the only thing that left his throat was a quiet squeak…
He was crying. He was crying like a small child, begging his friend not to go away. At first he tried to hide it, to rub his eyes with a sleeve, but it didn't work. Why? He saw people dying so many times…
He looked at his friend covered with mud and blood. No one attacked them. They were bothered by no one. Everyone had their own problems to deal with. He realised he couldn't help him. His friend is going to die.
He tried to say something as his friend's eyes were becoming more and more glazed, and his grip less and less tight. What could he say anyway? What can you say to a person that is about to die? He just placed his head on Alphonse's chest and began to cry, not hiding it anymore.
The French charge, at first successful, broke down under the numerical superiority of the Germans. People started to scream, as the German bayonets were piercing through their lungs, turning the fight into a bloodbath. "Marcus," Alphonse said, gazing at his friend for the last one time. A tear was falling down his cheek. Marcus' friend gazed back at him with red eyes. "You won," he repeated, but this time even more quietly.
Marcus tried to say something, that everything is going to be alright, that medic is going to save him… He stared at him dumbfounded, unresponsive to the things happening all around him, as Alphonse's hand fell down onto the mud, as he closed his eyes, as he whispered his last words.
"There is nothing here."