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”Paschendale”
”Division A! Head for the bunks, it's your turn to
sleep tonight. Don't waste that time; it's more valuable
than you'd assume if you want to live to see another day”,
the old but firm voice said right before slamming the
fragile wooden door shut. Specks of dust withered in the gust of wind from the door. That voice belonged to General
Hubert Gough. He was in charge of our divisions in here.
His rank only makes one think of the effort some men put
into the military, which was beyond my comprehension for
now for how could one person on his own, be so devout to one organization, meant only to kill, with the blunt disguise of protection. Afterwards he slams the door of the improvised wooden
shack built for soldiers to try and sleep in, while getting
wet from the rain drops that gather on the shallow roof
covered not with wood, but more so with holes. The echo resides the vibrations of the wooden beams as they snap a little on the inside every few seconds. As they say a house has to settle, so did our shack. A lone
soldier turns on a small flashlight in his bunk to shine
upon a simple pen and paper tablet. The hum from the dim light is noticeable, this odd new creation, mobile light, as some called it; was a brilliant little device to shine upon objects without a constant source of power. Though the charges inside were limited (I lived to see another world war, in which I took no part, but I have seen how technology breaks new grounds everyday). As he reaches for the
pen and rests the loom of light on his shoulder, a fellow
combatant from another bunk speaks, ”Hey Sergeant, I'd
suggest you put that light out; a sleepy soldier doesn't
dodge bullets that well. Or so recent studies show at
least”. The grim moonlight made his face invisible in the
thin blue shine. Little Anopheles type mosquitoes buzzed about, hurrying into the contrast of light they like so much.
''I'm about to write in my diary to document this day, and
then to write to my loved ones back home. And I'll be
damned before anything will stop me from doing that. Just
let it be'', the soldier says from his bunk while quietly
grinding his teeth, ready to cause a midnight riot just to
prove his point. The hot breath already surfacing from his nostrils, the heart pounding faster, providing the body with blood and energy to fight should he have to.
''Heh, at least you got guts man, I'm Gregg'', the voice
across the bunk turns softer.
''Robert...'' a reply slowly arrives. Robert’s muscles unwind slowly until a moment later they are loose again, even if the heart will need more time to slow down.
''Well then Robert, write away, but keep that light away from
me. I could use some sleep[/i]”, Gregg answers with a quaint
voice. Shifting in his cot, covering himself with the itchy green blanket, that was to him, half a foot too short.
Robert moves the light back onto the lined paper. Resting
the miniature flashlight on his shoulder, he picks up the
pen and begins to write with a small sigh of relief:
”Dear diary, October 23rd.
I don't know when we will fight again, but in the past
couple days no one has fired a weapon. Things don't seem
too safe even for a battle zone; around us is a large dent
from an explosion of our own mines in June. It looks like
the sky fell down and hit it by the crater it left. The
food they give us is atrocious; I've never tasted something
that was considered edible and yet so vile. We are hungry,
all of us. What little of the meager food they do give out
isn't enough. They say a hungry soldier fights better. I
say a hungry soldier would rather eat than fight. Training
is exhausting and squeezes the soul out of you. The Germans
across these lines and ditches of ours are organized,
structured and loyal, and yet here it is chaos. Madness
broke loose among the French camping beside us; they rebel
against their commanders and refuse orders. I have heard
truly dreadful stories from them, of how many died in the
first battle on the very soil I stand upon. If what they are
saying is true, then I would be conducting mutiny just the
same. But I won't. I'm not here because I care for this
country; I am here because I protect those I want to
protect. And nothing is going to stop me now. At a time of
war everyone must take a side. Those who don't shall be
dealt with later. And those who died in battle, the
Greeks and Norse wisely said in their books, ”To die with
sword at hand is the true honor, death or not, God shall
find his own pick among the dead”. The only part I failed
to agree with is the word God. For all I cared it was an
imaginary friend for adults. However let us not engage in such long theological matters of the mind and soul. That is all for one night; I'd
hate to give away all the fun stuff already.
Rob''.
Flipping to another page, Robert takes his pen again and
this time writes with a sedated tone to someone different.
The diary was kept for himself and held the truth as he saw
it. A letter however, must contain less than the truth so as
not to scare others nor give away secrets.
”October 23rd. Dear Katie,
This is my first letter to you from here that I am able to
write; please do not be upset with me as conditions didn't
allow it a moment before now. I am in a village named
Paschendale; the ground is marshland and the rain falling on
us isn't making it any better. That ground is a resting
place to more troops than we'll ever find. I'm still well
and intact, however, so worry not. Food is decent enough,
though you know me, always hungry for more. I sleep in a
wooden shack with 10 other soldiers. A moment alone is
rare, and a moment without bathroom humor is rarer. It is
about midnight in here now but I don't care so long as I
can write to you. Hold out, I will be back. This is silly to write in a letter, but being here made me realize this all too fast, I love you. More than I ever thought I could, you…you enlighten me (if the boys see this, I’m done with).
Robert Bernman”.
Finishing both documents, the newly arrived Sergeant lays
down his pen, pulls out the letter from the tablet and puts
it in a small envelope he has by his things. He writes down
an address (Pembury Road 29) for shipping and puts it away to have it sent
the next day.
***
The Sun rose gloomily over the small village on the morning
of the 24th, shining as little as it could through the fog
of war. There may have been an unofficial truce because the
side of The British Empire was dead and the Germans' was
weakened badly, but practice was still held for shooting
and moves in case of combat. In a trench in the back rows
were two men assigned to keep guard should the Germans stop
the so called 'truce'. The two were Cliffe and Bernman.
Cliffe was a Lieutenant, so as an Officer he didn't have to
fight, but he had to do something. He chose to look at an
empty field with Bernman, the man who the previous night
had shown some decent courage, and spoke to him with the
tone of an honorable man. Conversation between them grew
and they quickly learned they had much in common.
”Heh, that's a good one Rob, I just hope we'll both
make it back home in one piece and outside a box”, the
Lieutenant replies sharply.
Then, as if out of the blue, a fragment grenade was thrown
deep into the field as a random hostile tribute from the
Germans, spiraling through the air clumsily. Rob shouted out at the top of his lungs, ”Fire in
the hole! Fire in the hole; duck, damn it!”, as the grenade
went off and sent shrapnel soaring through the area,
whistling about and hitting the sand bags and dirt. Some
even made it as far as the shack; no one has slept there
calmly since. After the explosion had cleared and some
British fire was returned as a sign of presence, Rob rose
from the floor, but slipped in the soft, wet ground of the
place. He goes on his knees this time and managed to get up
while briefly swearing at the ground. Looking at Cliffe he
asked, ”Can you believe this crud? The land here is
useless. We can't even get tanks through because they sink
at once; see that step over there? That's a tank barrel
from when they brought a couple in thinking it would do
them good, when the only good here is that the Germans
can't get one through either”.
But Gregg does not reply or move; he simply blinks with an
odd twitch in his left arm. His eyes focus on Bernman as he
whispers in timed breaths, ”My back... Look”. With concern
for the Lieutenant, Robert moves Cliffe by his waist as he
squirms with pain but cannot say anything. Bernman looks at
his back with shock and incomprehension. The left side is
punctured with little holes all over it. Rob turns his back
to the sand bags, which are slowly leaking out and proved to
be of no use to stop a table spoon, much less shrapnel or a
bullet. Gregg sighs with pain when the Sergeant goes to him,
”I'll go get help; I'll call a Medic. Don't worry.
Everything will be alright”, but Gregg cuts him off knowing
his time is short and that no Medic could help him now. He
whispers with what little air he had in his punctured
lungs, ”No, don't. My time has come. Just tell my family
and... and...'' Gregg coughs a mouthful of blood that
spreads across the ground and to his chin. The soft ground
absorbs the blood and mixes in it in a tainted maroon color, ”Just... tell the
world of Paschendale. He can no longer talk and hurls up
more blood that goes further and is darker. Darker because
it contains no oxygen and comes from deeper within his
body. The blood loss takes its effect and his body turns
colder. The dying Lieutenant tries to speak one more time
but he cannot. He stops moving with his mouth and his eyes
open wide, looking shapelessly at Robert.
Bernman closes the eyes and mouth with his bare hands, he
lays him down on the ground quietly and says with a flushed face and beating heart, ”I'll tell
them, I'll tell them even if it means my own demise”.
Bernman dashes away to the center where the troops were
training, not far away; just over a corner of some thick
trees. He sees General Gough ahead and comes to him in
quick, angry paces. The General turns to him and sees the
blood on his hands.
”My god Sergeant, what on earth happened?” the General asks
in astonishment. ”This happened, General”, as the furious
Sergeant raises a blood dripping fist and punches Gough
right in the nose with all of his might and strength. The
General falls on his back and elbow with a speechless stare
on his face. ”What is the meaning of this, damn it?!” as the
angry downed General finally responds and nearly reaches for
his weapon. Instead he gets up and pushes the Sergeant off
him and onto the ground too. Bernman slides on the mud on
impact. Gough jumps on him but Bernman folds his legs and pushes
him off like a boxer at a street brawl. Hubert Hits a tree and remains standing, before
charging for the Sergeant once again. Despite being 47 at
the day, he still had a temper that let him go against even
a 20 year old soldier in hand to hand combat. Bernman has
just gotten up and now he and Gough push each other while
they walk and cling onto each other's necks. Eventually
Robert tugs him over the corner trees he had come from,
then he lets go of the General's right shoulder and punches
him again, then rams his head into him. Gough falls down on
the mud again, this time his head leaning to the right, and
when he fell he could just see the Lieutenant's body over
the edge of the corner and sand bags. Hubert remains down
but turns around to fully see the body. The Sergeant notices
he has finally seen it and speaks up with an enraged tone, ”
Do you see now General?! Do you see now what we are fighting
for, what we are dying for! Explain it to me! Explain why a good man with a family has to die for your bloody war, why he has to die when you get to live. Give me one good reason to pull my weapon and ‘withdraw’ you of your position”.
Gough looks up at him and replies, ”That's war Sergeant,
people die.”
Now with a renewed spark in his eyes, Bernman speaks again,
after wiping the blood running down his chin, ”War you say?
Who are we fighting for? Whose war is this?! It sure as
hell isn't my war and I know it wasn't his war. Now your
eyes are open; you see why good, innocent people die so
that you and the other Generals could play War and use us
as pawns. Well not while I'm here! Gregg Cliffe died over
there, right in front of my eyes because the sand bags
couldn't stop the shrapnel. He died because you didn't do
your job. He died because you don't give a blasted damn! Now
what do you have to say about that, General?” Robert says
the rank with contempt to him.
The General listens to every word with great care and
finally answers, ”You are right, we didn't do our job. We
didn't care enough, and now people have died, but that's
still war and it is your war and everyone else's if you
want to live again. Now, I'm offering you something I think
you should truly consider. Seeing as the Lieutenant has
passed, God bless his soul, we are one Lieutenant short. I
like the rage in you. I like the moral principals you put
above all and you remind me of myself long ago, and that's
what this army really needs more than tanks, soldiers or
weapons. Not to mention the highest rank I can promote you in battle is Lieutenant. I'm offering you the rank of Lieutenant and take
his place in command”. Now the General finally recovers and
gets back on his feet. He stands in front of the Sergeant
once more.
Robert replies saying, ”I'll take it, but not for good. I’ll take it until this battle is over, then I resign from the battlefield. And you,
you make sure he gets a decent burial in his home town, and
know I will let people know about all that happened here.”
Robert approached the body slowly, bending over and
speaking softly to the corpse, ”I'm sorry buddy. I will
tell the world as you asked, but I must also take your
rank”. He takes off the badges of the rank and puts them on
himself, without so much as cleansing the blood off of them. Still dripping absently on the metal.
Bernman proceeds to pick up the body and walk over to Gough
with it, then leaving the body in his hands and saying,
”Here's Lieutenant Cliffe; he's your job now. I have
a war to win and a platoon to train”, and with that the
newly appointed Lieutenant walks away.
***
Morning of October 25th. All wake up to begin training once
more as they feel the war is coming again and will be
started by either side soon. The Germans were only defending the
area rather than trying to break in, because not far behind
those lines their naval base lay, including their
submarines and ships. So in fact, if they could break
through eventually, it would bring the war to its end with
the Germans on their knees, as that would be the end of any
rockets, long distance supplies or spying. The Canadians
were about to be led by a new man, General Arthur Currie, and
the French were still mostly in disarray, and the British
government was losing faith in winning with each passing
day.
The day was rushed and was entirely dedicated to moving
troops around to the area. It was clear battle would begin
the next day, and so it did. October 26th was to be the day
that the second battle of Paschendale was to begin. But
earlier on the eve of the 25th, Robert Bernman took some
time to write to his loved ones and in his diary once
more.
”Dear diary, October 25th.
Practice is renewed today; the empires are preparing for
battle. Today alone 13 thousand troops were brought in.
Tomorrow we fight. Since I've last written things have
happened; I have been promoted to Lieutenant. A friend and
fellow soldier of that rank died right beside me. I and
General Gough fought; he isn't bad at it too. I was only
promoted after punching him. Makes you wonder how the
military really works. Anyhow, tomorrow over 20 thousand
men will march into hell's gate with no regret. I can only
hope we shall prevail.
P.S: Food stinks; we're underfed and pissed off. Oh, and
Katie returned my letter. It is odd how the military mail
is the only thing that actually works well here”.
Bernman flips the page of his tablet once more, he leaves
the page blank and proceeds to open a sealed envelope with
a military stamp on it. Inside is Katie's letter to Robert:
”Dear Robert,
It hasn't been so long since we last parted and I anxiously
await your return in person. However, it is becoming rather
desolate here in town with most of the men away to fight
this war. I don't know if anyone will come back, I just
hope you do.
I shall stay true and wait without hesitation. Just write
to me so that I may know all is well. And to keep courters
off; the few remaining reckon you won't return, but I know
that when you do, you'll give them a piece of your mind
about it.
Katie Evance”.
Robert finishes the letter knowing that soon he must
return. He would approach General Gough in a request that
after the third battle of Ypres, he shall be released to
his home. He could not risk fighting any more, as it is not
just his future at stake now.
Bernman then takes the tablet again and unpins the pen from
it. He writes,
”Dear Katie,
Tomorrow we shall be heading off to fight this battle once
and for all, I may be hurt, I may even be killed, but
promise me you will wait at least a month for a returned
letter before coming up with any misconceptions or
thoughts. I have met a great friend since my last letter; I
have also lost him to a German grenade. As a result I have
been given his rank; a Lieutenant. The payroll from such a
rank is much higher; I shall continue work after the war in
a desk job so as not to damage our relationship, but our
future is now more secure.
I'll be back if I have to knock down every last German
troop myself, wait just a tad longer. Wars don't blow by in
a couple days... sadly enough.
Robert Bernman”.
Rob at last puts away the tablet. Once more he gently rips
that piece of paper from the tablet and puts it in an
envelope, which he then puts away. He goes to sleep one
more time before the big day. His weapon is beside him and
his clothes already on and clean.
***
Morning of the 26th. Twenty thousand souls march as one
into battle, sneaking up over the hill, and it begins. The
Germans are well prepared and their defenses fully
restored. It was the third and fourth Canadian division,
led by Sir Arthur Currie, who began the attack. These men
weren't ones that laid hands on a rifle for the first time,
rather these were soldiers who had fought Ypres before and
knew the perils it brought forth. They were bold and
fought valiantly. The British were not quite prepared on
the day, and the Canadians were thought to be enough to
seize the territory without too many casualties. They were
wrong. It was a day in which 12 thousand of the twenty
died. All in the benefit of a couple hundred yards.
Lieutenant Bernman was at the base, planning the British
attack due in 4 days. The base was filled with the stench
of death and a Private is seen dashing from the kitchen.
That Private is Kenneth McAlister, a British immigrant who
was dragged to war after having moved from Ireland. Bernman
sees him by chance and stops him.
”What's that under your jacket, Private?” the Lieutenant
inquires. Robert rips open the Private's jacket and 2
loaves of bread fall out on the ground. Bernman glares at
the situation with a shocked gaze. ”You steal Bread? When
soldiers who fought all day long and rested none of the
night are starving and the army can't give them more than
their rations because the budget won't allow it, you steal
bread that's to feed 6 men all for yourself? Greedy
bastard! Don't you think we're all hungry here? But no one;
not a General, an Officer or a Private, can get more than
their rations. I think it's time we introduce you to harsh
reality. Get over here”. Bernman grabs Kenneth by his
forearm and drags him behind him as he walks to a square
wooden plate the size of a tank. It is ground level and in
the middle there is a smaller circle. In it is a set of
bars on the floor, and it opens to lead to a poorly lit
chamber. On it are two sets of bars close to one another,
serving as a floor for that lower story. Below that is only
darkness. Kenneth is thrown in and Bernman Speaks to him,
”3 days; 2 days without food for what you stole, one
day with some extra food so that on the 4th day you'll fight,
and you'll fight well. It's your life at stake this time”.
Kenneth doesn't get a chance to speak when Robert leaves
him there and locks the top floor. It begins to rain
shortly after and the drops of water leak through the
shallow construction. It trickles to the bottom and
collects there. McAlister ponders in the corner, whilst
sitting on a wooden beam attached to the wall as sort of an
improvised bench. He thinks about what drove him to
thievery. He has a flashback of himself standing in the
back of the kitchen; grabbing him by the neck is a Colonel,
Colonel James Kettle.
”Now you get in there and get me a few pieces of bread or
I'll have you standing in the front of the next division
sent out to battle. Don't you understand, we're all hungry
here, even Officers. I need food; how do they expect me to
do my job while starving to a slow death? Get 2 loaves of
bread and bring them back to me, or I'll also make sure it
will be the last day your family lives to see. Get it? Now
go!” The Colonel whispers the words in the ears of the
Private who doesn't wish to steal, but must to ensure the
survival of himself and his family.
During the commotion of the kitchen theft, the Germans
launched an attack. As the French were at mutiny and would
not fight, Canadian and British divisions were all that was
left to protect the base, and compared to the half million
German soldiers across the lines, it wasn't enough. Not
nearly enough. Rain was constant and made battle worse than
anywhere. The summer rains covered the entire region and not
a single tank could get across the lines. German forces had
begun using Mustard Gas; it attacked the body causing
blisters, hurt the lungs and eyes, and created a great deal
of pain. Few soldiers who were hit would ever survive it
then. Now it is not used but they are probably saving it
for their arsenal when the British come for an offensive.
And the British did. On October 26th, 1917, twelve thousand
allied soldiers died for the gain of a couple yards in the
battlefield.
The morning of the next day, a Tuesday morning, was only a
sleep deprived continuation of the last day. Officers ran
around trying to organize the next attack and to do so
wisely. Despite the fact Gas masks were available they were
no use against the new mustard gas that attacked the whole
body. British forces are mobilizing to the Belgian
border, while the Germans are fighting many fronts at once,
and are still hanging in there. On the 28th a couple
soldiers decided to visit the nearby town of Ypres. Among
the soldiers who decide to come are: Corporal William
Bailey, Private First Class Michal Jastrzebski and Sergeant
Barry McGinty. They see the town in ruins, people hide in
their homes and the windows are smashed out. Stores are
looted and empty and no one dares step outside as only the
children yell and cry inside. The children do not know that
they are just as in danger inside as they are outside
should the Germans attack. Seeing the tears in their eyes,
it reflects the pain and the fear. It showed the madness
and despair a war by your home can bring to you. Crying
women and children, sick old men; no one healthy was left
there. This was truly what the soldiers had heard; a world
war.
At that point they cannot go on; they knew well what must
be done.
”The hell with this; I am not a steel machine, but a man of
flesh and bone. How do they expect me to fight when I know
it is wrong? How can I kill all those men who are only
doing what we are doing, fighting because the government
commands us so? Leaving behind my trail of blood a pack of
crying women and children who shall never see that man
again; what have we become? Curse the name of liberty, a
war machine like no other that brings men to the slaughter
like lambs”, Corporal Bailey mutters out the words in pain while standing dead ahead of the god forsaken village.
Jastrzebski interrupts his line of thought, ”They are all
useless; they were meant to die and they knew what it was
about when it started”. The PFC feels no remorse over the
running tears of the families; it didn't matter as long as
the job got done. Last to speak of the subject is the
Sergeant, ”Yes, they have probably died, and so will we,
but what's important is to remember. To remember the good
times we have seen, the friends and families, the love and
the passion. That is why we are here. Let's go back; I
think there is work to be done”. From behind a slow round
of applause comes. The soldiers turn in fear to see
Lieutenant Bernman standing there with a slight grin on his
face. Robert proceeds to give a small inspirational speech,
”We are here to defend. Not the government, but those we
left behind. Everyone at home is counting on us to win this
damn war. Now if I know the few I care for are fine I will
give my soul away. Let's return to base; there is still
work to be done”, and with that, the group returns and
continues preparations. Bernman makes his way back and upon
arrival, as he is about to enter the prison section that
McAlister was in to feed him, he hears Kenneth mumbling to
himself the story of the theft and Colonel Kettle. Robert
opens the doors and walks in; he puts the small plate of
food on the wooden beam by the wall where Kenneth sat.
Robert speaks to him, ”I heard your side of the story now;
I'll go and check him. I only believe you since you didn't
know I was even around. Take the food and walk outside,
you're free for today but tomorrow you fight alongside the
rest”. Robert is confused for a moment and upset that had used his power to imprison an innocent man.
Kenneth is ecstatic; he sees the joy of being acquitted. He
whispers out a silent ”Thank you” and leaves with the
platter of food. Bernman leaves after him and locks the
door. He heads over to find the Colonel. After a brief
search he locates Kettle and approaches him.
”Colonel, do you mind if I ask you a couple questions about
3 days ago, a loaf of bread and a threat?” Bernman quickly
brings up the topic without hesitation.
”What? What do you mean, Lieutenant? I don't really know
what it is you are asking me of. How often would I threaten
someone?” James responds with a slightly anxious tone.
”I didn't mention any one saying you threatened anyone. I
just meant a threat in general, but now that you bring it
up... Ever heard of Private Kenneth McAlister?” Bernman
says sharply and without as much as a blink.
”Oh alright already, yeah I did it. Where are you at, L.A?
Let's just keep this between us, okay? It's not like I did
something dreadful...” Kettle finally gives in. Robert
makes his final comment as an ”Agreed[i]”, and with that he
walks away. Bernman reports to the General and has Kettle
locked in and demoted for un-Officer like conduct. Kettle
is now nothing but a Major.
Finally Robert returns to his bunk, to find a letter has
finally been returned to him. He rushes to open it; the
letter contained congratulations for his new rank and
overall descriptions of life further away from the war.
Bernman returns a letter saying tomorrow his division will
be fighting and that it may take a while before another
letter is sent out. With it are all the usual mentions of
food and dorms. Lastly he writes in his diary and tries to
sleep.
***
Dawn of October 30th, the British set off on an offensive
to capture the village. They withstand German fire and
force their way in. In one trench there is Bernman and
tagging along is Jastrzebski. The rain was constant, like a
bucket of water that never ended. Jastrzebski strikes up a
conversation while they both dodge the enemy fire behind
them. Michal begins to talk, [i]”So... you think this war
business is just another one of God's little jokes? I think
so...”
”God? Don't get me started about 'God'”, Bernman
reluctantly answers.
”Ahh, I see. I'll take it you are one of those
non-believers...” the PFC smirks.
”Non believer? You call a man who has survived some of the
worst pitches life can throw a non believer? You call
someone who has endured some of the most horrendous things
and lived to carry on, a non believer? Well I beg to
differ. I believe, I believe in him and I hate him to
death”, Robert comments with a slight tone of detest. Then
one of the few grenades the Germans had is launched into
the trench. Bernman sprints away from the grenade and takes
cover 12 feet away. The grenade detonates and Jastrzebski is in
shock and cannot move. The fragment grenade detonated and
killed Jastrzebski with the shrapnel tearing his flesh
asunder, from his knees, to his face. His death had caused what all deaths cause, loss of control over one’s body. Bernman is hit in his foot and
howls with pain. Robert yells for a Medic and sits up, when
a bullet from the Germans direction hits a rock, splitting
it up in two and launching half of it onto Bernman’s
forehead. The Lieutenant is hit and has passed out. His
head slammed against the mushy surface, letting the blood trickle from his swollen bump.
***
November 12th. Bernman wakes up in the silence of a field
hospital. Not remembering what happened, he tries to stand
up and of course yells in agonizing pain. A man in a white
robe and military badge walks in.
”Whoa there Soldier, I'm your Doctor. You've sustained an
injury. Why don't you just lie down a bit more? My name is
Brent Hollister. You just stay there; your foot had been
hurt a bit so we had to operate, but you'll be fine within
a couple weeks. And you have somewhat of a bump on your
head, but you'll be just fine. I'll have you seated in a
ship and sent home later today. In the mean time you can
walk with these crutches by your bed”, The Dr. says
kindly.
”Not now Doc, I have to fight. Damn Germans are probably
close”.
”Lieutenant, the battle is over; Paschendale is ours. Sure,
at the cost of half a million men, but it is captured. The
battles ended 6 days ago; you were still out. Now we are
just here in the agreement to collect and properly bury the
bodies and tend to the injured. Just relax already; you'll
be home in a couple days”, the Doctor answers with a
slightly condescending approach.
”It's over? It is really over...” Bernman finally lets out
the words. Finally he looks around at the tent, he sees the injured whimper in pain, and he sees the strong bite into their lip as the pain rushes through insanely. But most of all, he seems himself, a free man, once again.
***
November 16th. Through the streets of London, one man with
a pair of crutches at hand is home at last, but his battle
is not over yet.
”It is not over; there is still one thing I promised I
would complete. I must, I must tell the tale of
Paschendale...”
-
Holy Jesus Christ
Posted May 19, 2008
Good story topic. Lots of good dialog. I enjoy war stories, and this was definitely enjoyable. I'd put more here, but I can't remember the beginning and middle of the story. I did enjoy the ending as well. It was very tastefully done, with the main guy getting injured and waking up later.
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