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Finally we got a well deserved break from what seemed like our endless marching

Extracts from this document...

Introduction

Personal fiction - War Story Finally we got a well deserved break from what seemed like our endless marching. As we stopped pain shot up my left leg like a bullet. I looked automatically to my right. Nobody was there. My best friend Simon would usually stand there, as he had in the war before, I could imagine the grin on his face. The images of all those years ago started to play in my mind... It began when we were assembled in the safety of the trench. Then we heard those dreaded words that can make a man throw up with fear for his life. "Go! Over the top men, go!" I froze, not breathing, not even blinking I was paralysed, standing there motionless, my legs as solid as metal prison bars. I was shaken back to consciousness by Simon saying in a remarkably normal voice for he was one of those unique people that just dealt with life as it came. ...read more.

Middle

I was a sitting duck for the German machine gunners. Then, turning my head again I saw Simon dive to my aid. He did not utter a single word but just gave a faint grin then promptly looked down at my leg and set to work. He freed me and with a little help I made it to the safety of the next shell hole. I owed him my life. Simon refused to stop. He climbed up again to help the others. I tried to tug him back but my efforts were worthless; seen as I was wounded. Gun shots and shell fire pounded my ears like a right hand from a heavy weight boxer. I will never forget the next sound I heard. I knew it was the end so I looked up at the morning sun and prayed towards the heavens. I could hear the screams penetrating throughout my mind. ...read more.

Conclusion

It just doesn't make sense! Looking around I can see the lads looking exhausted, both mentally and physically, leaning on each other, smoking, fiddling with their rifles or their sweaty leather boots. I could see the horror in their eyes. They seemed extremely nervous. I could smell the sweat of the khakied bodies. Once again, my mind flashed back to 1915... The other soldiers with horror in their eyes, their battered and broken bodies. The man (men) who had lost his sight, the one whose face was covered in 'gas' boils, the missing limbs and ears, my bad leg seemed nothing in comparison. I felt sick. Suddenly the clock on the church tower struck, followed shortly by the shout of the sergeant. We all lined up and started to march off. My leg began to ache and pain after ever stamp of my boot. The drumming of the soldier's march eventually drowned out the sound of the children playing as we strode into the distance. N.B some inspiration taken from 'Route March Rest' by... ?? ?? ?? ?? By Chris Davies ...read more.

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