To think the field once lush with grass and rampant flowers, filling the landscape with an awesome beauty. Replaced by a sight I wish upon no man. There is no beauty in war.
The whistle seconds away. We wait, while praying we would never hear it. Praying to a God I realise doesn’t exist. The whistle blew. It’s sharp, long cry blasted out through the trenches, no man could deny they heard it. We were going over. My trembling hands gripped the rifle.
No sooner were both feet on the blood soaked battlefield, I was deafened by the screams. Screams I was useless to act upon. I look ahead, at the enemy, through the haze. I realise we are fighting a reflection, nothing more.
Of all the things I had been told of war, of battle. It is the horror of killing that you must discover for yourself.
The enemy. We looked each other in the eye, I could hear his scream without a whisper leaving his lips. As he fell to the floor, I could feel it. We had both died long ago.