I was rudely awakened by the sergeant, though I wouldn’t say that he interrupted a very

nice sleep. My bunk mates and I rolled out of our “beds,” which were only clumps of straw on a

hard wooden frame. What timbers we hadn’t used to make the trench walls, or tunnels, or

bunkers, we took and hid for fires or other “luxuries.”

The floor was wet, as always. My boots were on a wooden plank I’d found. Others slept

with their boots on. They thought I was crazy for taking them off. I’d seen enough of my friends

who kept their boots on get horrible growths on their feet to realize that there was some reason in

taking them off.

I put my boots on and squatted down to pull another plank out from under my cot. My

rifle was on it. It stayed dry under there. The plank made a loud sucking sound as the mud fought

to keep its hold on my weapon. I finally removed it with a jerk, and fell on my back.

There was maybe a good two inches of water on the ground, in addition to the mud and

shit from the rats that pervaded the trenches. I struggled to get up. My uniform was wet and

muddy, and I slogged out of the makeshift bunker to the front trenches.

It was drizzling and a thick fog had settled overnight. I couldn’t see too far ahead of me. I

started hearing noises, voices that I couldn’t understand. I stopped and backed against a trench

wall. I fixed my bayonet to the end of my rifle, levelled my gun in front of me, and began

creeping forward. The voices moved away. It was silent. Silence was not good. Silence meant

something was going to happen.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I whirled around. It was my sergeant. He told me that my

unit was waiting for me, and I was headed the wrong way. I went with him to the front lines. The

rest of the regiment waited there, huddled together for warmth. It was silent because we were

going to attack.
 The fog began to dissipate. Our artillery began bombarding the enemy lines. The enemy

responded. Shells whistled over our heads, going towards us and away from us. Our shells hit

them and we heard the explosions as they landed. The fog was still lingering and prevented me

from seeing the destruction. I clambered up the trench wall a few feet and poked my head over. I

imagined pillars of earth, wood, and concrete erupt from their lines, as if a bomb had been set off

under their lines. I heard screams as well.

The sergeant pulled me down and yelled at me for exposing myself. One of my buddies

yelled back and said that the Huns couldn’t see anything through the fog. He went to where I was

standing and poked his head up as I had done.

Nothing happened. He turned around and opened his mouth, most likely to insult the

sergeant.

We didn’t hear anything over the roar of artillery fire. Two things happened as he turned

to speak. A German sniper proved my friend wrong. We heard a whistle, and then I heard a loud

CRACK! and felt my face being covered with a warm sticky liquid and chunks of something

solid. I wiped my face, opened my eyes, and looked at my hands.

“F***ing hell…”

They were covered in blood, bone, brains… My friend’s head. I wiped my hands on my

uniform. It didn’t do much. My uniform was also covered in him. His body was lying at my feet.

I looked down at him, and up at the sergeant. He looked at me, put the whistle he held to his lips,

and blew.

That was the signal for us to go “over the top.” We scrambled up ladders, the side of the

trench, each other… The sergeant was the first one up. He stood up, ran forward about thirty

feet, and turned to us, yelling for us to move faster.

 I heard a whistle that turned into a whine, and then disappeared. Everyone fell flat on the

ground and covered their heads. The sergeant didn’t. He flew up in the air, well, pieces of him

did. The shell left a large crater. Bits of dirt, rock, and body rained back down on us. We got up

and kept going.

I was cautious, making sure to keep hidden as much as I could. I darted from shell hole to

shell hole as the enemy opened fire. Machine guns opened up, sounding like typewriters.

Tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac and puffs of dirt flew up from the ground.

Tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac and five men in front of me shook from side to side,

screaming as their bodies were ripped up by lead.

Tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac and I dove into a shell hole as

puffs of dirt flew up from where I was. I landed in a foot of water and mud. It was freezing and I

fought to pull myself out of it, finally laying on the side of the crater, my feet just above the

water. I was covered in mud, sweat, blood… my friends. My vision began to blur and I could

hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears. I began breathing heavily.

I regained control of myself, let out a deep breath, and gripped my rifle tightly. I rose up,

and charged out of my shelter, my bayonet and rifle muddy, my face covered in blood, and rage

in my eyes. I let out a hellish sound, a yell that came from within my body but from somewhere

entirely different at the same time. I saw the outline of the enemy trench in the distance. Then I

saw a repetitive flash. My eyes widened.

Tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac-tac