Thank you very much for the review and suggestions, its all very helpful!
Criticism / Trench Warfare
September 4th 1915
Dear Diary,
4:00pm
After hours of ceaseless marching we’ve finally nearly arrived at our destination. We’ve just gotten on the train. Apart from it being unsanitary, it’s overcrowded as well, but that can’t be helped and we’ll be there soon.
The base camp in Etaples was pretty hard going, but our regiment pulled through. We just kept the exciting thought of being in the front-line in our minds and we managed to forget how difficult the training was. I’m sure it won’t be as terrible as the officers that lectured us made it out to be.
They told us about their experiences in the trenches. We think they were exaggerating to make life seem better once we’re there. They said that shells were constantly being fired at them, that the trenches were infested with rats and lice, that the enemy had tried to suffocate them with poisonous gases and that many men had perished, not only in battle, but because of punishment by their superiors. It sounds so awful that it can’t be true. Their lectures came across almost like horror stories. No place could be so terrifying and no person could ever do the things they told us they did.
They’ve given us our equipment. Someone in my regiment complained that it was heavy (which, to be quite honest, it is) and got off to a bad start with one of the officers. Now word will be passed on that he is a disobedient soldier, something that no-one wants when they’ve just started their life in the trenches. I can see what he meant about the equipment though. We have a rifle, two mills grenades, 220 rounds of ammunition, a steel helmet, some wire cutters, an entrenching tool, a coat, two sandbags, some rolled ground sheet, a water bottle, a haversack, a mess tin, a towel, a shaving kit, a pair of extra socks, a message book and some preserved food rations. It seems like more now that I can see it written down on paper.
I’m sure that some of the “men” in my regiment are underage. One of them claims he is 19 (the minimum age, my age) but he looks about 14. I guess I can understand why he would want to join the front-line. Probably for the same reasons as me: honour, exhilaration and the fact that those who fight in the army are considered to be very courageous. My country needs me. Well, that’s what I’ve been told in any case.
7:36pm
We made it! We were put straight into the front-line trench where we were silently and rather unenergetically greeted by our fellow soldiers. We were told not to talk, or at least to whisper quietly.
I haven’t been given anything to do as of yet so I have plenty of time to write. The trenches are narrow, about 6 feet wide, and quite dark. Planks of wood, called duck-boards, have been placed on the ground. I suppose this is to prevent us from having to walk in the dirt and mud. I can’t have a proper look at the top part of the trench because, as our officer told us: “Raise you head above trench level and people will start to think you’re suicidal. You know what happens to those people don’t you?”. He said all this with a malevolent smirk on his face. We knew very well what he was talking about. One of the officers at the base camp told us that his friend had purposefully hurt himself when he could stand life in the trenches no longer. They call it “self-inflicted harm”. Probably because they don’t like the sound of “attempted suicide”. But we don’t think that’s true either. Life here doesn’t seem so unbearable that it could push someone to commit suicide, and even if it could, that person would have to be pretty weak-minded and cowardly. If they didn’t want to live in the trenches then why did they join the army?
From what I can see from down here, there’s some barbed wire protecting the front of the trench and there are loads of sandbags as well. There’s a fire step built into the trench’s wall so that snipers can see over the edge of the trench into No-Man’s Land and try to pick off any soldiers that show themselves.
The trench is not a straight line. It’s been dug in a zigzag shape. I’ve been told that this is to prevent mass death in the event of a raid. I hope I get to take part in a raid soon! Or at least that I get given something to do. I’m not specially trained to be a sniper, but I’d like to try it. Or maybe I could work in a listening post (these can be found at the end of a sap that runs out at a right-angle from the trench), I have good hearing.
I’ve learnt how to use a rifle, but I’ve never used it in battle and I simply can’t wait until I get a chance to prove myself.
All the men that I’ve seen so far have this subdued look about them. They seem so miserable and I can’t for the life of me understand why. This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me!
Above all other things, what surprises me the most is how they’re all so old.
7:50pm
I’ve just had a whispered conversation with one of the soldiers stationed here. He said he’s only 20 years old, but he seems much older to me. He told me a horrific story about how he’d been ordered to clear the trenches before the arrival of my regiment and how he’d had to bury corpses and lost limbs that had started to pile up following a shell attack. I still don’t believe it. He was just trying to frighten me…
He just wants to make me embarrass myself in front of my superiors… to make him seem more accomplished. Yes, that must be it.
His name is Frank. He told me that every day seems to last a lifetime. I don’t know what he’s complaining about, he’s only been in the trenches for a few months. I wish I could have started earlier!
“Nevermind” I said to him, “It’ll all be over by Christmas.”.
October 1st 1915
Dear Diary,
2:00pm
Forgive me, I haven’t been able to write in a long time.
I really shouldn’t be writing now, this is my time for sleeping, but I need to write about everything that has happened. I fear that if I don’t then the horrors of the past month will be forgotten. If I too am killed then these memories will be buried with me.
Where to start? How can all that I’ve experienced be put into words? Words are so meaningless. Simply a bunch of lines on paper.
The very next day, after I arrived, our trench was attacked by shells from the enemy trench, just like Frank said it would be. It was completely unexpected. Our regiment had just sat down, leaning our backs against the filthy, muddy parapet. Suddenly we heard a whistling sound as a hand grenade flew through the air and landed on the duck-board with a thud. Surprisingly, it didn’t burst into hundreds of pieces of shrapnel and we all sat there, confused.
I heard someone mutter: “A dud?”. For all we knew, it could have been.
No, I lied. Not all of us remained seated when the grenade landed. Guy, the “man” who I thought looked about 14, stood up and walked forward tentatively. The grenade was on the other side of the trench and we were crushed against the wall, trying to stay as far away as possible. But not Guy. He kept on walking. We couldn’t shout out and tell him to come back, because then the enemy would know we were there and would then try and throw more grenades into the trench. Usually they missed by about 2 metres and ended up creating craters in front of the barbed wire, but not this time.
Guy was still walking and all we could do was watch. He reached forward and touched the grenade. We all gasped and put our arms over our heads but still, nothing happened. I peered through the gap in between my arms and saw Guy pick it up. The fool. The second his quivering hands got hold of it, a deafening explosion and cry of terror was heard throughout the nearby trenches.
“Always the young ones…” I heard Frank whisper under his breath whilst shaking his head.
Luckily, the rest of us were unharmed.
But it doesn’t end there. The officers at the base camps had been completely truthful in telling their stories. There are rats here, but they can hardly be called rats! They’re colossal beings, almost as big as cats. The lice are awful too. Everyone scratches their heads non-stop. I was lucky not to get them for a week after I arrived, but then my luck ran out. We’ve been trained to get rid of them. I tried using fire to drive them away but ended up setting fire to my coat and had to cover it in muddy water to save it.
I’ve just looked back on my previous diary entry. How could I have wanted to go on a raid? I’ve been on two since I got here and they were possibly the worst things I’ve had to go through in my life.
To be honest, the first one wasn’t very eventful, but it was petrifying all the same. We went over sand bags, crept over the barbed wire (managing to avoid any injuries), then we lay flat on our stomachs and edged our way forward. We didn’t get very far before the enemy noticed us and threw a grenade near us, only narrowly missing one of our own. We got back alright.
The second time was far worse. It all started to go wrong when we reached the barbed wire. One of our men got caught on it and I started to go back so that I could help him, then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Frank, silently reminding me that I was not allowed to help others, and that I must remain with the group even if one of our soldiers was in need of aid. It pained me to see him there, struggling, wanting to cry out in pain as the harsh wire tore a deep cut in his calf.
I looked away and didn’t dare glance back.
We kept on crawling, breathing shallowly. It was late at night. Our faces were covered in grease and we were caked in mud from laying on the churned up earth. We could only see a few feet in front of our faces. Then I felt a sharp pain in my right forearm. How strange. I could just about make out the shape of a rifle on the floor. I had crawled straight into its bayonet. Thankfully it had only scraped me, but had I been a few centimetres to my right, it could really have injured me.
I looked up and my heart skipped a beat. A face. An unfamiliar face. Our worst fears had become a reality. The Germans had planned a raid on the same night as us and we had met up halfway across No-Man’s Land. He was about one foot in front of me and I could see him quite clearly. He said nothing, and neither did the rest of his group, because we wouldn’t have understood, but his eyes said enough.
He was directly in front of me. It was my job to take him out. I’d dreamt of this chance to prove myself for so long but now that it was here, I hesitated. I suddenly realised how the Germans are all humans. I know that that sounds bizarre, but it finally hit me. They were all living, breathing humans just like us, who didn’t want to be killed. They were all senseless young men who didn’t really know what they had gotten themselves into. They were just beginning to understand the true horrors of war, as was I.
I looked at him, and he stared back. In a split second, hundreds of thoughts flashed in my mind. Mainly, I was thinking that I couldn’t kill another man. We’re all the same, but we just happen to speak different languages and fight for different sides. This is due to which side we’re born into, not which side we choose to fight for. We’re all just being used as pawns in this enormous game of chess that we call “war”.
He started to move. He obviously wasn’t prepared to negotiate: every man for himself. I didn’t need to think twice. It was kill or be killed. I had made my choice. I picked up my rifle but I did not shoot it, I just hit my foe over the head to knock him unconscious. In the end, I couldn’t kill him in cold blood.
The others didn’t seem to have a problem though, they shot the Germans in front of them without hesitation.
We decided that it was too dangerous to advance so we turned back and climbed into the trenches where we would be safe. Well, safer.
Frank was looking at me. He had obviously seen me fail to kill that German, our enemy. For some reason, he didn’t turn me in. He told no-one of what he had seen me do. Perhaps this was because I was the closest thing he had to a friend in the trench. Or maybe he was thinking exactly what I was thinking.
We’re all people.
Every single one of those men that were shot were parents’ sons, children’s fathers, women’s husbands and sweethearts. Those parents, children and women would never see their loved ones again. All this because of war.
Now that I think of it, what are we fighting for? For our country? For our families? Or are we just fighting for two powerful groups that dislike each other? They aren’t in any danger. We’re the ones out here in this filth, in these revolting trenches which are barely inhabitable and which carry diseases, fighting for our lives, for our “masters”.
We’re just pawns. They’re the chess players.
3:30pm
I fell asleep. I’m back on duty in half an hour.
I’m exhausted. I’m so tired now that I’m running on pure adrenaline. Thinking of going home is what keeps me going. Seeing mother who wisely warned me not to go to war will be difficult. I’ll tell her how right she was.
I now know why I thought all the soldiers I saw when I arrived looked old. This place, this enclosed space, this feeling of impending doom, this exhaustion… it’s enough to make anyone feel like they’re ageing ten times faster. I’d hate to see my reflection in a mirror.
I haven’t seen my feet in so long. In a way, I’m glad I haven’t taken my boots off. If I do, then rats will probably attack my feet while I sleep. They’re extremely vicious and bold, they even try to take food from living people‘s pockets now. I’ve seen one crawl out of a dead man’s mouth, something I do not wish to see again. The most chilling thing is that they tend to go for a corpse’s eyes first. Repulsive creatures.
But enough of that. We’ll be home soon, that’s what the officers said:
“Home in time for Christmas.”.
I do hope they were right.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
Catastrophe reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This 152 word review has not been unlocked.
VoidSucker reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This 426 word review has not been unlocked.
alicia11993 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Okay, to first let you be aware, I am not a publisher, I”m mearley a 14 year old kid who needed the credits but don’t let that discourage this review.
at first glance, i noticed the endless lines of literature. i had second thoughts but something told me to take a peek. when i got to the middle i had to get a bowl of ice cream because this was getting good (and it’s the morning, i just woke up) i dashed back to the computer and continued the decent of your story.
the only thing i disliked was the ending, it stopped to suddently, like with a hult. but other than that, the details were fantastic! i felt as if i was in there. i thought “oh shit!” when he ran into the german, i was so into it.
i understand your point about war, too many kids go out trying to be hero’s and they usually don’t make it back. sometimes it’s nessicary, but other times it’s absurd.
this is a great story, and i hope to stumble upon more of your work. who knows, maybe i’ll just take another peek.
take care
-alicia
- add/view comments (1)
lnhlnhthewriter reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I think it could definitely be used in a book as an inclusion from someone’s journal, but standing alone it needs some work. As it’s a journal entry, it’s hard to understand the surroundings and whats going on, but I believe you’ve done very well. Keeping working, you’ve definitely got the start of something.
blimprue reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I thought this was very good, and had excellent historical details concerning trench design and equipment, as well as battle conditions over a harsh landscape infested with vermin…
One thing I wanted to ask: given the narrators highly moral attitude, did you absorb this bent from WW1 letters you have read, or is this mainly the injection of your own moral beliefs into the fray?
Seems to me this could be expanded slightly and made into a short story.
thanks for the good read
AmyWalker reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
You and I have something in common, and that is the pain seeing lives been lost at war for no reason at all, I mean youve done the research and everything as have I, and history for me is a very sensitive but crucial subject in my writing because it based on true events, sad events but true.
And this piece was spoked like a true soldier, even a man who isn’t a soldier but a photographer who sees and hears everything as well, despite that he isn’t holding a rifle but anyways this piece is well written, and they wonder why we post war poems or short stories in the Criticism category war is criticism within itself really but alot of people on here don’t see it like that, there has to be a logical explaination for everything, nothing is logical or trivial as they in this area.I liked this piece and I respect this piece so much you have no idea. I too write alot of war short stories or poems just to express and release anger and sadness b\c of the lives that have been taken.But keep writing, its writing like these that have meaning to it.
Keep up the good work
Amy
Jeremyrg reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I love how you display naive behavior…This story seems so realistic…War is a tough subject for me as well…As I read this I felt on the verge of tears…No offense, but when have you ever heard a story where a soldier had enough time to stare at a soldier and more time still to think, pick up his rifle, and hit his enemy on the head? Just a thought…I love how “you” come to realize that we are all humans…We get into huge skirmishes just because we have different culture and belief…Wow…this is an amazing work…I am astonished that someone can go into such great detail of something that they have no real experience of…I hope you can make something more of this…It would be cool to see this turned into a book…Thanks again…
Jeremy
catherinespark reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This is a prose piece, and as such belongs in that category, however now that I’ve stopped by I should say that I find your passion for WWII quite genuine and that your anger has been successfully transferred into a thought-provoking piece. A friend of mine was studying WWII and I can see similarities in this piece to hism esp. with the emphasis on family being torn apart in the war and the importance we suddenly place on everyone in our family. People brought together through the shared tragedy.
Nicely done.
Laura
Actor_Writer reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I love it! It’s really fantastic. I don’t know where you reside from but fif you are in the U.S. – I strongly suggest that if you are ever in the Kansas City Area, you should stop by the WWI museum. it is the only museum strictly abou WWI in the country. It shows life size trenches and is a very moving place. You would love it. While reading this story I feel as if you are really there in those trenches. Like maybe you are really writing in your journal. This story makes me believe I am in the trench too. And I see how horrible it is.
Showing 1 - 9 of 9
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
9 Reviews 6 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: 10 months ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 151 Times
Skipped: 4 Times
Ratings & Rankings
