The Trench by Brian Hesse (ebook e reader .TXT) 📕

 “No, interjected Friedrich. We better be safer than dead later. Put on your mask and stick to the side of the trench. Blow this whistle if you become disoriented and lost.”

  Friederich stood up and placed a silver whistle around Herrmann’s neck.

  “Why don’t we all go,” said Paul.

 Otto gave Paul a look of disapproval, shaking his head slowly from left to right. Everyone in the group knew why everyone should not go out together. If this was a new type of gas or if a French counter attack ensued, it was better one dead than all five. Just another harsh unspoken reality of warfare.

  “Go ahead old boy,” stated Fredrich with a gentle pat on Herrmann’s shoulder.

 Hermann nodded and walked outside disappearing into the blueish tinted fog.

 The group sat in nervous silence. Some looking into the fire like soothe Sayers reading the future in the flickering flames. Otto began disassembling his rifle and wiping down the parts still caked with the rich black soil of the front. Nobody spoke as if to say a single misplaced word or phrase would curse Hermann and his brave mission to breach the mysterious fog.

Several hours of silence past, only broken by the rumbling of Werner’s stomach. This normally innocent sound, one among many bodily sounds heard in any dugout at the front, both friendly and otherwise, gave an opportunity for Otto to break the silence.

“How are we on food?”

Each soldier checked their satchels and placed the contents on the ground. Each looked on with wide eyes of concern at the absence of a single morsel of food.

“Let’s check our canteens,” said Friederich.

“Half full.”

“Empty.”

“A few drops.”

“Half.”

“Well we can’t stay here any longer,” stated Paul Fischer. “We have to assume that Hermann is gone.”

This statement added just enough pressure to the already growing tension of the dugout.

“How the fuck could you say that!” shouted Friedrich. “Just like you to give up on a man for your own selfish convenience.” Friedrich continued to advance toward Paul, now standing in shock, but with shoulders squared and ready to pounce like a tiger released from its cage. Friedrichs voice was cut down with a loud thump as Paul’s head slammed into his chest. Both boys rolled on the ground, back and forth swinging wildly as each punch made a thump with each connection of knuckles on flesh.

Otto and Werner stood in amazement watching the fight unfold.

“Let’s break this up,” said Otto looking across the fire, at the rolling bodies silhouetted by the flames of the camp fire.

“Maybe we should just let them get it out of their system,’ replied Werner.

Just as Otto bent down grabbing Friedrich by his dirt stained collar, Hermann staggered into the dug out falling with a thud to the floor, kicking up a puff of dust. The fighting duo stopped swinging and ran over to Hermann. Otto, the closest to the entrance was already peeling the gas mask off his face. Werner remained frozen in place visibly shaking from all the stressful events of the past few hours.

“Ok give him some room,” stated Otto.

The boys gave Hermann his space and watched as he gasped for breath in between long gulps of his canteen. After several minutes past and Herrmann’s breath returned to a normal rhythm, Otto asked, “Hermann, what did you see?”

Hermann remained silent staring straight ahead with his back pressed hard against the dug-out wall. He looked to Otto like someone who has seen the ghost of a dead relative hovering lazily above their bed. Hermann turned to Otto and said, “Nothing.” “I saw nothing.”

“He’s lost it. He completely lost it,” said Werner.

Friedrich gave Werner a warning glance. A glance that said, “we can go again at any time.”

Otto recognized this gesture and set out determined to change the tone of conversation.

“Ok, so he didn’t see anything. We all know Hermann for the reliable old fellow he is” He smiled and crouched down leveling his face with the perspiring Hermann. “Old steady like a rock Hermann.” “old battle-hardened Hermann.”

This gesture among warriors seemed to soothe Herrmann’s anxiety. He smiled at Otto, took a deep breath and recounted his adventure in the fog. All remained silent and listened with a warning from Otto not to interrupt until Hermann finished.

Hermann began, “I was only gone a few minutes, but I couldn’t stay out there any longer.”

Otto held up a figure to his lips when he saw that Friedrich was about to interrupt. Hermann was gone for hours, and although nobody held a timepiece, the unspoken consensus was that four guys could not be simultaneously wrong on the time.

Hermann continued uninterrupted, “So I kept my back close to the wall of the trench. It seemed that each inch I creeped along, the fog became thicker, and so did that blue tint mixed within the fog but more like a bluish mist within the fog. I’ve never seen anything like that. “So, I kept going, suffocating in this dammed thing,” he slammed the mask to the floor.

Paul interrupted, “Did you take the mask off?”

Hermann looked to his hands wresting on top of his lap. He was afraid to look at his friends and this was obvious to all present. He needn’t give an answer to the question, and nobody was prepared to fault him for removing the mask. Every soldier in the middle of a gas attack will tell the same tale. The stifling heat, the stinging sweat pouring into the eyes, the dry cracking throat begging for just a drop of water. The poisonous gas sticking to the outside lens like a hungry rat staring at the moist exposed flesh of the eyes. But worst of all, the ever-present fear of the enemy rushing with sharpened bayonets to one’s front, and the unseen threat of a broken seal around the mask inviting just enough gas in to slowly choke you to death.

“Go on Hermann, continue,” said Otto.

Hermann continued, “I kept walking as far as I could. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me calling for the commander, or anyone, who was alive. But nobody came. I walked on, the fog growing thicker with each step. I walked slower because it felt as if the ground were not even real.” He laughed a nervous laugh and looked to the group for a response. Everybody looked back with nothing but expressions of understanding, as if the feeling of a ground that was not really there was a sheared experience.

Hermann continued, “I felt the ground with my hand, and it was there but somehow too smooth, like glass still in the hardening process, a delicate solid surface covering a hot liquid center.”

“I felt that same thing on my way stumbling here.” replied Paul.

“Wait a minute. What do you mean stumbling here? Where you wounded shit head and said nothing,” asked Friedrich.

“Why is that so important. Keep it up Freddy old boy and I will give you another thrashing of your life.”

“Any time idiot,” replied Friedrich.

“ Ok there is no time for this crap,” stated Otto. “And yea Fischer, why didn’t you mention any wound.”

“Ok I will tell you why. Yes, it’s strange that Friedrich received, as you say again, a mortal wound to the arm. But I see two guys unscathed. You seem to be making that into some grand supernatural miracle or some shit, but not me. I didn’t see any reason to feed your delusion any more juice.”

“Fair enough, said Friedrich, what about you Werner, any phantom wounds.”

“I thought I was bayoneted in the leg when I reached the French trench. So, I was wrong, the bastard just tore my pants leg to shreds.” Werner lifted his left leg with his knee just above the naval. Just below the knee cap the group could see a large piece of his pants leg torn away exposing dirty, yet unbroken skin.

Nobody said a word, but Otto considered that eventually Hermann would have to be put to some questions concerning his own imaginary wounds, but that could wait until after his story.

“Continue Hermann, “you won’t be interrupted again, said Otto.

“So, I just kept crawling along but could not find any bodies or other dugouts. I tell you, I may have only crawled along for a few minutes, but I should have encountered someone. I couldn’t even hear sounds. No cries, no birds feasting on the dead, no shouts from an angry beaten foe…nothing. As if we are inside a dust filled vacuum.”

“You know Hermann, you were gone a lot longer than a few minutes. We waited for hours and even started to count rations,” said Otto.

Hermann looked at him and laughed. “Sorry guys, but my time could not have been that off.”

“No point in arguing with a crazy man,” stated Werner laughing as he took his place staring into the fire.

“Hermann, asked Otto, why were you so worn out when you came back. So sweaty. So tired”

“Well I took my mask off for just a few seconds and I became very tired. I thought I was a dead man, but I didn’t choke, my skin didn’t burn, and I didn’t even have a snotty nose. Just really tired.”

“I knew it had to be some type of gas,” stated Paul.

“Maybe it is,” returned Friedrich.

“Maybe a type of experimental gas that just did not have the potency to kill, just make one sleepy,” returned Otto. He didn’t feel comfortable making the statement, but as a practical man, this seemed like the most plausible explanation.

“Well geniuses, we either venture out or starve to death, lets ask our fearless sisters, Otto and Freddy boy,” stated Werner.

Frederich moved quickly toward the Werner  but was caught on the shoulder by Otto.

“Leave him go friend. He is losing it.”

“Losing it or not, he is correct,” said Paul. “We either go or stay, but either way we will need food and water.”

In unison, everyone in the group, even the unconcerned Werner, and the usually strong leader Friedrich, looked to Otto.

“I guess this makes me the head rat amongst rats.,” he thought.

“Ok, so let’s get a good a meal and a needed rest. When we wake we will see if the fog dissipated?”

“Wonderful idea professor but where do we get food. I don’t think the mess cook will be coming around today,” stated Werner with a sarcastic grin silhouetted by the flames.

“Well first Werner,” began Otto “you will give us that chunk of moldy bread you have in your satchel.”

“Why you son of a bitch,” said Friedrich as he and Paul jumped on him holding him squirming like a worm marooned on the hot soil surface.

Friedrich jumped to his feet holding a large piece of black molded bread in his right hand.

“We should shoot the prick for this,” stated Paul.

“How did you know Otto,” asked Friedrich, walking over to Otto still standing next to Hermann at the open entrance.

“Before when we placed our belongings in a pile, I saw bread crumbs fall out of his satchel,” stated Otto.

Werner folded his arms on his knees and buried his head deep with shame.

“So how do we survive on sharing this bread,” asked Friedrich.

“We start by not giving that selfish jerk a share,” replied Paul, glaring at Werner as he stroked the blade of his holstered bayonet.

“Were not going to eat the bread,” stated Otto. “We are going fishing.”

Surviving

Otto and Paul waited on opposite sides of the entrance waiting with shovels in hand. The others standing as close to the wall as possible and out of sight. Otto placed the piece of bread at the entrance, its black mold reflecting a single beam of light penetrating the entrance through the thick fog outside.

“You notice how there is such little light coming out of that cloud,” whispered Paul from the other side of the entrance.

“Yea its thicker than before and seems to get denser as the hours pass, whispered Otto”

“Shouldn’t we have smelled the bread by now,” came another question from Paul.

Otto placed his finger against his lips in a gesture meant to silence his talkative friend. But he knew that Paul was