Diary of a soldier...
Through streets lined with flags and bunting we'd marched, straight and proud, but unable to wipe the broad smiles and excited eyes that beamed from beneath our slouch hats. The rapport of our booted feet rang on the pavement, almost drowned out by the sounds of cheering, laughter and shouts of give 'em hell digger! It seemed the entire population had come to send us off.
It's August 16th 1916 and we're bound for the Western Front in France, and the biggest adventure of our lives.
We mustered on the wharf for one last roll-call and then boarded the liner, now troop ship that will steam us to war. Dropping our gear we climbed to whatever vantage point we could find to wave and holler at the crowd gathered on the wharf; Streamers flew even as tears streamed down the faces of those waving their men goodbye.
The transport sliced its way to Sydney Heads and out into the open sea; Melbourne, Adelaide then west to Fremantle additional troops boarding at each port, two thousand in all.
I'm Private William Bluey Wilson aged 17 years and 9 months old. They called me Bluey on account of my bright blue eyes...It wasn't a very imaginative nickname, but it worked - Just another Australian volunteer off to fight the Germans on the Western Front.
I'd lied about my age...I wasn't about to miss this adventure! I think the recruiting Sergeant knew; He'd thrown me a wink and said, you'll do, before landing an ENLIST stamp heavily on my papers.
Twelve thousand miles later I was on board another troop ship and this time there were no shouting crowds, no streamers. I sat quietly on the bow watching the white cliffs of Dover disappearing from view as we steamed across the English Channel to France; To war. The sense of adventure had given way to dark foreboding, bravado or forced people to retreat within themselves.
We slushed mile after mile in sticky mud, sometimes almost mid-thigh deep; Not a few had pulled out a leg only to find their boot remained stuck down in the mud. Poor bastard, I thought every time hoping it wouldn't happen to me.
We were moving up to the front and all around was a nightmare scene of mud, dead men, shell-craters, barbed wire and trench-systems. The air screamed above, shells bursting everywhere, hot shrapnel zipping and zingging around us; The constant sounds of artillery fire and counter fire boom all around.
My ears pricked up, this one sounds different I thought, and the air seemed to rush around us - An approaching shell! We fall flat, faces buried in the mud, hands held protectively over our heads and...
...Flame and phosphorous fumes spouted everywhere as the shell exploded, mud showered down, splattering us and not a few wonder if it's shrapnel they're feeling as the pieces of shell zing in all directions.
I heard sobbing up ahead of me, a man whimpered; Panting, sobbing in gasps. I look over even as I struggled to my feet and see him look down with wide eyes at his stomach...He half turned his head to me, eyes imploring to me and then...Nothing. Hands that clutched at his stomach, trying to hold his innards in, fell still...An Aussie lad that will never feel the warmth of the sun, hear the call of the kookaburra or taste of his mother's pumpkin scones again.
Part of me wondered when I'd become so immune and callous towards death then I trudged past the man knowing the mud, birds and rats would claim him.
We settled into our new home, a muddy trench 150 yards from the enemy, as the Corporal barked orders and the previous unit cleared out. Good luck cobber, they said, give those bastards hell and keep ya bloody heads down, they said...No shit, I thought.
Just as I was settling down, arranging my blanket over my head to keep some of the cold rain off me the Hun opened up with their Maschinengewehr 08's, their MG 08 machine guns, firing at the retreating element. I heard some faint screaming...Seems they'd found a mark.
I was dog tired and tomorrow we were going over the top and at the enemy on some ill-conceived stunt devised by the brass; I slept like the dead, despite the shells, the MG 08 fire, rifle pops, incessant rain and a bloody rat gnawing at my boot.
The soldier lay still, right side submerged in the slimy mud that half-filled the shell hole. His rifle was clutched in his hand, no rounds fired yet. He lay as if in wait, one leg seemingly poised to push off and propel him into battle. But the soldier lay still.
Shells screamed overhead lighting the night as they exploded, machine gun fire and tracer bullets zipped back and forth filling the air with deadly lead, men screamed, moaned, shouted and wailed all around but the soldier lay still.
Just then another soldier took a headlong dive into the crater landing right beside the soldier. He'd jumped in to avoid a shell burst and as it exploded just over the lip of the crater it lit the sky...He was face to face with the still soldier, half submerged and was shocked to see a clear blue eye staring right at him in the light...The brightest blue eye he'd ever seen...But it stared blankly, unseeing.
The soldier reached out and almost tenderly pushed the eye lid closed, pulled the boy out of the mud and propped him against the side of the crater...He snapped off his dog-tag, muttered some words then rifled through his pockets seeking the letter home that most of them wrote for this eventuality...He found it and a small diary...Pocketing both he gathered himself, slithered up and over the crater lip and left the blue eyed boy behind.
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised.
Be well
Discord: galenkp#9209
This fictional piece was pre-planned then written in just over ten minutes, with loads of errors and typos. I've corrected it, proofed it and posted it as a #tenminutethrowdown piece. The prompt word was: Blue.
If you want to see my others see below. 👇
Refrigerator door
Bubble
The bump
The spoon
Images taken by me: Australian War Memorial, Villers-Bretonneux, France.
