Before the Day is Done

A rat scampered its way through the bottom of the trench, stopping for a moment to ponder the depth of the water before it. As it paused, a soldier silently tracking the rat for the last few minutes stabbed down with his bayonet and declared that there would be meat for dinner. His friends applauded and commented on his stealth and abilities as a tracker. The soldier smiled in the darkness and held up the now skewered rat pierced on the long thin blade of his bayonet.

The lieutenant gathered them around in the dark with a candle lit lantern for light. His face all filled with shadows, looking like a ghost of a man, a man who has seen too much in his young years.

“Rally round boys, rally round.”

Cigarettes were lit as the men gathered around a well worn map marked with lines, arrows and deep creases from being folded and unfolded.

“Here we are boys.” He pointed to a vacuous spot on the map.

“The Waldorf?” Someone from the back chimed in. They all laughed that nervous laughter that comes at the onset of something serious. They stood there in the dark, in the half frozen stinking mud that reeked of bodies not washed in days.

“Thanks Jimmy,” the lieutenant said and went back to his map. “The assignment for this morning is the Abby on the hill. The bombardment will start at oh five hundred and we will follow up and out of the trenches at oh six hundred. Follow the star bursts boys and before this day is done that hill will be ours.”

In the dark, the orange red glow of the ends of cigarettes looked like some perverse stars hanging out close to the earth. “Remember to climb up and out after you hear the whistles. Stay close and look out for one another.”

“Hey, you think they will be surprised to see us coming out of the dark at 'em, Lieutenant?”

“Don't know. Only thing I know is that there is some talk about them being short on the line and this might finally be the time for us to break through. Get some rest and take turns watching the field. See you all in a couple of hours.”

Someone blew out the lantern and after their eyes adjusted to the dark, the magnificent sky lit up above their heads. The moon less sky was pierced with stars; the Milky Way looked so peaceful, so serene, like a painting. No moon was good for saving lives as the enemy machine gunners would have trouble seeing the soldiers moving about in the dark mud as they advanced.

The lieutenant took leave of his men and found his way to the officer’s bunker, lifting the blanket flap designed to keep light in and sniper’s bullets out. He pulled out a leather framed photograph.

“My dearest Lily.” He tried several times to write. He crumpled the letter, thought again, straighten out the wrinkled piece of paper and began to write about the boys, his men on the line. He wrote how he wished he was back home walking along Main Street with her, stopping in at the drug store for a soda and maybe later listening to some jazz records in her parlor. He dozed a bit, until someone shook him awake.

“It's just about time, sir.”

He gathered his things left the letter and the photograph on the table and went out in to the early morning cold. The Milky Way was bright and clear, sneaking through the sky like some fluorescent snake.

The shelling began on time, the army couldn't get fresh food, delousing or fresh water delivered on any kind of schedule, but they sure as hell knew how to send death and destruction on time. The shells screamed overhead.

“That otta wake those bastards up!”

Then silence. The first whistle sounded and the boys all affixed their bayonets and began to climb the scaling ladders, nervous, cursing, and cussing. Someone pissed his pants.

The lieutenant looked over, “Good idea Reilly. Boys if you need to piss now's the time to do it.” The trench was soon filled with sounds of relief and then the second whistle blew. They were off.

The star bursts went off and the first thing he thought of was Dante's Inferno. This is what hell must look and smell like, dead animals, dead men, craters and lonely sticks that use to be trees. They surged on, the whistles blaring, alerting the enemy that an attack was imminent.

Bullets started to scream at them hitting with the thud of metal crushing in to flesh and bone. Like any man his first instinct was to dive in to the first crater he came across. The hole was filled with his boys all hugging the stinking earth and smelling of excrement. The enemy had turned the tide, using the star bursts to find targets and pepper the waste land with bullets from their machine guns and snipers. Soon the enemy began to return cannon fire and the fields were being torn apart by their shelling.

The lieutenant stood, silhouetted by the bombardment and looked at his boys, his men. He yelled, “Back to safety, back to the trenches, the Abby will have to wait for another night.”

A bullet ripped through his chest exploding on contact with his muscles, his lungs wheezed, his heart skipped a beat as blood streamed out on to the others now cowering in the bottom of the crater. The safety of the crater. He fell to his knees clutched at his jacket, throwing his revolver in to the dark, as he fell face first in to the mud. Up above the star bursts continued to the delight of the enemy who used the artificial light to find targets of men scrambling back, crawling back to the trenches.