Random Writings - Blog Post #14

As I wait for my editors to churn through all the rewrites (They're doing great! PM me if you want to help or get a sneak peek!), I find myself revisiting old writings of mine.

Some, I've posted. The Girl I Left Behind Me and She Wore A Yellow Ribbon for example. I've been replaying the events in my head and, painfully so, it makes me want to rewrite it (for a second time) which wouldn't be super great, nor a great use of my time. Though I will say, I occasionally do get the notification that somebody's added it to a bookshelf (I do have those turned on, by the way. Every follow, comment, or adding public bookshelf, I get a notification for.) That's a bit of a nice surprise. That, and The Little Things. I'd like to rewrite TGILBM and SWAYR because when they first came out, I was barely figuring out how to write. When I rewrote them, I was figuring out how to write seriously and more long-form. I feel like now I'm at the point that I can write much better, and I look at that old thing and I just really want to mess with it again. Maybe I should just let old dogs lie.

A lot of my other miscellaneous writings I've been messing with have been ideas for stories whose topics are nothing new, nor something I'm sure people would want to read. I'd like to think so if I wrote it well, but the topic is certainly not revolutionary. Pony on Earth is one and a more traditional Human on Earth story, but hopefully with another little twist like Textbook Soldier.

Lastly, there's my non-pony stuff. Or at least, what I'm calling my "Scraps." These are small little things I've started writing and haven't gotten very far with. These are things that spawn stories eventually, but with Textbook Soldier taking up a lot of my efforts, I haven't gotten very far on any of them. So, I'm posting the one I'm most proud of here. This may become a story at some point, but I don't know yet.

I'll post it below here, just in case you don't want to read it. I'll keep y'all updated on the rewrites, and I'll see y'all soon!

Scrap:

“Last calls! Check your gear now if you haven’t already!” The lieutenant shouted over the booming artillery, “We’re going over in five minutes! Get lined up at the ladder if you’ve already been cleared!”

A sergeant stepped up to a ladder leaning against the wall of the trench, climbing onto the lowest rung. He turned around, watching as the rest of the men fell in line behind the ladders up and down the trenches. Several of the younger-looking privates looked up at him. He could see the fear in their eyes. A few flinched back as a shell hit particularly close to their line. The sergeant glanced up, watch a lantern fall off the nail it hung from.

After a pause, the sergeant faced forward, staring into the wooden walls of the trench. His eyes followed the ladder up. The trench system was deep, almost twelve feet high. The overcast sky hung over their heads.

He listened as the thunder of artillery died down, slowly becoming nothing more than a distant rumble from somewhere further down the line. His breathing slowed, mentally preparing what was coming next.

Somewhere over the parapets, Germans were barking orders. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, and he didn’t care. They were the enemy, after all.

A man behind him was muttering something. A prayer, from what he could tell. A good call, but the sergeant had already made his peace with the Lord. What came next would be left to him, not the hand of God.

A distant boom rattled a lantern.

Another boom shook the parapets. A shovel clattered to the ground.

Boom. The ladder rocked beneath him.

Boom. The final explosion thundered across the hills, slowly fading into the distance.

The silence, to the Sergeant, was more deafening than any shell ever devised. He could hear the breathing of the young men behind him. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and the clang of his men’s equipment enveloped his hearing.

A shrill whistle pierced the air.

He let out a guttural cry, and the men around him echoed it. The sergeant all but threw himself up the ladder and jumped out of the trenches. The studded soles of his scuffed boots scraped over loose rocks and splintered planks, and the similar sounds behind him assured the sergeant that he wasn’t alone.

He ran forwards, keeping low and clutching his rifle in his hand. He could see the Germans scrambling for their defenses. He looked over his shoulder. The rest of the men were right behind him, just a few paces back.

“Keep moving!” He screamed.

The rhythmic bark of a machine gun punched through the cacophony. There was no cover around, so he kept going. He brought up his rifle, leveling it at the German trenches, and fired. He couldn’t tell if he hit anyone, but it didn’t matter. He racked the bolt and fired again.

Soon, he came upon the German trenches. A soldier not too much younger than himself stared up at him. The sergeant leveled his bayonet towards him and let out another cry of anger.

He could tell right away that the bayonet had found its mark. A man’s body was quite heavy, after all, and the hilt of the blade hit the German’s chest hard. He stumbled but kept his footing. The German looked in his eyes. The sergeant saw a sickening mix of shock, terror, and pleading in the boy’s eyes.

No, not the boy. In the enemy’s eyes. That man was not like him. He was the enemy. They’d started the war. That’s why he was drafted. That’s why he was there with a group of strangers. To kill this man in front of him.

But isn’t that why he was here, too?

The sergeant grunted as he set his foot against the enemy’s chest, and pulled the blade out of his chest. For once, he was fortunate that his hearing was as far gone as it was. If it wasn’t, he’d have heard the unforgettable gurgle of a man dying. He stepped over the body, continuing to move forward. No time for that now. He was in the middle of a battle, after all.

With a grunt, he landed in the trenches. On his right, a young private landed next to him and fell forward. A German ran towards the two, his rifle raised at the private.

The sergeant raised his rifle and fired. The bullet tore clean through the German’s shoulder, causing him to stumble. The German dropped his rifle and it clattered to the ground. The bayonet was only a few inches from hitting the private. The private stared blankly in shock. The sergeant ran over and grabbed the strap of his pack.

“Get on your feet! Keep moving!” He screamed.

The boy stared up at him. His hands shook violently. The sergeant recognized him. He was a new replacement from Detroit. Barely old enough to enlist, probably.

“I said get on your feet, private!” The sergeant repeated.

The private nodded, and scrambled to stand up. He grabbed his rifle from where it lay on the ground next to him. The sergeant to the German he’d shot.

The German was on the ground, clutching his shoulder. He tried to drag himself away but wasn’t making much progress. The sergeant pointed his rifle at him, and the German immediately raised his hands.

“Bitte! Nicht schiessen! Bitte!”

A lump formed in the sergeant’s throat. He had to remind himself that this man was his enemy. They’d started the war.

“Bitte! Bitte!”

They were the enemy.

“Bitte…”

“Gas! Gas! Gas!”

The sergeant’s head snapped up. Sure enough, only a few yards down the line, a gas shell was spewing a toxic green cloud.

“Gas! Gas!” The sergeant repeated. “Gas!”

He dropped his rifle and threw his helmet off his head. He tore open the gas mask bag from where it hung on his chest and ripped out the mask.

“Bitte!”

The sergeant ignored the cries. They were the enemy, after all.

He stretched the straps over his head. He bit on the mouthpiece and made sure the nose clamps sat properly.

“Bitte! Ich kann meine Maske nicht erreichen!”

The sergeant scooped up his helmet, dropped it on his head, and then grabbed his rifle.

“Bitte!” The german coughed out.

The sergeant finally looked over. The German man was reaching feebly for a nearby tin. The sergeant didn’t speak German, but he could guess what the German had meant by “maske”. But he found himself frozen on the spot. They were the enemy… weren’t they? They were the bastards that launched the gas in the first place. Therefore, he had every right to sit there and die like a dog.

“Bit-” The German fell into a violent coughing fit, “Bitte!”

He was the enemy.

“…God damn it all.”

Enemy or not, he’d seen his own men die that way a dozen times. He didn’t want to see it again.

The Sergeant ran forward and grabbed the tin. He handed it to the German. The man’s eyes lit up like a flare in the night. He wasted no time as he flipped open the lid and pulled out the mask, quickly donning the apparatus.

Even With the mask on his face, the sergeant could still hear his muffled coughs. But they started to fade in violence and frequency. The German looked up at him, the soulless, haunting stare of a gas mask boring into the sergeant’s eyes.

“Vielen Dank!” The muffled voice rasped out.

The sergeant nodded silently.

He eventually tore his eyes from the German. There was still a battle to be won, and the German wasn’t his problem anymore. One of the sanitaries would get him after the battle, no doubt.

The sergeant moved on down the line, bayonet raised just in case. He turned down one of the many offshoots, ready to fire. Fortunately, there were no Germans. Instead, there was a group of Doughboys moving forward further down the line, clearing out the trenches as they went. He ran forward to meet them.

The private in the back must’ve heard his approach, and turned to face him. His voice, muffled by the gas mask, was barely audible over the sounds of battle.

“Sergeant-”

A biblical boom erupted next to the sergeant, causing the wooden walls of the trench to splinter and collapse. There was a muffled cry of alarm from the men in front of him. The sergeant didn’t even have time to react as a beam fell on his head, knocking him to the ground. The last thing he saw in his daze was a mountain of dirt and mud falling onto him, burying him alive.

I apologize if I bastardized the German language.