At the going down of the sun

“They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.”
- The Act of Remembrance

A/N: I make no claim that this is in any way historically accurate. I am also currently revising this, so will post an update soon.

The trench was full of orderly activity as the men prepared to leave. Machine gun posts were being dismantled, the door to the dugout was being cut away and all around soldiers were filling their packs with water bottles, mess tins, spare jackets, magazines, slings and ration boxes. A cart was being filled with the heavier equipment – a chunky field radio, sandbags, the ammunition crate. Corporal Thomas and his men were assembling in a side trench. He took a last head count, then gave the order to march off back to the reserve lines, where they would spend the night before returning home. Unexpectedly, Thomas’ radio buzzed. He had been summoned to the headquarters for a last minute briefing.

‘This is ridiculous! This mission is suicidal and you know it! You stand there and ask me to condemn myself and four others to death!’ he shouted at the captain.

‘Corporal Thomas, this mission comes straight from the top. You are here to serve your country and I am ordering you to obey. You will be shot for desertion if you refuse.’ came the biting reply.

‘I will be shot if I stay.’ growled Thomas through gritted teeth.

He clenched his jaw and took a step backwards.

‘When my mother asks you why your best friend didn’t return from France, I hope you have the courage to tell the truth.’ Thomas spat on the floor and thundered out.

Four hours later, the trench was silent. In front of him, two men manned a solitary machine gun post. Behind, two were sitting smoking, muttering discontentedly. The sun was red in the sky and Thomas knew it would not be long now. He ran his finger up and down the trigger guard on his Lee Enfield, lost in thought, trying to block out the feeling that he was going to die out here, trying to numb the guilt that he had condemned the four men around him to die too.

He cleared his throat. ‘ I know what you are thinking – that I am sitting here, waiting like an idiot for the Germans to come and destroy us. I know that. But we have to fight.’
The men on the gun turned around with a look of disgust. He continued.
‘What I mean is, we can’t escape now. If we’re going down, we sure as hell better take as many of those bastards as we can with us. We...’

He was interrupted. Green, one of the privates, had slammed into him, crushing him to the ground.
‘How can you stand there and say that!’ he shouted into his face.
He was beating him with his fists, his eyes frenzied with fire. He punched Thomas in the mouth, bloodied his nose and stamped on his chest. Then he collapsed and wept.

Thomas slowly picked himself up. He offered his hand to the young man and pulled him out of the mud, shoving the man’s rifle into his hand and gripping him by the shoulders. The frenzy in his eyes was gone. When his tears stopped, Thomas let him go.

‘Trust me.’ he whispered, and the boy nodded.

The trench was again silent, but Thomas saw that his men now had an air of determination. Green’s breakdown had filled them all with a strange courage. He knew they would fight for their country.

The first sight of the approaching force was a blur of blackness on the horizon, moving toward them like a tidal wave. All that lay between them was a few hundred metres of wasteland, littered with corpses. To their front, death from German bullets: to their rear, the firing squad for deserters.

The waves of Germans rolled closer, lapping at the edges of the frontline trenches that were abandoned at daybreak. From their concealed post, Thomas could see them loading their rifles as they marched forward. Maybe a hundred men in the reconnaissance party. If they fired too early, the Germans could retreat and send artillery, but too late, and they could overrun their post. Thomas waited for the moment. He shut his eyes and murmured a brief prayer. Then he gave the order.

The first spray of bullets shattered along the line of enemy and they fell like ragdolls into the mud. A few kilometres behind, the next wave began to pick up speed. The privates fired again and more Germans crumpled. Thomas himself picked out their captain with his rifle and shot him. No one had returned fire. On seeing this, he ordered the men to stop and only to fire in bursts so their position was not given away. He moved over next to Green and helped him reload his rifle, before crawling forward and targeting the enemy, who were firing frantically in their general direction.

Suddenly, he felt the fire concentrate and a rush of bullets punctured their position. His radio expert had been hit. Thomas checked his breathing but he was gone. One of the gunners stood up to see what had happened. A German round flattened into his skull and he tumbled forward into the trench, his blood pooling around him.

‘COME ON MEN!’ Thomas roared as he took the soldier’s place at the gun. There were only twenty or so Germans peppered about in front of them. ‘WE ARE GOING TO WIN THIS!’ He pulled Green closer to the gunner post so he could help him locate targets. The machine gun clattered away, spraying deadly lead over the wasteland. The final rays of the sun lingered angrily over the horizon.

Gradually, the German rounds stopped coming. Thomas told the gunner, Tripp, to cease fire. They took on some water and lay in silence. The three men resisted the urge to glance at the two bodies behind. They were all numb with war.

The next wave was less than a kilometre away when the dead man’s radio buzzed. Thomas ignored it. If headquarters wanted to wish him luck then they were much too late. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t in the British army any more. He was just a man with a gun. A killer.
The radio buzzed again impatiently.
‘Thomas. Come in. You are being extracted. Over.’
‘Extracted.’ repeated Tripp. ‘Did he say extracted?’
Thomas looked incredulously towards the radio. It continued.
‘An armoured vehicle will pick you up from the HQ on the reserve trench. Over and out.’
Shock rushed over him, then joy, then anger. Why now? Two men had died for nothing. He clenched his fisted and remembered the priority was to get to the HQ. Thomas was about to give the order to leave when fire thundered down.

The Germans were almost upon them. They had finally been offered a lifeline, yet they could not take it because the escape trench was in clear view. In a split second, he knew what to do. He wrenched the machine gun from the post and strapped it over his shoulder. He urgently relayed his orders to the two men crouching in the trench.

‘When I say, make a run for it. The escape trench is fifty metres long, in plain sight of the enemy. Then you are in the support lines and safe. The reserves are another kilometre, wait for the vehicle there. Whatever happens, keep running.’

‘What are you doing Sir?’ asked Green.
‘I’ve got your back. Don’t’ worry, I’ll be with you.’

Green and Tripp nodded. The three men shook hands like old relatives at a funeral. Thomas nodded back at them and whispered.

‘Go!’ he said. Green and Tripp bolted.

Then he ran over the top into full view. A hundred German bullets pierced his body. The last thing he saw was his men escaping into the support line. Then he dropped down forever.