Think the Weather Will Ease Off?
R. J. CARTER
As I stared into the abyss that was No Man’s Land I came to a realization. The rain never stops. The rain, however, while unrelenting, is ever evolving. Some days it will be water on its best days. Other days it will be artillery, blood, or bullets from Jerry. Straight from Kaiser Wilhelm's stomping grounds. The rain never stops.
“Oi, Arthur!” called James, jerking me from my trance, snapping back into my cruel reality that was this murky, disgusting trench.
“What the bloody hell do you want, James, I’m resting,” I answered angrily. James has never been the preceptive type and always seemed to find some way to upset me in one way or another, whether it was messing up an easy pass during football in grade school or breaking things around mum’s shop when he somehow got into working with me until the war started. Even now he looked like a muck-up of a soldier with his helmet teetering off to one side, barely held to his large head by the chin strap. His uniform buttoned haphazardly and his boot laces tied loosely and his rifle held in one hand. Despite all of his shortcomings, however, I’ve never met a more genuine man than James. Even as he stood there, disheveled and completely knackered from being on watch diligently for these past few nights, I knew I wouldn’t want any other familiar face with me in this mess.
“Arthur you alright mate? You’re starting off again,” said a now rather bothered James.
“Yeah yeah, I’m fine, you cheery bloke, have you been relieved yet? Or am I going to have to have to take over for you again?” I asked in an even tone. He started shifting his weight in place as if he didn’t want to want to answer my question.
“W-well Arthur, Charles bought it last night, I don’t know how, but we think it had to have been one of them Jerry snipers probably out there in no man’s land all roses and sunshine having a bit of a chuckle at us while he takes his pickin’s.” James’ fists were clenched into tight fists as he described the sniper. I didn’t know Charles all that well, but I know he was the last brother of the Barkley brothers who started here as five. Two were lost on the second day we ended up in this rainy, hellish, wasteland. The last three just dropped one by one as the weeks passed. Whether they fell to the unforgiving rain or have been befallen by the elements themselves -- whether that be disease or starvation.
“Well, chap nothing can be done about it now. I’ll go ahead and head up to the post, catch some rest will you?”
I rose from my muddy spot in the trench, patting James on the shoulder as I trudged off to my post. As I walked, I saw the empty faces of my comrades, some sharing a cig, others writing in their journals -- as I had done during the earlier months of my deployment -- cleaning their kit as best they could in the given situation, or even some shaving in crude small mirrors they always kept on their person. The last few days had been rather quiet and boredom was setting in over the troops; however, there was nothing to be done about it, unfortunately.
As I settled into my post, scanning the horizon filled with a smoky haze void of any sign of life, my heart sank. As I looked deeper into No Man’s Land, I saw the mummified remains of my pals and enemies alike distributed among the land, indiscriminately rotting away, never to be laid to rest in their homeland. I quickly looked away to throw up what little was in my stomach in disgust. The smell. The smell is never really noticeable until you look at the source. It invaded my nostrils, making my eyes water. The land before me was at once green and lush with plants and wildlife, now void of any and all evidence other than the whispers of those who have survived the earlier days of this conflict to the present like myself and James. I took the liberty to inspect my disheveled person in a puddle and could see the grime layered on my white hands with the muck. My now long, filthy black hair protruded from my helmet in knotted locks; my face, now a filthy brown, was tinged white, unclean in every way. I thank God every time I see myself here, that I cannot grow facial hair. Else I’d be even more disgusting. I already looked dead enough just from the condition of my clothes. Suddenly, I heard a fast thumping of footsteps coming from my right and looked to see James sprinting with a fear of God in his eye.
“Ar-Arthur we’re bloody doin’ it again we are we’re doin’ it,” he panted, out of breath. I knew exactly what he meant, but my mind refused to accept it.
“We’re doing what again James? Pull yourself together, pal, perk up, yeah?”
“Tele from command I overheard I did we’re going over in a surprise attack before tomorrow’s first light we are! NCO already left to go gather the rest of us,” he said in all one breath, taking a deep one as he finished. I looked down in defeat as I felt the anger swell through me.
“I’m not going over that ruddy trench marchin’ across the bloody field like I’m on a- a- a stupid afternoon stroll. That NCO bloke can burn in hell!” I boomed. James and a few other soldiers around me shuffled where they stood, nervously preparing for what horrors were to come. James trudged over to the jump-off line and began preparing his rifle. One by one, men came to the line readying themselves to go over the top in the hellish No Man’s Land. My feet would not move as if they were rooted in the muddy water I’d lived in for the past months. The clanking of the NCO patrolling the line, getting everyone ready for the upcoming conflict, stopped next to me.
“Get on that line, you twit,” he commanded, as he pulled the hammer back on his Webley Mk VI. I closed my eyes, turned towards the NCO, and looked him in his stormy serious eyes. He was clean from head to toe, as if he had a clean fresh kit for every hour of the day.
“Need I repeat myself, soldier?” he asked, as he leveled his revolver to my head, centimeters from the end of the barrel kissing my forehead. For what seemed like an eternity, I stared past the revolver and into those cold eyes. I then took the one certain step I had ever taken in these recent months, and pressed my forehead against the barrel.
“You think this rain is ever going to end, sir? I’m ready for the end of it right about now,” I said in a posh voice. The other soldiers watched in disbelief as the NCO was frozen in shock. I stood my ground, feeling the cold wet metal of the revolver press against my head, waiting to awaken the dragon’s breath hidden within the receiver of the weapon. However, the unthinkable happened.
The NCO smiled, something no one on this front had ever seen or thought they would ever live long enough to see.
“Well, lad, I doubt you will need to worry about the weather anytime soon.” And with that remark, the rain stopped and the sun was a distant memory as the lead pill pierced my skull.
“Oi, Arthur!” called James, jerking me from my trance, snapping back into my cruel reality that was this murky, disgusting trench.
“What the bloody hell do you want, James, I’m resting,” I answered angrily. James has never been the preceptive type and always seemed to find some way to upset me in one way or another, whether it was messing up an easy pass during football in grade school or breaking things around mum’s shop when he somehow got into working with me until the war started. Even now he looked like a muck-up of a soldier with his helmet teetering off to one side, barely held to his large head by the chin strap. His uniform buttoned haphazardly and his boot laces tied loosely and his rifle held in one hand. Despite all of his shortcomings, however, I’ve never met a more genuine man than James. Even as he stood there, disheveled and completely knackered from being on watch diligently for these past few nights, I knew I wouldn’t want any other familiar face with me in this mess.
“Arthur you alright mate? You’re starting off again,” said a now rather bothered James.
“Yeah yeah, I’m fine, you cheery bloke, have you been relieved yet? Or am I going to have to have to take over for you again?” I asked in an even tone. He started shifting his weight in place as if he didn’t want to want to answer my question.
“W-well Arthur, Charles bought it last night, I don’t know how, but we think it had to have been one of them Jerry snipers probably out there in no man’s land all roses and sunshine having a bit of a chuckle at us while he takes his pickin’s.” James’ fists were clenched into tight fists as he described the sniper. I didn’t know Charles all that well, but I know he was the last brother of the Barkley brothers who started here as five. Two were lost on the second day we ended up in this rainy, hellish, wasteland. The last three just dropped one by one as the weeks passed. Whether they fell to the unforgiving rain or have been befallen by the elements themselves -- whether that be disease or starvation.
“Well, chap nothing can be done about it now. I’ll go ahead and head up to the post, catch some rest will you?”
I rose from my muddy spot in the trench, patting James on the shoulder as I trudged off to my post. As I walked, I saw the empty faces of my comrades, some sharing a cig, others writing in their journals -- as I had done during the earlier months of my deployment -- cleaning their kit as best they could in the given situation, or even some shaving in crude small mirrors they always kept on their person. The last few days had been rather quiet and boredom was setting in over the troops; however, there was nothing to be done about it, unfortunately.
As I settled into my post, scanning the horizon filled with a smoky haze void of any sign of life, my heart sank. As I looked deeper into No Man’s Land, I saw the mummified remains of my pals and enemies alike distributed among the land, indiscriminately rotting away, never to be laid to rest in their homeland. I quickly looked away to throw up what little was in my stomach in disgust. The smell. The smell is never really noticeable until you look at the source. It invaded my nostrils, making my eyes water. The land before me was at once green and lush with plants and wildlife, now void of any and all evidence other than the whispers of those who have survived the earlier days of this conflict to the present like myself and James. I took the liberty to inspect my disheveled person in a puddle and could see the grime layered on my white hands with the muck. My now long, filthy black hair protruded from my helmet in knotted locks; my face, now a filthy brown, was tinged white, unclean in every way. I thank God every time I see myself here, that I cannot grow facial hair. Else I’d be even more disgusting. I already looked dead enough just from the condition of my clothes. Suddenly, I heard a fast thumping of footsteps coming from my right and looked to see James sprinting with a fear of God in his eye.
“Ar-Arthur we’re bloody doin’ it again we are we’re doin’ it,” he panted, out of breath. I knew exactly what he meant, but my mind refused to accept it.
“We’re doing what again James? Pull yourself together, pal, perk up, yeah?”
“Tele from command I overheard I did we’re going over in a surprise attack before tomorrow’s first light we are! NCO already left to go gather the rest of us,” he said in all one breath, taking a deep one as he finished. I looked down in defeat as I felt the anger swell through me.
“I’m not going over that ruddy trench marchin’ across the bloody field like I’m on a- a- a stupid afternoon stroll. That NCO bloke can burn in hell!” I boomed. James and a few other soldiers around me shuffled where they stood, nervously preparing for what horrors were to come. James trudged over to the jump-off line and began preparing his rifle. One by one, men came to the line readying themselves to go over the top in the hellish No Man’s Land. My feet would not move as if they were rooted in the muddy water I’d lived in for the past months. The clanking of the NCO patrolling the line, getting everyone ready for the upcoming conflict, stopped next to me.
“Get on that line, you twit,” he commanded, as he pulled the hammer back on his Webley Mk VI. I closed my eyes, turned towards the NCO, and looked him in his stormy serious eyes. He was clean from head to toe, as if he had a clean fresh kit for every hour of the day.
“Need I repeat myself, soldier?” he asked, as he leveled his revolver to my head, centimeters from the end of the barrel kissing my forehead. For what seemed like an eternity, I stared past the revolver and into those cold eyes. I then took the one certain step I had ever taken in these recent months, and pressed my forehead against the barrel.
“You think this rain is ever going to end, sir? I’m ready for the end of it right about now,” I said in a posh voice. The other soldiers watched in disbelief as the NCO was frozen in shock. I stood my ground, feeling the cold wet metal of the revolver press against my head, waiting to awaken the dragon’s breath hidden within the receiver of the weapon. However, the unthinkable happened.
The NCO smiled, something no one on this front had ever seen or thought they would ever live long enough to see.
“Well, lad, I doubt you will need to worry about the weather anytime soon.” And with that remark, the rain stopped and the sun was a distant memory as the lead pill pierced my skull.
R. J. Carter is a junior in high school who has always enjoyed writing fiction. His teacher recommended that he submit some of his work to contests on the internet, so here he is.