You are with Me

"....Good luck men. We are advancing for our country and king. Our position looks hopeful at the moment. May God protect you. To your trench immediately. Dismissed."

All present saluted.

The soldier left and walked towards the front-line trench where his squadron was assigned.

Another volley of mortars went off from behind him. They were aimed at the Germans front-line, softening them in preparation for the imminent advance. He didn't even notice. Months of exposure to this noise had made him immune to the threat. He wiped a spot of mud from his rifle, full-knowing it would only become soiled in a few more minutes in the trench.

He reached his trench and sat down on the seat he had carved from the wall of the trench during the hours of boredom that he had experienced in his trench. With his body entombed in the wall of the trench he felt safe. He knew he wasn't but the felling of being hidden made him feel protected. He looked over the wall of the trench, hiding behind the battlements. He'd had the same view for the last eight weeks. He knew it by memory now.

He placed his Lee Enfield rifle next to him, it's stock being placed on the floor and it's muzzle resting on the wall of the trench. He took care to avoid mud entering the barrel by resting the barrel on a plank of wood also resting upright on the trench wall.

The planks of wood had been provided to make walkways to rest on the mud of the trench. They had soon been ditched after it was realised that wood was worse than mud when it got wet.

Another battle the soldier fought was the battle against lice. They, like mud, could also get anywhere.

An aeroplane droned past reminding him that the advance would soon be taking part.

A man further down the trench was reading his Bible. He was moving his lips slowly. So slowly.

The soldier pulled out his pocket book to find his fragment of the Bible that contained Psalm 23.He flicked through the bits of paper he collected along the way. He fumbled and a small square of battered paper fluttered to the ground and landed face up in the mud. It was a photograph. His photograph. The only one he had of them. It was a picture of his wife and daughter. He hadn't seen them for 3 years. He wouldn't even recognize his daughter now. She had been 2 years old when he left. How old when he returned? If he returned. He stroked the paper lovingly.

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. It was an orderly.

"Major wants you to know that the action begins within the next 15 minutes."

He nodded. The orderly moved on.

He could hear the orderly moving down the trench, conveying his message to everyone he passed.

He kissed his photograph and placed it reverently into his pocket book. Searching deeper into his pocket book he found his scrap of the Bible.

The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want...

Two officers moved past discussing somebody.

"Yes, he fought well in our last defence...."

Who were they talking about? Him? After all that's all he was. A "he" in an army of "hims". And the enemy? They were just "them". He didn't really hate "them" it was their leaders he hated. Their Generals, their commanders.

He makes me lie down in green pastures...

He was nervous now. Very nervous. 3 years of fighting and warfare hadn't dulled his senses. He hadn't got shell shock. Not that. That was the worst. A soldier in his attachment had had that and was so far-gone he shot himself. He lay down in the trench, placed the muzzle of his Lee Enfield to his head and pressed the trigger with his bare big toe. That's how they found him. Lying in the trench, the mangled remains of his head fallen forward onto his chest and his right foot bare. Even the thought of it nauseated him. He shuddered and read on.

He leads me beside the still waters...

Suddenly he noticed the artillery were stepping up the firing for one last shelling.

The orderly rushed past.

"Attack as soon as the shelling stops."

He restores my soul...

Again he heard the message repeated down the line.

He was sweating, breathing hard. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the piece of paper bearing those all-familiar words. He picked up his rifle and his left hand moved slowly down the barrel. When he reached the safety catch he stopped. He slowly moved. The catch slid too with a well oiled noise.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death....

The noise became unbearable. He wanted to get away. He was tensed, shaking from the effort.

The guns stopped.

I will fear no evil....

He waited for a moment to make sure and said a quick prayer.

For You are with me....

He left the trench.

When they found him, he was still clutching the piece of paper. He was taken to the field hospital immediately to have the remains of his leg amputated. Even then they could not prize the paper from his hand and it stayed there through his operation. He lived.