This war is corrupt and vile. It isn’t a war in which you die in honour for king and country it is a gruesome torture that you die embarked with fear and deceit.
It takes one distraught man to disobey his superior officer and ‘BANG’ a gun shot echo’s adrenaline throughout the trench followed by a heavy silence. The ruthless commander’s strut, bellies swollen with the finest French food and wine, boots polished brasses shining. Knowing only to well that their cosy bed is near.
As for us we sit here shivering in the bitter cold, the frost nipping and tearing through us making sleep almost impossible.
Dawn bleaks over the horizon as we stagger across a bed of well rotted corpse. Every capable man stands like a statue in line to be counted; an intense pain of hunger grows within us making it an effort to stand. Our past is drained, the present is luck and this savage life destines us to our doom!
The attack was set and we stood to fight and abominable chaos. Gradually I drew within a few feet of the line; a nauseating feeling was drowning my mind. I took a long and inescapable stride over the line of the line of innocence.
The battle had barely begun and for many it had already ended. The repulsive screams for mercy prick your mind almost sending you in sain. Over-raged by anger and fury we represent
Nothing but a shambled mess until, the words of victory vibrate around the battleground
The weak stairs from the dead are innocent and grim. The distressing identification of decapitated corpses was horrific. A lonely silence crept among the men as they cleared the battleground.
. The barren land was dead and hostile; we waded through heart and sole despairing. Scuffing our aching feet through the blistering dirt.