《Shell Shock》


 The Ancestrial Cave

    The haunting echoes of war reverberate through the desolate landscape, drowning out the screams of the wounded and the distant rumble of artillery. The once lush and fertile grasslands have been transformed into a nightmarish wasteland, scarred by craters and saturated with mud that clings to everything like a suffocating shroud.


    But as the chaos unfolds around me, I can''t shake the feeling that this is not the Great War I studied in history books. Something is amiss, something deeply unsettling that defies all reason and logic. None of the names I''ve heard, none of the battles I''ve fought in, align with the accounts of the past. It''s as if I''ve been transported to an alternate reality, a twisted reflection of the world I once knew.


    And the strangeness doesn''t end with the discrepancies in history. No man''s land, that dreaded stretch between the trenches, is now home to bipedal wolves that stalk their prey with an eerie intelligence. Their glowing eyes pierce through the darkness, filled with a primal hunger that sends shivers down my spine. These creatures, once confined to the realm of myth and folklore, now roam freely amidst the chaos of war.


    Above me, the sky dances with fantastical lights, colors swirling and intermingling like celestial brushstrokes. They illuminate the night, casting an otherworldly glow upon the horrors below. It''s as if the heavens themselves are bearing witness to the atrocities unfolding on the ground, their silent presence a haunting reminder of the surreal nature of this war.


    But perhaps the most disturbing aspect is the way the dead refuse to stay where they fell. Corpses that were once left to rest in the mire of no man''s land now shift and move, defying the laws of nature. They crawl, they rise, and they walk with a purpose that defies comprehension. It''s a macabre dance of the deceased, a ghastly parade that speaks of forces beyond human understanding.


    And then there is the memory that haunts me, the memory of my own demise. I vividly recall the moment my life was taken, the searing pain and the overwhelming darkness that followed. Yet here I stand, caught in a relentless cycle of war as if the fabric of reality itself has unraveled.


    Fear gnaws at the edges of my sanity, threatening to consume me. I question my own existence, my own sanity, as the world around me grows increasingly twisted and distorted. Nothing is as it seems, and I am left to navigate this nightmarish landscape with a trembling heart and a mind clouded by uncertainty.


    But even in the face of this unfathomable horror, a spark of determination flickers within me. I will persevere, I will fight, not just for my survival, but to unravel the mysteries that plague this twisted version of the Great War. I will uncover the truth, no matter how unsettling or terrifying it may be, for only then can I hope to find a way back to the reality I once knew.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    With a heavy sigh, I chipped away at the stick in my hand. As a survivalist extraordinaire, I thrived in the solitude of the wilderness. The crackling fire beside me provided a flickering warmth that danced with the shadows of the surrounding trees. I gazed into the flames, mesmerized by their gentle dance, while my mind wandered into the depths of my next adventure.


    In the distance, an owl hooted, its haunting melody echoing through the night. The forest seemed to come alive with the symphony of nature as if inviting me to explore its hidden secrets. With a newfound sense of anticipation, I leaned closer to the fire, eager to complete my preparations.


    In the soft glow of the firelight, I meticulously examined the array of supplies spread out before me. A compass, a coil of rope, a trusty bowie knife, and an old map¡ªall essential companions on this journey. On normal expeditions, I usually preferred to run around with my knife and a dream, but this journey was not about the challenge.


    Grabbing the map, and unfolding the weathered parchment, and tracing my finger along its faded trails and landmarks. It revealed a path less traveled, leading to an unmarked cave notorious for its remoteness, only known by old Native American tribesmen.


    Without hesitation, I packed my belongings and secured them in an old leather satchel. The night air was crisp as I emerged from the warmth of my campsite, stepping into the wild embrace of the untamed forest. The moon''s pale glow filtered through the dense canopy, casting ethereal patterns on the forest floor.


    As I ventured deeper into the heart of the woods, the familiar sounds of rustling leaves and distant wildlife filled the air. The path ahead, narrow and winding, demanded my utmost attention. Every step brought me closer to the secrets waiting to be discovered within the depths of the cave.


    Over time, the forest transformed around me. Moonlight filtered through the dense foliage, illuminating a clearing ahead. The scent of moss and damp earth grew stronger, a sign that I neared my destination. Excitement coursed through my veins, mingling with a tinge of apprehension.


    As I approached the mouth of the cave, an inexplicable hush fell upon the surroundings. It was as if nature itself held its breath, acknowledging the sacredness of the moment. The ancient stone entrance loomed before me, its stoic facade guarding the secrets within.


    Taking a deep breath, I stepped over the threshold, my headlamp piercing the darkness. The air was cool and heavy, carrying whispers of forgotten tales. Shadows danced upon the walls, casting eerie silhouettes that seemed to stir with every flicker of light.


    The exploration of this mystical cave had just begun, and the mysteries that lay within promised both wonder and danger. As I pressed deeper into the uncharted depths, my heart raced with anticipation, ready to unravel the enigma that awaited me.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    I took a deep breath, savoring the mixture of anticipation and trepidation that hung in the air. With a flicker of my headlamp, I illuminated the mysterious interior of the cave. The narrow passage seemed to beckon me forward, promising untold wonders concealed within its depths.


    I stepped over the threshold, and a chill ran down my spine as the darkness engulfed me. The cave was alive with an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft echo of my footsteps reverberating through the stone chambers. The walls, adorned with ancient symbols and enigmatic carvings, seemed to hold secrets whispered through the ages. I was used to darkness and caves, but there was just something special about this one.


    Navigating deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels, my senses heightened, attuned to every subtle shift in the environment. The air grew colder and damp, carrying the scent of earth mingled with a faint hint of something else¡ªa scent I couldn''t quite place.


    I paused to examine a peculiar marking etched into the rock face, tracing its intricate lines with my fingertips. It bore a resemblance to a celestial constellation, hinting at a connection to the vast mysteries of the universe. What significance did it hold within the depths of this forgotten cave? What was even more confusing was the fact that none of the constellations looked familiar. I whipped out my sketchbook and busied myself with copying it down.


    With a sense of urgency, I meticulously recreated the celestial constellation in my sketchbook, determined not to let its intricate details slip from my memory. The symbols seemed to dance on the page, forming a pattern that was both mesmerizing and enigmatic. What could this celestial map be leading to? Were there other secrets hidden within this cave that were yet to be unveiled?


    As I continued my exploration, the passageway widened, revealing a vast chamber bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Crystalline formations adorned the ceiling, sparkling like stars frozen in time. The air felt charged with an otherworldly energy, and a feeling of reverence washed over me.


    In the heart of the chamber, a pool of shimmering water beckoned, its surface reflecting the celestial patterns above. A faint whisper seemed to emanate from its depths, echoing with ancient wisdom. With cautious steps, I approached the pool, drawn to its mystique.


    Kneeling beside the pool, I dipped my fingers into the cool, clear water. Ripples cascaded outward, distorting the reflection of my visage. A soft, melodic hum resonated through the chamber as if the pool itself were singing a song only the chosen could hear. Mesmerized by the enchanting symphony, I leaned closer, my reflection becoming hazy and distorted.


    As I peered into the rippling depths, the water seemed to come alive, revealing glimpses of forgotten stories and lost treasures. Ancient civilizations, mythical creatures, and long-lost realms swirled within its liquid embrace. It was as if the pool held the memories of countless ages, waiting to be unlocked.


    With a surge of curiosity and a touch of trepidation, I cupped my hands and scooped a small amount of the mystical water. It felt cool and silky against my skin, tingling with an energy that seemed to awaken dormant senses within me.


    The moment I tasted the water, a rush of sensations overwhelmed me. Flashes of vivid imagery and fleeting emotions washed over my consciousness. Visions of breathtaking landscapes, celestial wonders, and profound encounters flickered through my mind, leaving an indelible mark on my soul.


    But as quickly as the visions had come, they dissipated, leaving me yearning for more. I knew that the pool held the answers I sought, the knowledge that could shape my destiny. Determined to delve deeper into its mysteries, I resolved to find a way to unlock its secrets and uncover the truths hidden within this extraordinary place.


    With renewed determination, I continued my exploration, following the winding tunnels that branched out from the chamber. Each step echoed with anticipation as if the very air whispered promises of extraordinary discoveries ahead.


    The deeper I ventured, the more the cave seemed to transform. The walls pulsed with a faint, iridescent glow, casting a soft illumination that revealed intricate carvings and ancient hieroglyphs. The symbols, etched with a precision that spoke of meticulous craftsmanship, told stories of forgotten civilizations and the guardians who watched over this sacred realm.


    Lost in the allure of the cave''s secrets, I pressed on, guided by an unseen force that seemed to draw me deeper into the heart of this hidden world. The passage narrowed once again, forcing me to squeeze through a narrow crevice, my heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and unease.


    Emerging from the tight passage, I found myself in a vast chamber, unlike anything I had ever encountered. The air crackled with energy, and the walls glowed with a pulsating luminescence. Before me stood an enormous stone altar, adorned with intricate engravings and strange markings.


    A soft breeze whispered through the chamber, carrying with it a faint, melodic chant that seemed to resonate from deep within the walls. Drawn to the altar, I approached cautiously, my senses alert to the potent energies swirling around me.


    As I reached out to touch the ancient stone, a surge of power coursed through my fingertips, connecting me to the mysteries of the cave and the countless explorers who had come before me. The symbols on the altar shimmered and shifted, rearranging themselves into a pattern I couldn''t decipher.


    As I reached out to touch the ancient stone, a surge of power coursed through my fingertips, connecting me to the mysteries of the cave. But this time, something went horribly wrong. The energy that engulfed me was intense, overwhelming, and far beyond anything I could have anticipated.


    In an instant, I was ripped from my surroundings, torn apart at the very fabric of my being. My body was stretched and contorted as if pulled in a thousand different directions simultaneously. Agonizing pain consumed me, searing through every nerve ending, as if my very existence was being unraveled.


    Reality twisted and distorted around me, warping into a grotesque kaleidoscope of fragmented images and sounds. I could no longer distinguish up from down, left from right. Time lost all meaning as seconds stretched into eternity, and the concept of self became a distant memory.


    Amid this torment, I felt a suffocating darkness envelop me, squeezing the air from my lungs. It was a suffocating void, devoid of any sensation except for the ever-present pain that seemed to penetrate my very soul. I was trapped in a nightmarish limbo, unable to escape the torment that engulfed me.


    Whispers, eerie and distorted, echoed in the abyss. They taunted me, whispered horrors and fears that burrowed deep into my psyche. Every fiber of my being screamed for release, for an end to this unrelenting torment. But there was no escape, no respite from the harrowing ordeal I found myself in.


    And just when I thought I could bear it no longer, the darkness receded. I was abruptly thrust into a new reality, my body crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring impact. The pain of my landing was nothing compared to the psychological scars etched upon my mind.


    The wind was knocked out of me, and my eyes quivered at the intake of light after what felt like years. I frantically looked around only to see a bunch of pristine white tents instead of dark moist cave walls. Where am I? What happened? Why am I here?

 Training

    It¡¯s been two days since I was unwillingly slung into this new reality. Two very confusing days. Firstly, I¡¯m in a military training camp, secondly, I now have the body of my sixteen-year-old self. Gone where my glorious muscles and luscious beard. Though, I¡¯m glad to have my head hair back. Oh, how I¡¯ve missed it, goodbye scalp sunburns you shall not be missed.


    Thirdly, I¡¯m about ninety percent sure I¡¯m about to die within the next few years. War is on the horizon and total mobilization is in effect. According to the newspapers I have gotten a hold of. Once training was over, I would be shipped off to fight.


    ¡­


    As the days wore on and the reality of my situation sank in, a sense of grim determination settled over me. I had found myself thrust into the midst of a war, a conflict that I had no choice but to participate in. Though the details of this war remained elusive, the signs were all too clear. The tension in the air, the hushed whispers among soldiers, and the constant sense of urgency spoke volumes.


    My bad feeling was not helped with training. The khaki uniform and brodie helmets, both made iconic by the British during the first world war. The Lee Enfield rifles with their long-outdated sword bayonets. This is very much not a good sign.


    Indeed, the outdated equipment and uniforms only added to the ominous atmosphere surrounding the training camp. It was a stark reminder that the war I was about to be thrust into was not a modern conflict. The echoes of history resonated through the khaki uniforms and brodie helmets, evoking memories of past battles fought with similar weaponry.


    As I trained with the Lee Enfield rifles, their weight and design felt both familiar and foreign in my hands. I couldn''t help but reflect on the generations of soldiers who had held these very weapons, their lives forever altered by the brutality of war. The sword bayonets, a relic of a bygone era, seemed almost out of place in the modern world. Yet, they represented the grim reality that awaited us, where close-quarters combat and hand-to-hand struggles might become a harsh reality.


    Amidst the drills and exercises, the presence of experienced soldiers and officers from different eras further added to the surreal nature of my situation. I found myself learning from seasoned veterans of past conflicts, individuals who had survived wars long before my time. Their wisdom and guidance became invaluable as they imparted their knowledge, sharing insights that transcended the boundaries of time. But their wisdom was outdated, they spoke of heroism and glorious battle. Neither being the reality of the hell on earth we were about to face.


    Each passing day brought me closer to the inevitable moment when I would be shipped off to the front lines. The newspapers I managed to get hold of painted a bleak picture, detailing the horrors of war, the mounting casualties, and the uncertain future that awaited us all. It was a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the very real possibility that I might not return from this conflict.


    As I immersed myself in the reality of war, the weight of the newspapers I held in my hands became heavier than ever. The words on those pages etched images of suffering and despair into my mind, leaving little room for hope. The stories of countless lives lost, of families torn apart, and of the devastation that war inevitably brings were a stark reminder of the harsh reality that awaited me.


    I couldn''t help but question my place in this conflict. How did I end up here? Was there a purpose to my presence? These questions lingered in my mind, but the answers remained elusive. I was but a pawn in a much larger game, a game that had been set in motion long before my arrival.


    With each passing day, the sense of impending doom grew stronger. The camaraderie among the soldiers, once a source of solace, now carried a somber undertone. We understood the gravity of the situation, the immense challenges that lay ahead, and the possibility that we might not make it out alive.


    But amidst the darkness, a flicker of resilience and determination remained. I saw it in the eyes of my fellow soldiers, in their unwavering commitment to each other and to the cause. We forged bonds that transcended time and circumstance, drawing strength from our shared experiences and the knowledge that we were all in this together.


    As the day of departure drew near, I prepared myself mentally and emotionally for the trials that awaited. I knew that the road ahead would be treacherous and fraught with danger, but I refused to let fear consume me. I would carry the weight of the past with me, acknowledging the sacrifices made by those who came before, and strive to forge a path towards a better future.


    With each step closer to the front lines, I carried the stories of the fallen, the hopes of those left behind, and the determination to make their sacrifices meaningful. The war that loomed on the horizon might be filled with darkness and despair, but within me burned a glimmer of light, a flame that would not be extinguished. And with that flame, I embarked on the uncertain journey that lay ahead, ready to face whatever fate had in store.


    ¡­


    One two three four, one two three four, one two three four. One of the solaces of my training was the marches. They cleared my head and since my sixteen-year-old height and mass matched the average for this time, they weren¡¯t that hard.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    One, two, three, four. The rhythmic cadence of the marches provided a brief respite from the overwhelming weight of my thoughts. As my feet moved in synchrony with the others, I couldn''t help but notice the enthusiasm and optimism that radiated from many of the recruits around me.


    In their eyes, this war was a chance for glory and honor, an opportunity to prove themselves as heroes on the battlefield. They saw it as a noble endeavor, driven by the belief that their sacrifices would be rewarded with tales of valor and recognition. They reveled in the romanticized notions of war, where the courageous would triumph and the brave would be remembered.


    But I knew better. I had seen the grim reality depicted in the newspapers, the firsthand accounts of the horrors that awaited us. I understood that this war would be far from the grand spectacle of heroism that some envisioned. It would be a brutal and unforgiving battleground, where life could be extinguished in an instant, leaving behind only the echoes of lost dreams and shattered illusions.


    I tried to share my concerns with my fellow recruits, to warn them of the harsh truth that awaited us. But my words fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the allure of glory and the belief in their own invincibility. They saw me as a cynic, a voice of pessimism in a sea of optimism.


    As the training intensified, so did my internal struggle. I wrestled with the conflicting emotions within me ¨C the desire to protect my comrades, to shield them from the horrors that awaited, and the realization that I had little control over their perceptions or their ultimate fates. I couldn''t change their beliefs, nor could I shield them from the harsh realities of war.


    In the midst of it all, I sought solace in the marches. The synchronized movements, the rhythm that carried us forward, offered a brief respite from the weight of the impending storm. But even as we marched, I couldn''t shake the feeling of impending doom, the knowledge that our innocence would soon be shattered by the harshness of battle.


    I carried the weight of this knowledge with me, knowing that it was my duty to remain vigilant, to be prepared for the unimaginable. For amidst the dreams of glory, the war that awaited us would demand sacrifices beyond measure. It would test our resolve, challenge our humanity, and strip away the illusions of heroism.


    As the marches continued, I couldn''t help but wonder if there was a way to bridge the gap between the idealized notions of war and its stark reality. Perhaps, amidst the chaos and destruction, there would still be opportunities for acts of compassion, for small moments of heroism that transcended the darkness.


    ¡­


    ¡°Hey, are you addicted to newspapers or something? They¡¯re making you paranoid.¡± Said a voice behind me.


    I sighed and folded the inked parchment in my hands. After a week the government slammed down the truthful reports, leaving only propaganda and tame photos. I turned around to face the person who had spoken, a fellow recruit who seemed to have noticed my preoccupation with the newspapers. His voice carried a tone of skepticism, hinting at his disbelief in the seriousness of the situation.


    "It''s not about being addicted to newspapers," I replied, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and concern. "It''s about staying informed, knowing what we might be facing out there. These newspapers provided a glimpse into the reality of war, the harsh truths that the propaganda fails to convey."


    ¡°Like I said, your being paranoid, all the vets I¡¯ve talked to say this war will last a year at max.¡±


    I looked at the recruit, a mix of disbelief and concern in my eyes. It seemed he had fallen victim to the false sense of security perpetuated by the propaganda and the stories of veterans from past conflicts. I couldn''t blame him entirely; it was natural for people to seek reassurance and hope in the face of impending danger.


    "Veterans from past conflicts may offer valuable insights based on their experiences, but it''s important to remember that each war is unique," I replied, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "We can''t rely solely on their accounts to predict the outcome of this war. The world has changed, and so have the nature and scope of conflicts. We must be prepared for the worst-case scenario."


    I paused for a moment, contemplating how best to express my concerns without sounding dismissive of his optimism. I didn''t want to undermine his morale, but I also didn''t want him to be blindsided by the harsh realities that awaited us.


    "Look, I understand the desire to hold on to hope and believe that this war will be short-lived," I continued, my voice softer but resolute. "But we can''t afford to be complacent. We need to be prepared for the long haul, mentally and physically. It''s better to be ready for the worst and hope for the best than to be caught off guard."


    I hoped my words would resonate with him, that he would understand the importance of being informed and mentally prepared for what lay ahead. War was unpredictable, and it was crucial to approach it with a realistic mindset.


    "In the end, it''s not about being paranoid," I concluded, my gaze meeting his. "It''s about acknowledging the potential risks and being proactive in our preparations. We owe it to ourselves and to our comrades to be as ready as we can be."


    I waited, hoping that my words had made an impact and that he would consider the weight of the situation more seriously. It was up to him, like it was up to all of us, to decide how we would face the challenges ahead.


    The recruit looked at me for a moment, his expression shifting from skepticism to a more contemplative one. It seemed that my words had struck a chord, perhaps planting a seed of doubt in his mind. After a moment of silence, he let out a sigh and spoke again.


    "I guess you''re right," he said, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation. "I''ve been trying to hold on to the idea that this war won''t be as bad as they say, but deep down, I know it''s a gamble. We can''t afford to be naive in times like these."


    I nodded, acknowledging his change in perspective. It was a small victory, but an important one nonetheless. The recruit had taken a step towards understanding the gravity of our situation, realizing that blind optimism could be a dangerous path.


    "We''re all in this together," I said, my voice filled with empathy. "And it''s up to us to support each other, to watch each other''s backs. We can''t control what the future holds, but we can control how we face it. Let''s make sure we''re as prepared as we can be."


    He nodded, a determined look in his eyes. It was clear that he had grasped the importance of being informed and mentally prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. Together, we stood as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, ready to face whatever fate had in store.


    As the days went by, the recruit and I continued to train side by side, forging a bond grounded in a shared understanding of the realities of war. We became a source of support and strength for each other, offering words of encouragement when doubt crept in and lending a helping hand when the weight of our circumstances became too much to bear alone.


    In the face of uncertainty and the inevitability of conflict, we found solace in our camaraderie, in the knowledge that we were not alone in our fears and concerns. And as we embarked on our journey to the front lines, we carried with us the lessons learned from the past, the hope for a better future, and the determination to endure.


    The road ahead was treacherous, filled with hardships and sacrifices we couldn''t yet comprehend. But we walked it together, soldiers from different times thrust into a shared destiny. And no matter what lay ahead, we were prepared to face it with courage, resilience, and an unwavering spirit.


    ¡­


    Tomorrow is the day we ship out to the front line. It was time for the 501<sup>st</sup> infantry division to face the western front.

 Shipping off

    ¡°Hey, are you up?¡± I glared over to the cot next to me and whispered, ¡°Well, now I am.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think this war is going to be that bad?¡±


    ¡°Now is not the time to mull over that. Just go to sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.¡±


    The recruit next to me shifted nervously, and I turned back to return to the land of dreams. Tomorrow is when we march to the trains to reach the coast before taking a ship to the mainland. I couldn''t help but clutch myself tighter, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. The war that lay ahead was an enigma, shrouded in stories, rumors, and whispers. I couldn''t help but let my mind wander, questioning if it would be as horrendous as the great war I had heard about.


    The tales of the great war were etched into the collective memory of all nations who participated. The devastating battles, the lives lost, the scars that ran deep within the hearts of those who had witnessed it all. Would this war be a mirror image of that dark chapter in history, or would it be different? Would we face the same horrors, the same anguish, the same sacrifices?


    I yearned for answers, but the future remained uncertain. All I could do was brace myself for the challenges that lay ahead. The path to the coast, the journey across the vast ocean to the mainland¡ªit would be a test of our strength, courage, and resilience. As I nestled deeper into my cot, I knew that tomorrow would mark the beginning of a chapter that would shape our lives forever.


    But for now, as the night embraced us with its tranquility, I sought solace in the realm of dreams. Perhaps there, in the realm of the subconscious, I would find respite from the relentless thoughts and worries that plagued my mind. Tomorrow would bring the answers I sought, and I would face whatever lay ahead with unwavering determination.


    ¡­


    As we marched in sync throughout the crowded streets, civilians cheered on the sidelines. They where sending off their sons husbands and fathers to die a side death, something they have yet to discover. A small girl, no more than eight, broke through the line of women boys and elderly men. Making a b-line straight to sone of the older soldiers. The small girl, her face beaming with excitement, reached her father, who was part of the marching soldiers. Throwing herself into his arms, while he lifted her up, holding her tightly. Their embrace was filled with a mix of joy, anticipation, and the unspoken knowledge that their time together was limited.


    "Father! Father!" she exclaimed; her voice filled with delight. "You''re going to be a hero, aren''t you? I know you''ll come back and tell us amazing stories!"


    Her father''s eyes glistened with a mixture of pride and sadness. He looked down at his daughter, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.


    "Yes, my Emily," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness. "I will do everything in my power to protect our country and keep you safe. But remember, being a hero means more than just fighting in a war. It means standing up for what''s right, protecting those who can''t protect themselves, and working towards a better future for everyone."


    The girl nodded, her eyes wide with understanding. She hugged her father tightly, as if trying to convey her love and support through the embrace.


    "I believe in you, Father," she said, her voice filled with unwavering faith. "You''ll do great things. Just promise me you''ll come back, please?¡±


    Tears welled up in her father''s eyes as he held her even closer. "I promise, my dear. I promise I''ll do everything I can to return to you."


    With a heavy heart, the father gently set his daughter down, planting a kiss on her forehead. He joined his comrades, and together they continued their march towards the trains that would take them to the coast, where the ships awaited.


    That was a death flag if I¡¯ve ever seen one. I couldn¡¯t help but let my mind wander to how his daughter may react to his death. Not an healthy mindset, I¡¯ll admit. I knew dwelling on such thoughts was not healthy, nor productive. It was a rabbit hole of despair that led nowhere but to a darker state of mind. Yet, the human psyche often fixated on the things it feared the most, the what-ifs that threatened to consume us.


    ¡­


    The sloshing and tilting of the ship rocked me to sleep in my bunk. In sixteen ours we would reach Europe, though it was not called that. The 501<sup>st</sup> battalion would then regroup and march to the western front. It was projected that we would arrive on the battlefield in six days.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Soon, darkness overtook my fears, and the land of dreams took me away. Though my sleep was nothing more than fragmented dreams mixed with anxious thoughts, creating a chaotic montage of war and loss. The faces of my comrades and the young girl, Emily, merged with images of distant battlefields, echoing the haunting stories I had heard about the horrors of war.


    ¡­


    I was jolted awake by the sound of a bell ringing, signaling that our arrival in Europe was imminent. The ship''s movements became more pronounced as we approached the coast, a tangible reminder of the reality that awaited us. We would soon disembark and join the countless others who had already been engaged in the brutal conflict.


    I slapped myself to force out the negative thoughts. I jumped from my bunk and packed my rucksack before donning my uniform and helmet. The time for contemplation and uncertainty had passed. It was now a time for action, for courage, and for the unwavering determination to face whatever lay ahead. I joined my comrades as we gathered on the deck, the anticipation palpable in the air.


    The ship slowly docked, and as the gangway was lowered, we disembarked onto the foreign soil of Europe. The crowded streets greeted us with a mix of curious onlookers and weary soldiers, their faces etched with the weight of the war.


    The 501st battalion regrouped, forming ranks and marching in unison towards the trains that would take us to the coast.


    ¡­


    As we boarded the trains and settled into our compartments, the reality of our impending arrival at the western front sank in. The journey across the country was a mix of somber reflection and fleeting moments of camaraderie. The landscapes passing by served as a stark reminder of the beauty and fragility of life, a stark contrast to the imminent chaos and destruction that awaited us.


    Days turned into nights, and the rhythmic motion of the train became a constant companion, lulling us into a restless state of anticipation. The projected arrival on the battlefield in six days seemed both too distant and too close, a paradoxical concept that echoed the inner turmoil within each soldier''s heart.


    ¡­


    While unfurling my newspaper that I bought off a soldier that hopped on the train at the previous stops, I glared at the bold headline, ¡°"Victory on the Horizon! Claims General Edward Montgomery-Lockhart.¡±


    Yeah right, I¡¯d sooner eat my boots than believe that.


    ¡­


    After a lengthy train ride and a two-day long march, we were only a day away from the trenches. The morning air was crisp and filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as we broke camp and gathered our gear. The sun rose steadily, casting long shadows that stretched across the field, symbolizing the uncertainty that lay ahead.


    The commanding officers barked orders, their voices cutting through the quiet morning air. The soldiers, both seasoned veterans and fresh recruits, moved with practiced efficiency. Backpacks were slung over shoulders, weapons were checked and rechecked, and the final adjustments to uniforms were made. Each soldier knew the importance of meticulous preparation, for it could mean the difference between life and death on the battlefield.


    As I tightened the straps of my backpack, I couldn''t help but steal glances at my fellow soldiers. Their faces bore the weight of past battles and the knowledge of what awaited us. Some exchanged quiet words of encouragement, while others remained lost in their thoughts, their expressions a mix of determination and trepidation.


    The sounds of marching feet and the clinking of gear echoed through the air as we formed ranks. The commanding officer''s voice boomed, calling us to attention. The moment had arrived¡ªthe final push towards the trenches, where we would face the harsh realities of war.


    With a collective inhale, we set off, marching in unison. The path before us was a mixture of muddy terrain and rugged landscapes, mirroring the arduous journey that lay ahead. The weight of our gear pressed against our shoulders, a constant reminder of the sacrifices we carried with us.


    As we trudged forward, the surroundings began to change. The distant rumble of artillery fire grew louder, mingling with the somber melodies of bugle calls that floated on the wind. The air was thick with tension, as if the very atmosphere held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.


    With each step, the rhythm of our march became a symphony of determination. The hardships we had endured, the bonds we had forged, and the unwavering spirit that burned within each of us propelled us forward.


    No longer were we individuals; we were a cohesive force, bound by a shared purpose. Our differences melted away, and we became a single entity¡ªan embodiment of resilience, courage, and the indomitable human spirit.


    ¡­


    Life in the trenches was exactly as I imagined. It¡¯s only been two days, and this was only the early stretch of the war. Yet, this horrid place was already in immense disrepair. From what I gathered from the force we just relieved, this trench wasn¡¯t even a month old yet. I glared at the ankle high muddy water that was a permanent existence. I was already missing the hard ground I was used to sleeping on.


    The stench of damp earth and decay hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder. I slosh through the ankle-deep mud, my boots heavy with each step. The waterlogged soil sucks at my feet, threatening to pull me down into its muddy embrace. The constant dampness seeps into my bones, chilling me to the core. There''s no escape from the discomfort that plagues us day and night.


    The walls of the trench crumble around me, the sandbags sagging under the weight of time and continuous bombardment. Rats scurry along the narrow walkways, scavenging for any morsel they can find. The constant rat-a-tat of machine gun fire and the distant explosions punctuate the eerie silence that settles over the trench, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurk just beyond our fragile sanctuary.


    We huddle together, seeking solace and warmth in our comrades'' presence. We share cigarettes and stories, trying to drown out the deafening silence and the lingering fear that clings to our souls. The camaraderie born out of shared hardship is our lifeline, a thread of hope that holds us together in this sea of uncertainty.


    Sleep comes in short bursts, snatched between moments of terror and the relentless onslaught of enemy fire. The constant alertness, the anticipation of an attack, never leaves us. We live on the edge, caught between the desire to survive and the duty to defend our positions. Time becomes a blur as days melt into nights, and the cycle of fear and exhaustion repeats itself endlessly.


    ¡­


    On a night of a full moon, something horrible happened. I was unaware of the silent horror until coughing erupted from the trenches. My worst fear had come true, chemical weapons had been developed and none of our troops had gas masks. I grabbed my rifle and cut a section of cloth off my sleeve. It wouldn¡¯t do much, but it would do something to protect my lungs. I poured water onto the cloth in my hand and clasped it around my nose and mouth.


    I stumbled through the trench, the acrid smell of gas assaulting my senses. Panic gripped my chest as I heard the cries of my comrades, their coughs turning into desperate gasps for air. The world around me blurred, distorted by the toxic fumes that seemed to creep into every corner of our fragile refuge.


    I struggled to breathe, the makeshift cloth mask offering little respite. Each inhale felt like fire searing through my lungs, while each exhale brought only a brief moment of relief. The coughs wracked my body, threatening to overpower me with their intensity.


    I stumbled upon a group of soldiers, their faces contorted in agony. They reached out to me, their pleading eyes searching for help, for salvation. But what could I do? We were all victims of this unseen terror, this cruel invention of war.

 Gas

    Gas had permeated throughout the trenches, its suffocating tendrils snaking their way into every crevice. The air grew thick with the acrid scent, signaling the silent horror that awaited me. Comrades, both young and seasoned, fell to the ground, gasping for breath, their bodies wracked with convulsions.


    I struggled to find clean pockets of air amidst the toxic cloud, desperately seeking refuge from the invisible enemy that had invaded our sanctuary. The gas mask I had been deprived of would have offered some defense, but in its absence, I was left vulnerable, at the mercy of this insidious weapon.


    As I stumbled over the lifeless bodies of fallen comrades, I could feel the panic rise within me. The cries of agony had faded into a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional moan of pain. The enemy, knowing the devastation they had unleashed, bided their time, waiting for the gas to do its deadly work before launching their assault.


    Oxygen became a precious commodity, each breath a struggle against the tightening grip of the gas. I watched as my comrades, once vibrant and full of life, succumbed to its relentless assault. Their faces contorted in agony, their eyes filled with fear and desperation.


    Soon, my strength began to sag, and my muscles began to weaken. My vision blurred as my body fought against the suffocating effects of the gas. My throat burned, my chest felt constricted, and I could feel the weight of imminent death pressing upon me.


    I crawled, gasping for air, clawing at the muddy ground beneath me. My eyes stung, tears mixing with the sweat on my face, as I desperately searched for any trace of breathable air. But with each passing moment, the toxic fumes enveloped me further, closing in on all sides.


    The once familiar faces of my comrades now lay motionless, their bodies scattered amidst the devastation. The cries of pain and anguish that had filled the air only moments ago had been silenced, replaced by an eerie stillness. Death loomed over the trenches, claiming its victims without discrimination.


    I crawled until I couldn¡¯t anymore. This wasn¡¯t chlorine gas as that would mean that my makeshift mask would have stopped my current predicament. But, seeing how I¡¯m not quite dead yet despite the carnage around me. I couldn¡¯t say that it wasn¡¯t working in some way.


    The world around me became a blur of shadows and distorted shapes as the gas continued to wreak havoc on my senses. My body trembled with exhaustion and fear, but a flicker of determination still burned within me. I had to keep fighting, to find a way to survive this deadly assault.


    With great effort, I forced myself to push forward, my hands and knees sinking into the mire of the trench floor. Every movement was a struggle, as if invisible hands were pulling me back into the clutches of the toxic cloud. But I refused to surrender.


    I propped my back up on the muddied walls and placed my rifle across my lap. I had no idea how long this accursed gas would linger, but as soon as the enemy thought we are dead, they would advance. I needed to be ready for when that happens. Luckly, I had the surprise advantage. Unluckily, I¡¯m half dead and with what seems to be ninety percent of my battalion incapacitated.


    I took shallow, raspy breaths, my chest heaving with the effort. The taste of bitterness and metal filled my mouth, a constant reminder of the poisonous cloud that surrounded me. The stinging pain in my lungs intensified with each inhale, but I had to keep my focus. I couldn''t let despair consume me.


    I scanned the trench, my gaze falling upon the fallen bodies of my comrades. Some were motionless, their life force extinguished by the deadly gas. Others writhed in agony; their bodies contorted in pain. The sight was heart-wrenching, a cruel testament to the horrors of war.


    It felt like hours had passed. My breathing became shallower and shallower. Consciousness became extremely laborious. I continued to lean on the trench wall, watching, waiting for an attack. I could barely muster up the strength to keep the cloth mask over my mouth and nose. I knew as soon as it fell from my face, I would die.


    With each passing moment, the weight of exhaustion and the suffocating grip of the gas intensified. My body trembled uncontrollably, and I could feel my grip on consciousness slipping away. The world around me began to fade into a haze of darkness, the sounds of distant gunfire and the moans of suffering becoming distant echoes.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    But as I teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. I couldn''t let go. I couldn''t allow myself to become another casualty of this merciless gas attack. I clutched at the cloth mask with all the strength I could muster, determined to hold on until the very end.


    The minutes stretched into an eternity as I fought against the encroaching darkness. My senses dulled, my body growing weaker by the second, but my spirit refused to yield. The memory of my fallen comrades, their sacrifice fueled my determination to survive.


    And then, just as despair threatened to consume me, a faint glimmer of hope emerged. A gentle breeze, carrying a hint of fresh air, whispered through the trench. It was a sign, a sliver of opportunity amidst the chaos. The gas was being dispersed; it was almost over.


    But that only meant the attack would soon begin. I needed a mask that could stay on my face without me holding it. I reached up to my intact sleeve and ripped it off at the soldier. I held my breath and took off my mask before dousing the sleeve with my canteen and wrapping it around my head and face.


    Gasping for breath, I tied the new mask tightly against my face, sealing off any gaps that might betray me to the deadly fumes. The relief was immediate, however slight. The clean air filled my lungs, offering a temporary respite from the suffocating grip of the gas. The double layers and the fact that the gas was starting to disperse, its effectiveness was immediate.


    With renewed determination, I pushed myself up from the muddied ground, leaning on the trench wall for support. The throbbing pain in my chest persisted, a constant reminder of the battle I waged within my own body. But I refused to be defeated.


    I surveyed the trench once more, my eyes falling on the fallen bodies of my comrades. Their sacrifice would not be in vain. I would carry their memory forward, honor their bravery, and fight with every ounce of strength I had left.


    As the enemy waited for the gas to do its work, I knew I had an opportunity. They would come, believing victory to be within their grasp. Little did they know, I had become a soldier reborn, fueled by a determination born from the very depths of despair.


    With my rifle clutched tightly in my hands, I awaited the inevitable advance. The odds were against me, but I refused to let that deter me. The gas may have devastated our ranks, but it had also ignited a fire within me¡ªa fire that would burn fiercely until the enemy was vanquished.


    As I stood there, on the precipice between life and death, I made a silent vow to my fallen comrades and to myself. I would fight with every fiber of my being, for them, for the future, and for the hope that one day, the horrors of war would be nothing but distant memories. And in that moment, I embraced the strength and resilience that defined the human spirit, ready to face whatever awaited me with unwavering resolve.


    ¡­


    While waiting for the inevitable attack, I stalked the trenches, looking for ambush spots or survivors. Very few were alive, and none were able to fight. As I moved through the desolate trenches, a sense of desolation washed over me. The once bustling pathways were now littered with the lifeless bodies of my comrades. The gas had claimed its victims with ruthless efficiency, leaving only a handful of us standing.


    I checked each fallen soldier, offering a final prayer and a moment of silence for their sacrifice. It was a grim task, but one that needed to be done. Their lives would not be forgotten, and their deaths would serve as a reminder of the atrocities of war.


    In the distance, I could hear the faint sounds of the enemy''s approach. They were closing in, confident in their belief that we had been defeated. I moved quickly now; I began to backtrack the maxim machine gun nest. It was time to fight back. Coughing fits wracked my body at the exertion, but I tried to keep them quiet to not alert the enemy.


    I reached the machine gun nest, its position strategically placed to cover a critical section of the trench. The gunner, a fellow soldier, lay motionless beside the weapon, a testament to the deadly effectiveness of the gas. I took a moment to honor his sacrifice before assessing the situation.


    The gun, though heavy, felt steady in my hands. It was a weapon of devastation, capable of mowing down the enemy with a hail of bullets. I positioned myself behind the gun, adjusting its angle to provide maximum coverage of the approaching enemy.


    The sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing through the empty trench. They were getting closer, unaware of the fate that awaited them. I tightened my grip on the gun, my thumbs hovering over the butterfly trigger. The anticipation built, a mix of fear and determination fueling my resolve.


    And then, they appeared, silhouetted against the gray sky. The enemy soldiers marched forward, their confidence palpable. But little did they know their march would be met with a storm of lead.


    I felt the urge to let loose, but no, I chose to wait till the perfect moment. Closer and closer they marched, unaware of the danger that awaited them. I maintained my position, my thumbs lightly resting on the trigger, my eyes locked on the advancing enemy. It was a game of patience and timing, a delicate balance between holding my fire and maximizing the impact of the machine gun''s deadly barrage.


    As the enemy soldiers drew nearer, their formation tight and disciplined, I could see the determination etched on their faces. They believed victory was within their grasp, unaware of the resilience and fighting spirit that still burned within me. They were about to face a harsh reality.


    With each passing moment, my heart pounded in my chest, the tension building to an almost unbearable level. I waited for the opportune moment, my thumbs itching to unleash the fury of the machine gun. And then, just as they were within striking distance, I squeezed the trigger.


    Six bullets hit the first man, causing flowers of blood to sprout from his back. He staggered backwards, crashing into the second man, causing him to fall. A third soldier tried to stop him, but he was caught off guard by the first man''s staggering gait, and ended up falling right alongside him. His cries echoed across the trenches, drawing the attention of other soldiers.


    Now, I fully committed to the slaughter. Hell was let loose and with 600 bullets a minuet, man after man suffered my wrath. In my hatred I showed no mercy. I was not shooting to suppress or scare, but to kill. I watched as man after man collapsed while they sprinted towards the trench till none where left. Done with them I turned the sights on the retreating forces.


    With labored breathing, I leveled my sights on the men in the open. My hands shook from my injuries, but my aim was steady. Lead shredded their mortal flesh, leaving their bodies soulless husks of meat.

 Shock

    With a click, the maxim was rendered empty, but the damage had been done, over thirty men just died by my hands. As the final rounds of ammunition were expended from the machine gun, the deafening roar of gunfire gave way to an eerie silence. Smoke hung in the air, mixing with the acrid stench of gunpowder and death. The battlefield lay littered with the lifeless bodies of enemy soldiers, a haunting testament to the devastation wrought by the relentless hail of bullets.


    I knelt there, my heart heavy with a mix of triumph and sorrow. The enemy had been vanquished, but at a tremendous cost. The realization of the lives I had taken settled upon me like a crushing weight, overwhelming me with a sense of grief and remorse.


    Thirty men¡ªthirty lives¡ªsnuffed out in an instant. Each fallen soldier had their own hopes, dreams, and loved ones waiting for them back home. They were sons, brothers, fathers, and friends. And now, they lay motionless, their futures stolen away on the battlefield.


    This is not the first time I have taken a human life. I had a home intruder a few years back, the robber broke in with a knife and a lust for treasure. Instead of riches, I introduced his face to buckshot. I still remember the bloodied open hole on the left side of his otherwise youthful face. Bones were turned to mush leaving skin to hang loosely over the wound. Blood pooled over tile as viscera and grey matter leaked out the exit wound.


    As I stared into the remainder eye, I felt nothing. He had willingly chosen to break into my place of dwelling with intent to harm or threaten me. I had long come to the conclusion that I could take a human life, and so I did for a good reason.


    This however, many of these men were drafted and sent off to fight for a cause they didn¡¯t start. As the weight of their deaths bore down on me, the realization that these soldiers were conscripted and thrust into a war they did not choose gnawed at my conscience. They were caught in the crossfire of political agendas and power struggles, their lives sacrificed for the ambitions of others.


    I couldn''t help but question the morality of it all. How could I justify their deaths as collateral damage in a conflict they had no control over? These were not the enemies I sought vengeance against; they were victims of circumstance, just like me.


    The scene before me, with its haunting stillness and the lifeless bodies, became a stark reminder of the futility of war. The trenches, once filled with camaraderie and hope, were now transformed into a graveyard. The echoes of gunshots lingered in the air, mingling with the heavy silence, as a testament to the tragedy that had unfolded.


    I spied one of the fallen soldiers, his face frozen in an expression of fear and pain. I traced the contours of his lifeless features with my gaze, feeling a deep sorrow well up within me. He was someone''s son, perhaps a brother or a husband. His dreams and aspirations were forever extinguished, lost in the chaos of battle.


    Guilt washed over me as I grappled with the consequences of my actions. I had become a killer, an agent of death, but I had never signed up for this. Like many others, I was drawn into the war against my will, forced to take up arms and face the horrors of the battlefield.


    I tried to shake these thoughts out of my weary mind. As soon as you saw the enemy as man, the sooner you will die. This was something my grandfather taught me. I will dwell on my actions during piece, not when hesitation will get me killed.


    I turned my gaze away from the battlefield and turned to the Mk.1 Maxim gun in my grip. Instantly I realized that I had not run out of ammo, the belt had simply got turned and then cut by the feeding mechanism. It was no wonder that these things required a second man to help feed the bullets.


    Realizing the situation with the ammunition, a mix of relief and frustration washed over me. Relief that I still had rounds left to defend myself if needed, and frustration that a simple mechanical error had prevented me from making the most of the situation. But dwelling on these thoughts would do me no good in the present moment.


    I took a deep breath, steadying myself amidst the aftermath of the battle. The enemy had been dealt a heavy blow, but I knew this was just one small victory in a much larger conflict. There was still work to be done, and the war raged on.


    With renewed determination, I assessed my surroundings. The battlefield stretched out before me, scarred by the violence that had unfolded. The smoke was beginning to dissipate, revealing a landscape marred by trenches, craters, and the remnants of war. The silence that had settled was haunting, a stark contrast to the chaos and carnage that had unfolded just moments ago.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    I worked on reloading the belt into the feeding mechanism, but the fog in my mind and quaking hands made it nigh impossible. It felt like I could never quite get a full breath of air, and my skin exposed skin began to itch uncontrollably.


    As I struggled with the task at hand, the physical and emotional toll of the battle began to weigh heavily on me. The adrenaline that had fueled my actions now gave way to exhaustion, my body and mind yearning for respite from the horrors that surrounded me.


    I paused for a moment, leaning against the trench wall, and closed my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The itchiness on my skin grew more intense, a constant reminder of the toxic environment I had been exposed to. The gas had permeated my senses, leaving a lingering discomfort that refused to dissipate.


    I needed to get out of this toxic environment but getting out of the trench meant death by sniper from the enemy trench. So all I could do was suck it up and wait for reinforcements. Leaving my post could also net me a punishment or get me branded as a deserter. Id rather not get shot by my own country after surviving all this.


    As I leaned against the trench wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion and the persistent itchiness on my skin. As I leaned against the trench wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion and the persistent itchiness on my skin, a sense of vulnerability washed over me. The realization that I was trapped in this toxic environment, unable to escape without risking my life or facing severe consequences, filled me with frustration and helplessness.


    The war had taken its toll on me, both physically and mentally. The horrors I had witnessed, the lives I had taken, and the moral ambiguity of it all had left an indelible mark on my soul. I yearned for a respite from the constant state of alertness, the fear that permeated every moment of my existence.


    But in the midst of this turmoil, a glimmer of hope emerged. A voice called out from a nearby trench, a comrade who had weathered the storm alongside me. "Hold on, help is on the way!" they shouted, their words carrying a mix of exhaustion and determination.


    Reinforcements were coming. It was a small comfort, but one that offered a spark of optimism in the darkness. I realized that I was not alone in this fight, that there were others who understood the sacrifices and hardships we endured.


    With renewed resolve, I focused on the task at hand. I continued my efforts to reload the belt into the feeding mechanism, pushing past the fog in my mind and the trembling in my hands. The process was slow and arduous, but I refused to give up.


    As I struggled with the reloading, my thoughts drifted back to the fallen soldiers, the victims of this senseless war. I silently vowed to carry their memory with me, to honor their lives by seeking an end to the cycle of violence and destruction.


    Time seemed to stretch on as I worked, the sounds of distant gunfire and the occasional explosion serving as a stark reminder of the ongoing battle. But I remained focused, determined to fulfill my duty until reinforcements arrived.


    Finally, with a sense of relief, I successfully reloaded the ammunition belt into the feeding mechanism. The Maxim gun was once again ready to unleash its deadly hail of bullets, should the need arise. But now, in this moment of temporary respite, I hoped for a lull in the fighting, a chance to catch my breath and regain some semblance of composure.


    With a sigh of relief, that caused another brutal coughing fit, I laid my head down and tried to clear my head. My helmet shifted uncomfortably to the side. With my adrenaline fading, so did my consciousness. As I laid my head down, the exhaustion and toll of the battle finally caught up with me. Before I could even realize it, darkness had consumed me.


    In the darkness, my mind became a swirl of fragmented memories and haunting images. I was transported back to my home, to that fateful encounter with the intruder. The blood, the violence, the feeling of power and justification¡ªit all came rushing back with a vengeance. I was trapped within the nightmares of my own making.


    ¡­


    I regained consciousness but found myself enveloped in darkness. Panic gripped me as I tried to move, but my body felt heavy and unresponsive. I called out for help, my voice strained and filled with desperation.


    A gentle, reassuring voice broke through the darkness, soothing my fears. "It''s alright, soldier. You''re safe now," the voice said. I felt a comforting touch on my arm, and the nurse''s presence offered a glimmer of solace in the midst of my confusion.


    The nurse explained that I had suffered temporary blindness due to the exposure to the toxic gas on the battlefield. She assured me that my vision would return in time, but I needed to be patient. Her words offered a sliver of hope, but I couldn''t help but feel a sense of vulnerability and frustration at my current condition.


    Days turned into nights as I lay in the tent, relying on the nurse''s care and guidance. She provided comfort and support, sharing stories of resilience and survival that helped alleviate my anxiety. Her presence became a beacon of light in my darkest moments.


    ¡­


    As I lay in the tent, enveloped in darkness, the nurse''s soothing presence provided a much-needed source of comfort. Her gentle words and reassuring touch eased my fears and helped me navigate the uncertainty of my temporary blindness.


    In the midst of my recovery, an officer entered the tent, breaking the silence. He congratulated me on my actions during the battle, commending my bravery and resilience. His words were unexpected, and a mix of surprise and gratitude welled up within me.


    The officer informed me that my actions had not gone unnoticed, and I had been nominated for a medal in recognition of my courage and the sacrifices I had made on the battlefield. The news struck me with a mix of emotions¡ªpride for being acknowledged, yet humbled by the weight of the lives lost and the toll the war had taken on me.


    I expressed my gratitude to the officer, thanking him for the recognition. However, I couldn''t help but feel conflicted. The medal, while a symbol of honor, seemed like a bitter reminder of the price that had been paid. The fallen soldiers, the lives lost, and the haunting memories would forever be etched in my mind.


    In the midst of this internal turmoil, the officer assured me that the medal was not just a recognition of my individual actions, but a tribute to all those who had sacrificed in the name of duty and justice. He emphasized that it was a symbol of hope and resilience¡ªa reminder that even in the darkest of times, acts of bravery and compassion could make a difference.


    The news of the nomination provided a glimmer of positivity amidst the darkness. It served as a reminder that even in the face of tragedy and moral ambiguity, there were moments of valor and selflessness that could shine through.

 The gates of Hell

    It took three weeks for my vison to return to me. I was prepared to suffer for a few months but thankfully it didn¡¯t take that long. I regained photosensitivity within a week, faint colors within two, and partial vision within three. The nurse that had been working with me all this time had unfortunately been transferred over to another medical camp that had been overwhelmed after a different battle. It was a shame she left before I could ever see her face, but it definitely not the worst thing that has happened to me so far.


    Despite her absence, I understood the demands of war and the need for medical personnel to be deployed where they were needed most. I hoped she would continue to provide her exceptional care to those in need, even if it meant I couldn''t personally express my gratitude.


    In the wake of her departure, a new nurse took over my care. Although I missed the familiarity of the previous nurse, I appreciated the dedication and expertise of the new one. She continued the treatment plan and guided me through the final stages of my recovery.


    ¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle that you regained your vision. The doctor said that with the extent of your chemical burns you were likely to remain blind.¡±


    I felt the corner of my eye twitch, what an uplifting prognosis. If I was being honest, it was Ms. Adams that kept me going for the longest time. I couldn''t help but let my thoughts drift as I buttoned up my new uniform. To my displeasure, as soon as I recovered enough to be in fighting shape, a sergeant came in to inform me that all surviving members of the 501st Infantry regiment were being switched over to the 502nd.


    Enough of the previously 800 men had died during the gas attack and subsequent attacks that 8 out of the 10 companies where almost completely wiped out. The pending transition to the 502nd was met with mixed emotions. On one hand, I understood the necessity of reorganizing and consolidating surviving soldiers after such devastating losses. On the other hand, leaving behind the familiarity of the 501st and the bonds forged in the trenches weighed heavily on my heart.


    Once my new uniform was donned and my cap was on head, I started packing my rucksack.


    ¡­


    I stood outside the door that led to my new platoon. A sergeant approached and stood by my side.


    "This is your new company, Private."


    I could feel his eyes on me, judging me and trying to decide what kind of soldier I would be. It didn''t matter, I would make sure that I would be a soldier that I was proud of.


    Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to meet my new platoon. The room was filled with the murmurs of soldiers going about their business. Some looked up, their eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and weariness. I could sense that they had experienced their share of losses and hardships as well.


    The sergeant introduced me to the platoon, and I could feel the weight of their gazes on me. I knew that I had to prove myself, to earn their trust and respect. The transition from the 501st to the 502nd might have been unexpected, but I was determined to adapt and make the most of this new chapter.


    As days turned into weeks, I worked hard to integrate into the 502nd platoon. The camaraderie that I had cherished in the 501st was slowly beginning to emerge here too. We trained together, shared stories, and supported each other through the physical and emotional challenges of being soldiers at war.


    ¡­


    I opened the latest newspaper, only one paragraph was directed to the western front. It was an acknowledgment of our deadlock with the enemy. It was hard to get here, and it has been very bloody. But the deadlock will hopefully soon change. Due to the city of Reims. It was currently held by the central powers but not for long. The entirety of the 5<sup>th</sup> and 4<sup>th</sup> Infantry divisions along with the 100<sup>th</sup> and the 101<sup>st</sup> bomb squadrons were about to begin an all-out assault.


    Reims was an old siege city with tens of thousands of years of history. So, naturally, it was heavily fortified. But this was no longer the age of swords or muskets, this was the age of machines.


    As the date for the assault on Reims approached, tension and anticipation grew within the ranks of the 502nd. The city''s strategic importance and its heavily fortified defenses meant that the battle ahead would be intense and perilous.


    In the days leading up to the assault, we underwent rigorous training and preparation. The commanding officers briefed us on the battle plan, emphasizing the need for unity and cooperation among the different regiments and squadrons involved in the operation.


    ¡­


    The stomping of troops filled the air, as over 50,000 men marched to the same beat. We were moving through allied fields, passing auxiliary positions and bunkers. We were only three miles out from the city of Reims. Fighting had already begun yesterday as the 6<sup>th</sup> and 7<sup>th</sup> divisions tried to occupy the city, and now that the enemies were nice and softened up, it was now our turn. Twelve hours of artillery fire and bombing had reduced the once great city to a hellish landscape.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    We unslung our rifles and began enacting the battle plan. We split into our regiments and fanned out and sat in the city outskirts to wait for the signal. A single green flare. With a heavy heart I affixed my bayonet and waited. It was not my first revisit to combat, but this was going to be my biggest battle by far.


    With a flash a shooting star lit up the morning, a sickly green color emitted from its blinding form. It was time. The dirt crumbled under foot as adrenaline pushed my body beyond its limits. Shock and awe were our tactic, and blitzkrieg was our goal.


    ¡­


    Smoldering buildings enclosed around me. Bodies littered the ground as I took aim at two figures in the distance. With a steady hand my sight picture came to view. Headshots were but a fool¡¯s errand, so I took aim center mass. With a clean click followed by a bang, the first man fell. I took another breath as I felt the smooth action of the Enfield¡¯s bolt.


    I adjusted my aim and squeezed the trigger once again. The second figure crumpled to the ground, a lifeless heap. The cacophony of battle roared around me, but in this moment, my world narrowed down to the cold metal of my rifle and the task at hand. Each shot was calculated, each movement deliberate, as I picked off enemy combatants with precision.


    The city streets were a warren of chaos and destruction. Our platoon pushed forward, using what remained of the buildings for cover as we engaged in a deadly dance with the enemy forces. The once-proud city of Reims had been reduced to a battlefield, a place of death and destruction, where survival hinged on split-second decisions and well-honed skills.


    Our advance was met with fierce resistance. Enemy soldiers emerged from the rubble, firing their weapons with a desperate resolve. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I moved from cover to cover, my senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through my veins.


    ¡­


    It was around noon when the incident happened. A mortar hit the building I was in. The deafening explosion rocked the building I was in, sending shards of debris flying through the air like deadly shrapnel. I was thrown off my feet and slammed into a crumbling wall, a searing pain shooting through my leg as I landed awkwardly. The world spun around me, and for a moment, all I could hear was a high-pitched ringing in my ears.


    As the dust settled, I realized that I was trapped. Rubble and broken beams pinned me down, my leg crushed beneath the weight. I tried to move, to free myself, but the pain was excruciating. Each attempt sent shockwaves of agony through my body, and I could feel the warm stickiness of blood soaking through my uniform.


    I frantically surveyed my surroundings. The building was a scene of utter devastation ¨C smoke, dust, and chaos reigned. My comrades were nowhere in sight, and I could hear distant shouts and gunfire echoing through the air. Panic welled up within me as the gravity of the situation sank in. I was injured, alone, and trapped in the heart of a battle.


    Summoning all the strength I could muster, I managed to free one of my arms from the debris. With trembling hands, I reached for my belt and pulled out a tourniquet. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I tied it tightly above the mangled mess that used to be my leg. The flow of blood slowed, but the pain remained relentless.


    Using the tourniquet as a makeshift anchor, I managed to drag myself free from the rubble, inch by agonizing inch. The world swam in and out of focus, and I fought to stay conscious. Every movement sent waves of nausea crashing over me, and I could feel the cold sweat of shock coating my skin.


    My rifle was lost in the rubble, but I was determined to find another. Slowly, I crawled through the debris, my injured leg trailing behind me, a constant source of searing pain. My fingers brushed against the cold metal of a fallen comrade''s weapon, and a surge of relief washed over me. With trembling hands, I retrieved the rifle, my fingers closing around the familiar grip.


    Using the rifle as a makeshift crutch, I managed to pull myself to my feet. Every movement was a struggle, and I could feel the world tilting around me. But the instinct for survival pushed me forward, overriding the agony that coursed through my body.


    The battle raged on around me, the cacophony of gunfire and explosions drowning out all other sounds. My head throbbed, and I could feel blood trickling down from a gash on my forehead. I leaned against a partially collapsed wall, my breathing ragged, and surveyed the chaotic scene.


    Enemy forces were advancing, their figures obscured by smoke and dust. With a surge of adrenaline, I raised the rifle to my shoulder and took aim. My vision swam, and my hands trembled, but I forced myself to focus. I squeezed the trigger, and the rifle bucked in my hands as a shot rang out.


    The enemy soldier fell, and a sense of grim satisfaction washed over me. But there was no time to savor the small victory. I needed to find cover, to regroup, to find a way to signal for help. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pushed forward, each step a battle in itself.


    Finally, I managed to reach a partially intact section of the building. I collapsed against the wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My vision blurred, and the edges of my consciousness began to fray. The pain was overwhelming, and I could feel darkness closing in at the edges of my vision.


    But I couldn''t give in. I couldn''t let myself be consumed by the void. With a fierce determination, I fumbled for a piece of cloth in my pocket and tore it into makeshift strips. Using them, I fashioned a hasty bandage for my leg, cinching it tightly to slow the bleeding.


    My place of cowardice happened to have a good view of the battlefield. Through the shattered remnants of a window, I could see the relentless clash between the opposing forces. The city of Reims, once a symbol of grandeur, now lay in ruins, a testament to the horrors of war.


    Despite my own desperate situation, a surge of determination coursed through me. I may have been injured and trapped, but I still had a role to play. I reached for my rifle, using it as a support as I hobbled closer to the window. Leaning against the frame, I took aim at an enemy soldier who was advancing too close to our position.


    My fingers trembled on the trigger, my vision wavering, but I refused to give in. I steadied my breath and squeezed. The shot rang out, and the enemy soldier crumpled to the ground. It was a small victory, but it reminded me that even in my weakened state, I could still make a difference.


    As the battle raged on, I continued to take potshots at enemy soldiers whenever they ventured too near. It wasn''t the heroic combat I had envisioned, but it was a way for me to contribute. Each shot took a toll on my already battered body, but the adrenaline and the urgency pushed me beyond my limits.


    Time became a blur as I fought to hold my ground. The pain in my leg was nearly unbearable, and my vision swam in and out of focus. The ringing in my ears seemed to intensify, drowning out all other sounds. But I clung to consciousness, to the determination to keep fighting.


    Suddenly, a distant explosion shook the ground, sending a fresh wave of debris raining down. I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face, but a piece of shrapnel found its mark. Pain seared through my side, and I stumbled back, collapsing against the wall. My breathing grew shallow, and the edges of my vision darkened.


    I knew I was fading, my strength waning. But even as the darkness closed in around me, I held on, my fingers gripping the rifle as if it were my lifeline. My mind raced, thoughts of survival and the hope that help would arrive intertwining with the ever-encroaching void.

 Hide or Seek

    It was well passed sunset when I awoke. Chills and aches assaulted my body as I roused myself from my forced shut down. It was a miracle I was even alive considering my wounds. My vision swam and wavered as I sat up. Each breath was labored but they were not my last. As I gathered my surroundings, I realized I was in a dimly lit room, the feeble light casting long shadows across the walls. The air felt heavy and stale, as if I had been confined in this place for some time. My memory was a fragmented puzzle, the pieces slowly falling into place. I had been in a desperate struggle, a battle that had left me battered and broken.


    I gingerly touched the bandages that wrapped around my body, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain. The wounds were deep, evidence of a fierce confrontation that had pushed me to my limits. I knew I had to get out of this place, but my body was protesting every movement.


    Summoning all the strength I could muster, I swung my legs over the side of the makeshift bed, my feet meeting the cold, hard floor. My head spun as I stood up, leaning heavily on the nearby table for support. My surroundings slowly came into focus ¨C a small, dimly furnished room with minimal decor, giving off an abandoned and eerie vibe.


    My leg was barely functional, but at least it was still there. Each step sent waves of electric pain to my brain but now was not the time to falter. Steadying myself against the table, I took a deep breath, my labored breathing a testament to the effort it took to overcome the pain and regain some semblance of control. The room seemed to sway slightly, but I forced my legs to cooperate, one shaky step at a time. My goal was clear ¨C I needed to find answers and escape this eerie place.


    Pushing through the discomfort, I finally made my way out of the room and into the corridor beyond. The sight that met my eyes was both horrifying and bewildering. In the dim light, the living room was a gruesome tableau of carnage. Lifeless bodies were strewn across the floor, their limbs contorted at unnatural angles, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and agony. The scene was a chilling reminder of the brutal violence that had occurred here.


    Bloodied tracks marked the path of the assailant, leading me to the grim realization that a powerful and savage creature had been responsible for this massacre. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to make sense of the horror before me. What had happened? Why had I survived when so many others hadn''t?


    Taking a closer look, I could see these where all allied men from what appeared to be my battalion. I tried to slow my breathing and creep toward the closest corpse. A young man, no older than my current body, stared silently into the distance. The look of shock and bewilderment fresh on his features. I knelt beside the fallen soldier, my fingers trembling as I reached out to gently close his vacant eyes. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on me ¨C these were my comrades, my fellow soldiers, and they had met a gruesome fate. Questions raced through my mind, each one more urgent than the last. What had attacked us? How had I survived? And why?


    As I continued to survey the scene, my eyes were drawn to the markings on the walls ¨C deep gouges and scratches that seemed to tell a story of ferocious struggle. It was clear that whatever had attacked us was no ordinary creature; its power and brutality were beyond comprehension. My heart ached for the fallen, and a deep rage burned within me, fueled by the injustice of their deaths.


    Despite the pain in my body, a determination surged within me. I couldn''t allow their deaths to be in vain. I had to find answers and, if possible, bring justice to those who had been lost. Clenching my jaw against the pain, I forced myself to my feet, using the walls for support as I made my way through the devastated room.


    With my slow and methodical examination of the battle ground, glimmers from reflected moonlight caught my eye. Shards of glass below a broken window. In my shock at seeing the bodies I failed to notice it at first. I slinked out of sight and came closer to examine the scene.


    Cautiously approaching the broken window, I surveyed the area outside. The moonlight revealed shattered glass and the body of another man. It seemed that whatever had attacked had also made its escape through here. I could see droplets of blood mingled with the shattered glass, a trail that beckoned me to follow.


    I withdrew back into the darkness of the building before an enemy or whatever did this could spot me. But, as I did so, the sight of a black viscous substance stopped me. So black it seemed to absorb the moonlight around it.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    My heart raced as I stared at the ominous black substance near the broken window. It stood out in stark contrast to the pale moonlight, exuding an unsettling aura that sent shivers down my spine. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, and its very presence seemed to whisper of otherworldly forces at play.


    Instinctively, I reached for a piece of cloth on the floor nearby and cautiously used it to touch the mysterious substance. The texture was cold and slimy, and a sense of unease washed over me. I quickly withdrew, my mind racing with questions. What was this substance? Was it connected to the creature that had attacked us? And if so, what kind of creature could produce something so bizarre?


    I crouched and ripped an Enfield from one of my fall brethren. Whatever did this couldn¡¯t be too far away. The blood was still fresh in the air, only barely having the time to clot. I examined my new acquisition and inspected the chamber before rapidly unloading it. The previous owner only managed to shoot two times before his liver was forcefully evicted.


    I reloaded the weapon and topped it off. I was not about to be caught unprepared around this thing. Not to mention the still very active battle going on. Wait¡­ the battle¡­ I hadn¡¯t heard a single gunshot since I woke up. Hopefully that meant that we won. Though I was not about to take chances.


    After scouring all the bodies, I had a healthy number of supplies. Three grenades, over sixty bullets, two bayonets and a revolver from a fallen sergeant. I wrapped a cloth around the first bayonet and affixed it to my long gun. I did not need it to reflect any light and alert the enemy to my position. The second bayonet went into my brand-new holster along with the Webley Mk VI revolver.


    As I huddled in the shadows, my senses on high alert, I carefully considered my next moves. The darkness seemed to press in around me, and the weight of the situation settled heavily on my shoulders. The city streets outside remained eerily silent.


    Using the fallen furniture and debris, I began to fortify my position. I dragged a heavy wooden cabinet to block the entrance, creating a makeshift barricade that would slow down anyone or anything trying to enter. With practiced efficiency, I set up a series of crude tripwires near the windows, using shards of glass and stray wire I found in the room. These would serve as makeshift alarms, giving me precious seconds to react if anyone or anything approached.


    As I worked, I couldn''t shake the feeling that I was being watched. The black substance I had discovered still gnawed at the edges of my mind, a chilling reminder of the malevolent force that had caused this devastation. I kept my senses sharp, every creak of the floorboards or whisper of the wind outside causing me to tense.


    ¡­


    During my vigil, my injuries did not let themselves be forgotten. The room was dimly lit by the feeble moonlight filtering through the shattered windows. Shadows danced on the walls, and every flicker seemed to play tricks on my exhausted mind. I took a deep breath, my labored exhalations a stark contrast to the stillness that surrounded me. I had to stay focused, stay alert ¨C my life depended on it.


    The passage of time was difficult to gauge in the oppressive darkness, but it felt like hours had passed since I began fortifying my position. The adrenaline that had initially fueled me began to wane, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. Despite the pain and exhaustion, I couldn''t afford to rest just yet. The creature ¨C or whatever it was ¨C could return at any moment.


    As I meticulously worked to create a defensible space, a flicker of movement caught my eye. My heart skipped a beat as I instinctively raised my Enfield, my body tensed and ready to face whatever threat might be approaching. But the source of the movement was far from what I had expected.


    A rat, its fur matted and dirty, scurried across the floor. It seemed out of place in the midst of the carnage and chaos, a small creature navigating a world that had been shattered by violence. For a moment, our gazes met, and I couldn''t help but feel a strange kinship with the rodent. We were both survivors, both trying to navigate a world that had been turned upside down.


    Lowering my weapon, I watched as the rat disappeared into the shadows, a fleeting reminder of the resilience of life in the face of destruction. It was a small, almost insignificant moment, but it served as a stark contrast to the horrors that had unfolded. It reminded me that even in the darkest of times, there was still a glimmer of hope ¨C a reminder that I was not alone in this battle.


    With the makeshift fortifications in place and my supplies at the ready, I settled into a defensive position, my back against a crumbling wall. The darkness stretched before me, an impenetrable void that held both mystery and danger. My thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the events that had led me to this point.


    The trail of blood outside the broken window still beckoned to me, a silent invitation to unravel the secrets that lay beyond. But I knew that venturing out into the unknown could be just as perilous as staying put. I had to weigh my options carefully ¨C stay and defend my position, or risk the dangers of the outside world in search of answers.


    As I contemplated my next move, a distant sound broke the silence ¨C a soft, almost imperceptible whisper carried by the wind. It was a voice, distant and distorted, but I couldn''t make out the words. My heart raced as I strained to listen, my senses on high alert. Was it allied? Another enemy? Or something else entirely?


    With my heart pounding in my chest, I strained to catch any fragments of the distant voice that drifted on the wind. The words were indistinct, like whispers carried by a ghostly breeze, taunting me with their elusiveness. Every fiber of my being was on edge as I tried to piece together the meaning behind those faint murmurs.


    I leaned closer to the shattered window, my breath held in anticipation. The darkness outside remained unyielding, refusing to reveal the source of the mysterious voice. It was as if the very air itself held its secrets, teasing me with glimpses of knowledge just beyond my grasp.


    As I listened intently, the voice grew slightly louder, a mere echo of its original source. It seemed to be coming from somewhere in the distance, beyond the desolate streets and crumbling buildings. My mind raced, trying to decipher the origin of the voice, but the effort was in vain. The words remained elusive; their meaning shrouded in mystery.