Fighting in the war came with its own kind of silence. It's not the regular peaceful silence in the countryside on a Saturday morning. This was different. A cold kind of silence pressed hard against the chest, the only thing capable of breaking it is the sound of bullets flying past or the distant groan of artillery.
In that depressing silence that day, boredom grew amongst us like weeds. It wrapped around us, choking whatever courage we had left.
I watched as Private Thomas sat with his back to the mud walls tracing circles with the muzzle of his gun. He was only nineteen years old. The youngest amongst us. But weeks in the forefront of the battle have carved extra years to his face.
“This is worse than the fighting,” he muttered.
"What?" I asked.
"Boredom. No action." He answered.
"Hmmm."
“This is a more painful way to die. Feels like rotting away in boredom. At least during a charge you know what you’re dying for. I swear, if something doesn’t happen soon, I’ll march over to the Germans and ask them to shoot me quickly.” It was Eliot, the joker of our unit, who slapped a huge mosquito off his hand. His face told no joy.
Sergeant Miller, who we thought was sleeping, opened his eyes and looked at Elliot as if he could see his soul. “Shhh! Fates listens. Don’t tempt it, Eliot.”
I looked around at the depressing faces before me. I knew Thomas wasn't lying. The boredom was killing us faster than the bullets would have done. Although Elliot pretended not to see it, I knew he felt it too.
For days we've been hiding in the shadows. Waiting for a command from our superiors back home. A command to attack. It was beginning to feel like an endless wait.
Suddenly Elliott jumped to his feet. We all looked at him with questions in our eyes. Then he began strutting along a plank of wood that ran across the trench.
"Gentlemen, I present to you the war's very first Trench Fashion Show,” he said.
Immediately we all sat up. His actions drew laughter amongst us. The first we've heard in weeks.
"Presenting! The latest in mud-stained couture!” he announced, tipping his helmet like a crown.
Thomas and Elliot got up. They threw their raincoats around them like it was a cape and strutted down the trench path with Miller like proud models, laughing and being happy. Soon, other soldiers were joining us, and the trench became a mini theatre. We clapped, whistled, and cheered as each soldier made an entry into the walkway. And for a moment, depressed moods and fear of a depressing death disappeared.
Then the shells came.
The first one landed so close to us that it shook the ground beneath us. Eliot froze mid-pose, as if he were trying to understand what had happened. The second shell flew overhead sending everyone into chaos and frenzy.
“Down!” Sergeant Miller roared, shoving Thomas into the mud.
The plank that had been our runway cracked in half as dirt rained on us. We all rushed for our rifles, slipping our bodies on the same mud we had just strutted upon. Muds flew in the air, roars of commands, and a whole lot of running back to our rightful positions.
My eyes caught Elliott, he had taken a hit in the leg. There was already a crimson river flowing fast through his trousers. Still, he smiled at me. Then he held onto Thomas’s arm.
“Now this is some action, eh?” he said, his voice strained but steady. He swallowed hard. One could tell he was in severe pain.
“Hold on, Eliot,” Thomas begged, trying to drag him toward cover.
The more we fought back the more the enemies closed in on us. Our fashion show must have revealed our location. I reached for the radio and radioed back to our command headquarters. But the signals weren't friendly.
I lay there with my rifle in hand. Returning fire at the enemies at the same time turning back to see Thomas applying pressure on Elliott's wounds and fighting to keep him alive.
I could hear Miller yelling out commands. "Hold the line. Advance on my mark..... Medic! Get over here! "
But the shells kept raining, each one closer than the last.
Through it all, Eliot kept talking. “Don't forget to tell them back home how I was magnificent on the runway,” he whispered, his lips trembling but smiling. “Tell them I didn't die a coward."
Another shell landed louder than thunder, drowning his words. Ringing in our ears. Sending us into disarray. I could hear Miller now shouting
"Fall back! Retreat!"
Suddenly, the attack stopped. Heavy silence returned in our camp. Only the aftermath of the battle was left. Heavy smoke rising in the distance. The trench, which was formerly our runway, was now filled with the ruins of war.
I turned again to see Thomas standing over Elliott with his rifle in his hands. Elliot lay on the mud lifeless. His face was pale and empty. I struggled to fight the tears building in my eyes.
We looked at ourselves with eyes that had so much to say. Words heavy to speak. We had let our boredom make us play a foolish game that left us fighting for our lives and losing a brother.
