Post by D00M3R on Apr 1, 2007 17:21:22 GMT -5
'Sup guys? Thought you might like to read my book! I have two sequels planned!
The Front
It was dark when William was shaken from his sleep. A young officer stood above him. He looked tired. This was nothing new to William, however. It was frightfully hard to get a decent nights sleep in the trenches. The freezing mud and stench of rotting flesh made sleeping terribly hard. It was sometimes hard to tell if a man was dead or sleeping. It was even harder to wake up the sleeping men. William pitied the men. Many of them were young men who had been drafted into the army. The recruitment officers had made sure that if a man was picked to fight in the “great war” he would. It was incredibly hard to get out of fighting. William, himself, had tried many times to stay back in his home in Bristol (to no avail). William hoped that the war would soon be over. He was sick of it already. It had sounded so nice when the recruitment officers had told him about it. They said that he “would see the beautiful sights of France and Germany”. When William had arrived at the front line, however, things were far from beautiful. Barbed wire spread out across the trench borders, ensnaring anyone who tried to cross. Rats scuttled around in the filth, looking for a meal to satisfy their appetites. They loved the eyes and lips of dead men particularly. It was not uncommon to see the bodies of men who’s faces had been picked to the bone of flesh. They looked like something that you would see at Halloween. Often, a man would take days to die, having the rats devour him alive. It was hard to listen to a man’s screams as rodents ate him. William prayed that the war would end soon. It had gone on for long enough and William just wanted to see his family again. He missed them terribly. Having to leave them was the worst thing about the war, even worse then the rats. He just wanted to go home.
William picked up his rifle. She was a Winchester, the best rifles in the world. Much better then the German’s guns, which had to be reloaded after every two shots. William took pride in keeping his rifle (which he named “old faithful”) sparklingly clean. William stood up and walked behind the officer. The officer led William to the spot where he was to patrol. It was outside a fixed machine gun. The machine guns were incredibly powerful. They could mow down a whole platoon of enemy soldiers in a matter of seconds. Both the British and the Hun had machine guns. They had revolutionised wars. Men could no longer charge the enemy on horseback as they used to. Now men had to crawl through the mud, hoping to avoid the barrage of bullets that flew over their heads. “Man has truly reached the pinnacle of technology” thought William as he patrolled his section of the trench, pausing to kick a rat that was trying to eat one of his feet. He walked past the “bathroom”. This was little more then a hole dug in the wall in which sat a bucket (in which men would do their business). It stank so much that men would draw straws to see who would have to sleep near it. William once had to sleep beside it. It was hell. The bucket nearly spilt onto his head. William didn’t sleep that night. The smell was overpowering.
It must have been close to dawn when William was awoken from his sleep by the young officer for the sun arose soon after William had started patrolling. William hated dawn. It was when the enemy attacked the trenches. William hoped that the enemy were tired after their fruitless assault the previous day, for they would not dare to march their men across no-mans-land when they were tired. It was certain death. William had been over the top of the trench many times and knew no-mans-land like the back of his hand. It was a desolate area of craters from falling shells, dead bodies and, of course, freezing cold mud. Rats were a common site in no-mans-land. They feasted on the bodies after each attack. Spent bullet cartridges from the machine guns littered the area near the trenches like the leaves from the trees littered William’s back garden in autumn. William was especially fond of gardening. He had won many prizes for his garden. It was his pride and joy… and another thing that he missed dreadfully.
Luckily for William, the Hun were too tired to attack that morning. Unluckily for him, the British had decided to attack that morning. He assembled with the rest of his platoon to prepare for the attack. After a pep talk from their commander, William’s platoon clambered over the trench wall and, avoiding the barbed wire, walked in a straight line towards the enemy trench. He could hear rifle shots ringing out across the battlefield. Men further down the line must have engaged the Hun. William hadn’t seen any enemies yet. Something was different today. Normally, the enemy would open fire from the dug-out of their trench, creating a wall of bullets that were deadly to any man that they collided with, but today they hadn’t. In fact, the rifle shots from further along the line had stopped. Suddenly, a strange mist arose from the enemy trench. William’s platoon stopped, sensing danger. The gas slowly drifted towards them. One man went forward to see what the gas was. Suddenly, the man gave a loud cry. It was mustard gas! William had heard of this before. The Hun used it in previous battles against the Canadians to weaken their forces. They then attacked using gas masks. Luckily, some brave Canadians soaked handkerchiefs in water and used these as makeshift gas masks to drive back the Germans. William waited for the commander’s signal to pull back. No signal came. William soon saw the reason for this. The commander lay on the ground about one hundred meters ahead of the platoon. He was dead. He had choked to death on the mustard gas. It was a horrible sight to see. His skin was covered in blisters and his eyes were watering. William’s heart raced. The mist was gaining speed. They would soon be dead if they didn’t retreat. William and the men raced back to the trench and grabbed what cloth they could find. They soaked this in water to make gas masks, like the Canadians. This would protect their lungs from the gas. William looked over the dugout to see if the Hun were coming. The gas was gone… and in it’s place was the German army. Bullets zinged above William’s head. He stood on the dugout to get a better shot. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through William’s arm. He had been shot! Before he realised what had happened, he passed out.
Three days later
William woke up. He looked around. He was in a room filled with beds. Light streamed in through an open window to his right. Suddenly, he remembered what had happened to him. “I must be in hospital” Thought William. He absent mindedly placed his hand on his right arm. A dull pain shot through his arm. The bullet must still be lodged in his arm. William let out a gasp of pain. He hoped that the wound wouldn’t become gangrenous. More men died from infection then the actual wound when they had been shot and survived. William was just about to doze off again when a doctor walked into the room. He was a tall man with a handlebar moustache. He looked completely out of place in a hospital at the front. The man checked his clipboard before looking at William. He smiled.
“Hello William” said the man “How are you?”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital about three miles south of the front”
“What happened to my platoon?”
The man sighed heavily, and beckoned for William to follow him. William got up. His side hurt slightly but he ignored this. He was far too interested in what had happened to his platoon for him to care. He was prepared for the worst. It was extremely rare for a British squad who had lost half their men to survive an attack by the Hun.
William was led through the winding hallways of the hospital to a small room. In the room there lay many beds. In the beds lay William’s comrades. They were dead. The doctor turned to William and grimaced.
“I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do.” said the doctor
William stared at the bodies of the men that had been under his command. It was at that point that William learned how frail human life was. It came and went like the birds at Winter.
***
William’s road to recovery was long and arduous. He was dying to get back to the front and avenge his fallen comrades. He watched as the leaves fell off the trees surrounding the hospital (which was located in a quaint town in southern France) just as they used to back in his garden. His home seemed a million miles away. He thought a great lot about his wife and children. They would be picking apples and blackberries. Traditionally, William and his family would pick these together on the first weekend of autumn. His wife would then bake a lovely apple and blackberry pie which the whole family would devour in an instant. William wished that he could go back to his family. They were the thing that he missed most.
The town that the hospital was located in was named “Traiet”. It was the base of operations for the British army in the war. Patients from the hospital were encouraged to hike up the many nearby hills to help their recovery. William regularly climbed the hills, but not to help his recovery. From the hill, in the far distance, it was possible to see the front.
As the weeks past and Winter turned into Spring, William made a great recovery. He was worried about returning to the front. More mustard gas attacks were used against the British. Nearly every day another man would be carted into the hospital with mustard gas burns all over his torso. The British army were working on getting gas masks to the men at the front. They had mostly failed. It was extremely hard to haul a crate of masks whilst being shot at by two dozen snipers on faraway hills. The snipers were crack shots. They could hit a man right between the eyes from about three thousand feet away. They would lie prone on a hill and take shots at men foolish enough to poke their heads over the wall of the bunker. They made it extremely hard for supplies to be brought to the men at the front. It was a luxury to get anything other then cold baked beans. The food served at the hospital was delicious when compared to the food at the front.
One particular day, William was preparing to leave for the front. He had dreaded the day ever since he had come to the hospital. He packed his few possessions that he had been brought from the front into a battered suitcase. The suitcase had been a wedding gift from his mother in law. She was a lovely lady. William treated her like a second mother.
William was led into a large room. On the walls there were maps and lists of names. In the centre of the room there was a table. At the table sat a balding man with a small moustache. “Private Johnson. I’m glad you’re here” said the moustached man “Please, take a seat”. William sat on an old wooden stool. The man checked some papers on his desk before looking at William. “I am General Ian Greenly” said the man, putting out his hand for William to shake. William grasped the mans hand and shook it half-heartedly. The man was probably going to wish him luck on his return to the front. William hated the front. It was hell on earth. The man sat down and gestured for William to take one too. William sat down.
“Do you know why I have called you here William?” asked the Man. William shook his head. “As you may have heard, there are spies amongst us”. William had heard of the spies, alike many men in the trenches. News spread quickly by word of mouth in the trenches, as many men had nothing better to do then tell stories. It reminded William of Chinese whispers. It was hard to tell what was true and what wasn’t. Some of the stories were frightening. One of the most frightening ones regarded the spies in the war. They looked and sounded like ordinary soldiers but they informed the Germans of British army movements and the like.
“I have, sir” replied William
“Spying is an extremely good way of getting information about the enemies positions. If we had a spy in the enemies’ ranks, we could easily defend ourselves against their attacks.”
“Beg pardon, sir” inquired William “But where do I come into this plan of yours?”
The general looked at William with unblinking eyes. The sun made his eyes sparkle like a glass of champagne.
“I want you to be my spy, private”
***
It was a chilly winter day when William began training for his new job. He had accepted the offer when the General assured him that, after he had spied for a few months, he would be given an opportunity to return home.
The training was to take place in a gloomy building near the front. William would be taught German and how to use the Hun’s weapons in this building. William wasn’t sure whether to be excited or scared. On one hand, he would be returning to Bristol in a few months. On the other hand, he could be executed by the Germans if they found out that he was spying on them for the British. William’s training would take a month of hard work.
William walked in the door of the building. A man sat at a desk. He glanced up at William before looking down at his desk. He rummaged through the folders and papers scattered on his desk before picking up a think folder. He beckoned for William to walk over to him. “Private Johnson.” said the man “Please follow me”.
William followed the man down the corridor. The building seemed to be some sort of command centre. Behind closed doors, William could hear men shouting at each other and the whirring sound of projectors being used.
The man brought William into a room that was very similar to his old classroom. In it sat an old man. He stood to greet William. “Hello Villiam” said the man in a heavy German accent “I am your Jerrman teacher”. The man gestured for William to sit down.
It was many weeks later when William finished his training. He had been thought how to speak German, how to fire the German rifles, how to drive the German vehicles and how to operate the camera that he would use to photograph the German’s positions. William would spy for a week or so before he would return to his commander with his findings. William would do this by hiding in one of the many craters when the Germans attacked his trenches. This was risky, especially if the Germans thought that he was deserting them. Few men in the war tried to desert the army. Even fewer survived an attempt. The platoon leaders had orders to shoot any men caught trying to leave the front without permission. It was becoming more common for men to desert as the war got worse. When William snatched his first proper look at the front, it had changed a lot. Pillars hung at regular intervals. When mustard gas hit into these, they would turn yellow. Machines that fired shells lined the area behind the front lines. These would fire both shells filled with ball bearings that would be deadly to any unprotected man who was hit by the balls and shells filled with mustard gas. These gas filled shells were extremely deadly. They could wipe out a whole platoon in a matter of seconds. William was glad that he wouldn’t be fighting as much as spying.
William was brought by car to the most backward trench. It was one of the safest places for an ordinary soldier. You could light fires here to cook your food as no snipers bothered trying to kill men in the back trench. William was given a heated can of sweet corn (which he devoured in nearly an instant). He was then led to the dugout. This was basically a small room cut into the back wall of the trench. It had a roof corrugated iron, which would offer limited protection against the shells. It reeked of sweat and rotten food in the room. There were seven other men in the room. Most of them were trying to sleep in the bunk beds that lined the walls. A thin man with grey streaks darting through his jet-black hair slumped on a wooden chair. He looked malnourished. He was suffering from what the generals called “Shell shock”. It was a condition in which the man would become almost paranoid from the war. The ordinary soldiers in the trenches had a different name for it though. They called it “Yellow-belly syndrome”. Men who had “Shell shock” were thought of as cowards. They were belittled when they returned to the front. That is, assuming that they actually returned to the front. William knew a young man who’s brother had committed suicide when in hospital. He couldn’t stand the war any longer and had taken an overdose of his pills. William wondered if the man would be returning home. Many of the men who suffered “Shell shock” were not allowed to return home by their parents. The families of these men were often “War families” who believed that it would ruin their image. They would leave the men in the army’s care. The British would often assign the man to “protection duty”. He would be stationed in the small French villages until he recovered. If the man didn’t recover, the army would send him to a special hospital in London for men in the war. This was often where the men would commit suicide. William wondered if he would ever end up with “Shell shock”.
William was led to the back of the room. At a rickety desk strewn with papers sat a man with thinning grey hair. He stood up and looked at William. His eyes darted from William’s face to his dog tags. William’s dog tags had personal information engraved onto it, in the event that his body needed to be identified. It was customary for a soldier, on the discovery of one of the corpses of his dead comrades, to place one half of the dog tag into the fallen soldier’s mouth. The other half of the tag would be given to the commander.
When the man was finished looking at William’s dog tags, he beckoned for him to sit. A chipped stool sat on the floor. William sat down. The stool balanced awkwardly on the rough and rocky ground. The man handed William a few sheets of paper stapled together into a crude booklet. The man stood up and gestured for William to follow him. The man walked straight out of the trench. William followed him. For a while they walked along the narrow corridor, wading through the filth and dead bodies that lined the floor of the trench like a gruesome carpet. Men looked up at him with weary eyes as he walked by. The man ahead of him walked through the filth like he was walking down the aisle of a church. He took no notice of the poor beggars to the right and to the left of them.
William was starting to get bored of walking when he heard a familiar ringing sound. It was a gunshot from a Mauser “Gerwer” rifle. The Germans must be attacking! The man had heard the gunshot and, with the only word William would ever hear him say, shouted “Run!”. William didn’t hesitate. The soldiers surrounding him jumped into action, piling up at the trench wall to fire at the Hun. William kept on running. The took a quick glance behind him. He could see German soldiers climbing into the trench. If they weren’t stopped quickly, they would kill every man in the trench. The man was fit and much quicker then William. It wasn’t long before William had to stop and get his breath back. The man was soon out of William’s sight. William looked around. He noticed that the area of the trench that he was in was void of men. The gunshots had also stopped. Suddenly, a strange noise echoed through the trench. William looked up. Something similar to a bird in shape, but red in colour and much bigger flew over him. It was a strange contraption, with fixed wings and wire attaching parts of it to other parts. It circled around the area of the trench that William was standing in for a minute, before diving towards the ground. William heard the cracking sound of bullets as they hit the ground. The strange flying-machine was shooting at him. He ran at full sprint along the trench. The plane didn’t give up and kept firing at him. It was going much faster then William could run and often had to circle to keep near William. Suddenly, another flying-machine flew over William. It fired at the machine in the red. The machine in the red fell out of the sky and, with a loud crashing noise, hit the part of the trench that William had been seconds earlier. William peeked over the wall of the trench. Beyond the wreckage of the flying-machine a group of German soldiers walked towards the trench. William ducked back under the cover of the trench before the platoon saw him. He knew that the Germans would soon spot him and attack. It was very rare for men to be taken prisoner, but it was becoming more common as the German army advanced further into areas of France that they didn’t know of. William had two choices. He could surrender and hope that the Hun took him as a prisoner or he could stand and fight with his pistol. William decided that he would have a better chance of survival if he surrendered. William searched the trench for a piece of white cloth. He found a handkerchief under a rock near the toilet. William waved this over the wall of the trench. He heard footsteps as the men ran towards him. A German soldier jumped down into the trench. He looked surprised to see William. He pointed at William and gestured for him to kneel. William did as the man said. It was pointless to resist.
About a minute after William had been ordered to sit by the German soldier, the rest of the German troops arrived at the trench. They were wearing the German uniform of a helmet with a spike on the top, an armband with a swastika and a navy-blue suit. They talked amongst themselves for a while before gesturing for William to stand. “You speak Gerrrman?” asked one of the men. “Yes” said William (speaking in German). “Good” said the man “you are now our prisoner” and, with that, he told William to climb over the wall of the trench.
William was forced to walk all the way to the German’s most backward trench. He was jeered at by German troops and often fell. When he arrived at the German’s trench, he was sent into a room similar to a dugout but with bars where the door should have been. In it was an old man. He had grey hair and darting eyes. He was thin and malnourished. He looked at William. His eyes were brown and his hair was short and grey. His face lit up when he saw William. “I never thought that I’d see another on of our boys again” said the man “They took the last of my platoon away to be executed a week ago. Is your platoon on it’s way?”. William decided that it would be better for the man not to know that no help would ever reach them. He paced around the small, dirty cell before sitting in the dirt. He was sitting on something hard. He turned around to see a lighter lying half-buried under the dirt. It was an English lighter, and had F.S inscribed onto the metal at the top. Suddenly, William had an idea. Taking some of the rags that littered the floor of the cell, he set them on fire with his lighter. The cloth let off a lot of smoke… which was what William had wanted. William crept into a corner and pretended to sleep. Soon, a soldier ran up to the bars of the cell. He stuck his head through the bars and looked inside the small, stinking room. He saw the heap of burning rags. He hastily fumbled with his keys before opening the bars of the cell and dashing in. William saw his chance to escape. Putting all his strength in his left arm, he jumped up from the corner and punched the man in the face. The soldier crumpled and fell to the ground. He was knocked out. William woke up the old man with the grey hair and helped him up.
“We’re going to escape. Be quiet and follow me.” whispered William.
The German trench was very similar to the English one. Rats crawled in the filth on the ground and terrible odours drifted from the buckets allocated as toilets. William and the grey haired man crept along the trench. William knew that the chances of him and the man escaping were slim to nil.
William and the man moved through the trench until he came to a spot where the barbed wire was degraded and rusting. William kicked at the wire to separate it before leading the man over the wall of the trench and into the freezing, corpse strewn landscape that was no-mans-land. William hoped that he would have enough time to escape before the Hun found out that the prisoners had escaped and attempted to capture them.
The Front
It was dark when William was shaken from his sleep. A young officer stood above him. He looked tired. This was nothing new to William, however. It was frightfully hard to get a decent nights sleep in the trenches. The freezing mud and stench of rotting flesh made sleeping terribly hard. It was sometimes hard to tell if a man was dead or sleeping. It was even harder to wake up the sleeping men. William pitied the men. Many of them were young men who had been drafted into the army. The recruitment officers had made sure that if a man was picked to fight in the “great war” he would. It was incredibly hard to get out of fighting. William, himself, had tried many times to stay back in his home in Bristol (to no avail). William hoped that the war would soon be over. He was sick of it already. It had sounded so nice when the recruitment officers had told him about it. They said that he “would see the beautiful sights of France and Germany”. When William had arrived at the front line, however, things were far from beautiful. Barbed wire spread out across the trench borders, ensnaring anyone who tried to cross. Rats scuttled around in the filth, looking for a meal to satisfy their appetites. They loved the eyes and lips of dead men particularly. It was not uncommon to see the bodies of men who’s faces had been picked to the bone of flesh. They looked like something that you would see at Halloween. Often, a man would take days to die, having the rats devour him alive. It was hard to listen to a man’s screams as rodents ate him. William prayed that the war would end soon. It had gone on for long enough and William just wanted to see his family again. He missed them terribly. Having to leave them was the worst thing about the war, even worse then the rats. He just wanted to go home.
William picked up his rifle. She was a Winchester, the best rifles in the world. Much better then the German’s guns, which had to be reloaded after every two shots. William took pride in keeping his rifle (which he named “old faithful”) sparklingly clean. William stood up and walked behind the officer. The officer led William to the spot where he was to patrol. It was outside a fixed machine gun. The machine guns were incredibly powerful. They could mow down a whole platoon of enemy soldiers in a matter of seconds. Both the British and the Hun had machine guns. They had revolutionised wars. Men could no longer charge the enemy on horseback as they used to. Now men had to crawl through the mud, hoping to avoid the barrage of bullets that flew over their heads. “Man has truly reached the pinnacle of technology” thought William as he patrolled his section of the trench, pausing to kick a rat that was trying to eat one of his feet. He walked past the “bathroom”. This was little more then a hole dug in the wall in which sat a bucket (in which men would do their business). It stank so much that men would draw straws to see who would have to sleep near it. William once had to sleep beside it. It was hell. The bucket nearly spilt onto his head. William didn’t sleep that night. The smell was overpowering.
It must have been close to dawn when William was awoken from his sleep by the young officer for the sun arose soon after William had started patrolling. William hated dawn. It was when the enemy attacked the trenches. William hoped that the enemy were tired after their fruitless assault the previous day, for they would not dare to march their men across no-mans-land when they were tired. It was certain death. William had been over the top of the trench many times and knew no-mans-land like the back of his hand. It was a desolate area of craters from falling shells, dead bodies and, of course, freezing cold mud. Rats were a common site in no-mans-land. They feasted on the bodies after each attack. Spent bullet cartridges from the machine guns littered the area near the trenches like the leaves from the trees littered William’s back garden in autumn. William was especially fond of gardening. He had won many prizes for his garden. It was his pride and joy… and another thing that he missed dreadfully.
Luckily for William, the Hun were too tired to attack that morning. Unluckily for him, the British had decided to attack that morning. He assembled with the rest of his platoon to prepare for the attack. After a pep talk from their commander, William’s platoon clambered over the trench wall and, avoiding the barbed wire, walked in a straight line towards the enemy trench. He could hear rifle shots ringing out across the battlefield. Men further down the line must have engaged the Hun. William hadn’t seen any enemies yet. Something was different today. Normally, the enemy would open fire from the dug-out of their trench, creating a wall of bullets that were deadly to any man that they collided with, but today they hadn’t. In fact, the rifle shots from further along the line had stopped. Suddenly, a strange mist arose from the enemy trench. William’s platoon stopped, sensing danger. The gas slowly drifted towards them. One man went forward to see what the gas was. Suddenly, the man gave a loud cry. It was mustard gas! William had heard of this before. The Hun used it in previous battles against the Canadians to weaken their forces. They then attacked using gas masks. Luckily, some brave Canadians soaked handkerchiefs in water and used these as makeshift gas masks to drive back the Germans. William waited for the commander’s signal to pull back. No signal came. William soon saw the reason for this. The commander lay on the ground about one hundred meters ahead of the platoon. He was dead. He had choked to death on the mustard gas. It was a horrible sight to see. His skin was covered in blisters and his eyes were watering. William’s heart raced. The mist was gaining speed. They would soon be dead if they didn’t retreat. William and the men raced back to the trench and grabbed what cloth they could find. They soaked this in water to make gas masks, like the Canadians. This would protect their lungs from the gas. William looked over the dugout to see if the Hun were coming. The gas was gone… and in it’s place was the German army. Bullets zinged above William’s head. He stood on the dugout to get a better shot. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through William’s arm. He had been shot! Before he realised what had happened, he passed out.
Three days later
William woke up. He looked around. He was in a room filled with beds. Light streamed in through an open window to his right. Suddenly, he remembered what had happened to him. “I must be in hospital” Thought William. He absent mindedly placed his hand on his right arm. A dull pain shot through his arm. The bullet must still be lodged in his arm. William let out a gasp of pain. He hoped that the wound wouldn’t become gangrenous. More men died from infection then the actual wound when they had been shot and survived. William was just about to doze off again when a doctor walked into the room. He was a tall man with a handlebar moustache. He looked completely out of place in a hospital at the front. The man checked his clipboard before looking at William. He smiled.
“Hello William” said the man “How are you?”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital about three miles south of the front”
“What happened to my platoon?”
The man sighed heavily, and beckoned for William to follow him. William got up. His side hurt slightly but he ignored this. He was far too interested in what had happened to his platoon for him to care. He was prepared for the worst. It was extremely rare for a British squad who had lost half their men to survive an attack by the Hun.
William was led through the winding hallways of the hospital to a small room. In the room there lay many beds. In the beds lay William’s comrades. They were dead. The doctor turned to William and grimaced.
“I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do.” said the doctor
William stared at the bodies of the men that had been under his command. It was at that point that William learned how frail human life was. It came and went like the birds at Winter.
***
William’s road to recovery was long and arduous. He was dying to get back to the front and avenge his fallen comrades. He watched as the leaves fell off the trees surrounding the hospital (which was located in a quaint town in southern France) just as they used to back in his garden. His home seemed a million miles away. He thought a great lot about his wife and children. They would be picking apples and blackberries. Traditionally, William and his family would pick these together on the first weekend of autumn. His wife would then bake a lovely apple and blackberry pie which the whole family would devour in an instant. William wished that he could go back to his family. They were the thing that he missed most.
The town that the hospital was located in was named “Traiet”. It was the base of operations for the British army in the war. Patients from the hospital were encouraged to hike up the many nearby hills to help their recovery. William regularly climbed the hills, but not to help his recovery. From the hill, in the far distance, it was possible to see the front.
As the weeks past and Winter turned into Spring, William made a great recovery. He was worried about returning to the front. More mustard gas attacks were used against the British. Nearly every day another man would be carted into the hospital with mustard gas burns all over his torso. The British army were working on getting gas masks to the men at the front. They had mostly failed. It was extremely hard to haul a crate of masks whilst being shot at by two dozen snipers on faraway hills. The snipers were crack shots. They could hit a man right between the eyes from about three thousand feet away. They would lie prone on a hill and take shots at men foolish enough to poke their heads over the wall of the bunker. They made it extremely hard for supplies to be brought to the men at the front. It was a luxury to get anything other then cold baked beans. The food served at the hospital was delicious when compared to the food at the front.
One particular day, William was preparing to leave for the front. He had dreaded the day ever since he had come to the hospital. He packed his few possessions that he had been brought from the front into a battered suitcase. The suitcase had been a wedding gift from his mother in law. She was a lovely lady. William treated her like a second mother.
William was led into a large room. On the walls there were maps and lists of names. In the centre of the room there was a table. At the table sat a balding man with a small moustache. “Private Johnson. I’m glad you’re here” said the moustached man “Please, take a seat”. William sat on an old wooden stool. The man checked some papers on his desk before looking at William. “I am General Ian Greenly” said the man, putting out his hand for William to shake. William grasped the mans hand and shook it half-heartedly. The man was probably going to wish him luck on his return to the front. William hated the front. It was hell on earth. The man sat down and gestured for William to take one too. William sat down.
“Do you know why I have called you here William?” asked the Man. William shook his head. “As you may have heard, there are spies amongst us”. William had heard of the spies, alike many men in the trenches. News spread quickly by word of mouth in the trenches, as many men had nothing better to do then tell stories. It reminded William of Chinese whispers. It was hard to tell what was true and what wasn’t. Some of the stories were frightening. One of the most frightening ones regarded the spies in the war. They looked and sounded like ordinary soldiers but they informed the Germans of British army movements and the like.
“I have, sir” replied William
“Spying is an extremely good way of getting information about the enemies positions. If we had a spy in the enemies’ ranks, we could easily defend ourselves against their attacks.”
“Beg pardon, sir” inquired William “But where do I come into this plan of yours?”
The general looked at William with unblinking eyes. The sun made his eyes sparkle like a glass of champagne.
“I want you to be my spy, private”
***
It was a chilly winter day when William began training for his new job. He had accepted the offer when the General assured him that, after he had spied for a few months, he would be given an opportunity to return home.
The training was to take place in a gloomy building near the front. William would be taught German and how to use the Hun’s weapons in this building. William wasn’t sure whether to be excited or scared. On one hand, he would be returning to Bristol in a few months. On the other hand, he could be executed by the Germans if they found out that he was spying on them for the British. William’s training would take a month of hard work.
William walked in the door of the building. A man sat at a desk. He glanced up at William before looking down at his desk. He rummaged through the folders and papers scattered on his desk before picking up a think folder. He beckoned for William to walk over to him. “Private Johnson.” said the man “Please follow me”.
William followed the man down the corridor. The building seemed to be some sort of command centre. Behind closed doors, William could hear men shouting at each other and the whirring sound of projectors being used.
The man brought William into a room that was very similar to his old classroom. In it sat an old man. He stood to greet William. “Hello Villiam” said the man in a heavy German accent “I am your Jerrman teacher”. The man gestured for William to sit down.
It was many weeks later when William finished his training. He had been thought how to speak German, how to fire the German rifles, how to drive the German vehicles and how to operate the camera that he would use to photograph the German’s positions. William would spy for a week or so before he would return to his commander with his findings. William would do this by hiding in one of the many craters when the Germans attacked his trenches. This was risky, especially if the Germans thought that he was deserting them. Few men in the war tried to desert the army. Even fewer survived an attempt. The platoon leaders had orders to shoot any men caught trying to leave the front without permission. It was becoming more common for men to desert as the war got worse. When William snatched his first proper look at the front, it had changed a lot. Pillars hung at regular intervals. When mustard gas hit into these, they would turn yellow. Machines that fired shells lined the area behind the front lines. These would fire both shells filled with ball bearings that would be deadly to any unprotected man who was hit by the balls and shells filled with mustard gas. These gas filled shells were extremely deadly. They could wipe out a whole platoon in a matter of seconds. William was glad that he wouldn’t be fighting as much as spying.
William was brought by car to the most backward trench. It was one of the safest places for an ordinary soldier. You could light fires here to cook your food as no snipers bothered trying to kill men in the back trench. William was given a heated can of sweet corn (which he devoured in nearly an instant). He was then led to the dugout. This was basically a small room cut into the back wall of the trench. It had a roof corrugated iron, which would offer limited protection against the shells. It reeked of sweat and rotten food in the room. There were seven other men in the room. Most of them were trying to sleep in the bunk beds that lined the walls. A thin man with grey streaks darting through his jet-black hair slumped on a wooden chair. He looked malnourished. He was suffering from what the generals called “Shell shock”. It was a condition in which the man would become almost paranoid from the war. The ordinary soldiers in the trenches had a different name for it though. They called it “Yellow-belly syndrome”. Men who had “Shell shock” were thought of as cowards. They were belittled when they returned to the front. That is, assuming that they actually returned to the front. William knew a young man who’s brother had committed suicide when in hospital. He couldn’t stand the war any longer and had taken an overdose of his pills. William wondered if the man would be returning home. Many of the men who suffered “Shell shock” were not allowed to return home by their parents. The families of these men were often “War families” who believed that it would ruin their image. They would leave the men in the army’s care. The British would often assign the man to “protection duty”. He would be stationed in the small French villages until he recovered. If the man didn’t recover, the army would send him to a special hospital in London for men in the war. This was often where the men would commit suicide. William wondered if he would ever end up with “Shell shock”.
William was led to the back of the room. At a rickety desk strewn with papers sat a man with thinning grey hair. He stood up and looked at William. His eyes darted from William’s face to his dog tags. William’s dog tags had personal information engraved onto it, in the event that his body needed to be identified. It was customary for a soldier, on the discovery of one of the corpses of his dead comrades, to place one half of the dog tag into the fallen soldier’s mouth. The other half of the tag would be given to the commander.
When the man was finished looking at William’s dog tags, he beckoned for him to sit. A chipped stool sat on the floor. William sat down. The stool balanced awkwardly on the rough and rocky ground. The man handed William a few sheets of paper stapled together into a crude booklet. The man stood up and gestured for William to follow him. The man walked straight out of the trench. William followed him. For a while they walked along the narrow corridor, wading through the filth and dead bodies that lined the floor of the trench like a gruesome carpet. Men looked up at him with weary eyes as he walked by. The man ahead of him walked through the filth like he was walking down the aisle of a church. He took no notice of the poor beggars to the right and to the left of them.
William was starting to get bored of walking when he heard a familiar ringing sound. It was a gunshot from a Mauser “Gerwer” rifle. The Germans must be attacking! The man had heard the gunshot and, with the only word William would ever hear him say, shouted “Run!”. William didn’t hesitate. The soldiers surrounding him jumped into action, piling up at the trench wall to fire at the Hun. William kept on running. The took a quick glance behind him. He could see German soldiers climbing into the trench. If they weren’t stopped quickly, they would kill every man in the trench. The man was fit and much quicker then William. It wasn’t long before William had to stop and get his breath back. The man was soon out of William’s sight. William looked around. He noticed that the area of the trench that he was in was void of men. The gunshots had also stopped. Suddenly, a strange noise echoed through the trench. William looked up. Something similar to a bird in shape, but red in colour and much bigger flew over him. It was a strange contraption, with fixed wings and wire attaching parts of it to other parts. It circled around the area of the trench that William was standing in for a minute, before diving towards the ground. William heard the cracking sound of bullets as they hit the ground. The strange flying-machine was shooting at him. He ran at full sprint along the trench. The plane didn’t give up and kept firing at him. It was going much faster then William could run and often had to circle to keep near William. Suddenly, another flying-machine flew over William. It fired at the machine in the red. The machine in the red fell out of the sky and, with a loud crashing noise, hit the part of the trench that William had been seconds earlier. William peeked over the wall of the trench. Beyond the wreckage of the flying-machine a group of German soldiers walked towards the trench. William ducked back under the cover of the trench before the platoon saw him. He knew that the Germans would soon spot him and attack. It was very rare for men to be taken prisoner, but it was becoming more common as the German army advanced further into areas of France that they didn’t know of. William had two choices. He could surrender and hope that the Hun took him as a prisoner or he could stand and fight with his pistol. William decided that he would have a better chance of survival if he surrendered. William searched the trench for a piece of white cloth. He found a handkerchief under a rock near the toilet. William waved this over the wall of the trench. He heard footsteps as the men ran towards him. A German soldier jumped down into the trench. He looked surprised to see William. He pointed at William and gestured for him to kneel. William did as the man said. It was pointless to resist.
About a minute after William had been ordered to sit by the German soldier, the rest of the German troops arrived at the trench. They were wearing the German uniform of a helmet with a spike on the top, an armband with a swastika and a navy-blue suit. They talked amongst themselves for a while before gesturing for William to stand. “You speak Gerrrman?” asked one of the men. “Yes” said William (speaking in German). “Good” said the man “you are now our prisoner” and, with that, he told William to climb over the wall of the trench.
William was forced to walk all the way to the German’s most backward trench. He was jeered at by German troops and often fell. When he arrived at the German’s trench, he was sent into a room similar to a dugout but with bars where the door should have been. In it was an old man. He had grey hair and darting eyes. He was thin and malnourished. He looked at William. His eyes were brown and his hair was short and grey. His face lit up when he saw William. “I never thought that I’d see another on of our boys again” said the man “They took the last of my platoon away to be executed a week ago. Is your platoon on it’s way?”. William decided that it would be better for the man not to know that no help would ever reach them. He paced around the small, dirty cell before sitting in the dirt. He was sitting on something hard. He turned around to see a lighter lying half-buried under the dirt. It was an English lighter, and had F.S inscribed onto the metal at the top. Suddenly, William had an idea. Taking some of the rags that littered the floor of the cell, he set them on fire with his lighter. The cloth let off a lot of smoke… which was what William had wanted. William crept into a corner and pretended to sleep. Soon, a soldier ran up to the bars of the cell. He stuck his head through the bars and looked inside the small, stinking room. He saw the heap of burning rags. He hastily fumbled with his keys before opening the bars of the cell and dashing in. William saw his chance to escape. Putting all his strength in his left arm, he jumped up from the corner and punched the man in the face. The soldier crumpled and fell to the ground. He was knocked out. William woke up the old man with the grey hair and helped him up.
“We’re going to escape. Be quiet and follow me.” whispered William.
The German trench was very similar to the English one. Rats crawled in the filth on the ground and terrible odours drifted from the buckets allocated as toilets. William and the grey haired man crept along the trench. William knew that the chances of him and the man escaping were slim to nil.
William and the man moved through the trench until he came to a spot where the barbed wire was degraded and rusting. William kicked at the wire to separate it before leading the man over the wall of the trench and into the freezing, corpse strewn landscape that was no-mans-land. William hoped that he would have enough time to escape before the Hun found out that the prisoners had escaped and attempted to capture them.
