To Hell

We were stationed a hundred miles ahead of the corridor of our only possible air support. We were days behind schedule, and months past the deadline. The mission was to make it to the enemy fronts and into the friendly post 9 o'clock from there. We were failing badly. But we were smiling. Because we had just blown up two enemy tanks and were ready to down more. Because we had Evian Moody. And he had a Mauser. And he wasn't gonna stop.

Except he was. The thing about Evian that my colleagues didn't know and I did was that Evian was a moody not just by his surname. In the firing range, he would go on a spree of bullseyes and then reload just to end up not even hitting one. I knew this because I'm an observer.

We were holding up just fine. Judging by the delay in return fire, we thought the Ambrosians were running out of ammo. The fly pasts were getting lesser too, hence the conclusion that they were out of fuel. The artillery fire had stopped, so we took it that they did not have artillery support anymore. And those were our three mistakes.

At regular intervals, Captain Justin Davey's men would skip up from the southern trench and fire right past us. It was his strategy. Not very innovative, but that's just how Davey was. A young man of 26 having gotten his badge about a month ago, his Major killed in action, senior taken prisoner of war and his Lieutenant Colonel relieved of duty, he leads a platoon of 14 in a hog race to the western front, killing around 17 men all on his own. He was going to emerge a war hero from Ambrosia, and we all knew it. They were all so proud of him, but I hated his guts. How would you feel if a five foot five boy about four years younger than you, sporting a broad mustache that makes him look like he either is 50 or from the 50s, shouted at you for not taking direct orders from a junior?

"Echo, return, hold fire!", he shouted over the talkie.

"Roger", I replied. We weren't even firing. My unit was buckled. We knew we wouldn't be able to move until his platoon made a stride forward. The Enemy trenches were a few miles ahead and the visibility was crap. Fog blocked our view. The trench my unit was in was the closest to the enemy, and we still couldn't see anything. We knew we had to move ahead before it was dark. UAV recon was limited to the first of the few stations to the east and we had no idea what kind of trouble we were in. Did the enemy still have artillery and air support? Were they even low on supplies and ammo? These questions started to arise again, because ten minutes after every time the return fire faded, we were bombed and fired at again, even harder than before. My sixth sense had kept telling me these shrewd bastards were onto something. And after fighter jets flew over us, following a round of heavy artillery bombardment, the other five senses were starting to concur.

It wasn't long before another round of artillery fire began causing explosions in the no man's land. We knew there was another trench ahead but it was about twenty yards forward of our position. We had to get there before dark but there was no way we could do that with all the action in the field. This is where Evian comes in. His current mood was our way to the fore. And I wasn't going to let this wonderful opportunity to outshine Davey, slip out of my hands. "Moody, mount and fire! I don't want even one tank to remain standing on that side of the field," I shouted at the top of my voice. He had already mounted and wasn't exactly waiting for an order. He fired an endless round of bullets into seeming nothingness but he knew exactly what he was doing. In no more than ten minutes of continuous fire, Evian stop reloading. He waited for some time and gave us his signal. I was more than ready to go. But as soon as we climbed and ran around 10 meters forward, we felt the ground shudder. A sudden panic hit my bones because I knew by experience what I had marched seven of my men into.

As we stopped, I saw my life flash before my eyes. A long round of automatic fire cut our route and men started getting taken out one by one, from the left. I had enough time to fall face down on the spot, as a few bullets missed me by an inch or so. I saw my unit get decimated within a matter of seconds. Evian hadn't left his post so I knew he was safe. But the bullets weren't stopping and I had to get my troops to safety. I ordered a crawl backwards as soon as the firing halted. My men nodded, and we waited for hell to stop raining lava upon our souls. But as I turned, I figured Davey had other plans. He was crawling to our trench with a dozen men. Did this guy have a death wish? Why can't he just play things safe? Is he suicidal? I had no answers and I had no time.

Davey reached Evian's position and all of his men were safe. I guess he really just was better than me. His interaction wasn't stopping and my radio was lost. The only way he could reach me was by reaching me. That didn't seem so easy from the current situation. Four of my men had been shot, and the other three disheartened. It was all on me now to bring them to safety. After a very long time I was in a position of responsibility and I wasn't going to let anybody down anymore. I had wished to die many times before, on field, off field. I always got too lucky to have a bullet drill through my head while entire units were being obliterated. This time when I was wishing to live to save my unit, my chances were looking slim. I had to figure something out. I was milling on my crawl, thinking as fast as I could, almost as if I were solving a Rubik's cube at maximum speed, and that's when it hit me. My men couldn't crawl right back, because it was higher ground, and we may get hit. We couldn't crawl to the forward trench because we had people with bullets in their bodies, and there was not one person, forget a medic, in the trench ahead. What we could do was get Evian and Davey to cover us every time we made a crawl backwards of half a meter. It was what Davey was good at, making his men jump and shoot past others at regular intervals.

"Davey I need men *krsch* in *krsch* now, in at- *krsch* blitzkrieg or whate- *krsch* NOW!" I knew my voice wasn't clear, but I also knew Davey already had in mind what I was asking of him. My men laid flat with gaps between each and Davey's troops carried out their assault while we crawled back a short distance at a time. It was a surprising success, as barely any of my plans ever were these days. We were getting closer to our trench, and it was only a matter of time until I would have my men safe from the no man's land.

We were only a meter away from Evian and the rest of Echo, when I heard the sound of thunder, and my body shook. I had goosebumps all over and my brain had stopped working. I knew, when this happened, that something bad was up. Something really, really bad. I looked back, and there, a bullet raced right at me at lightning speed, taking shelter in my head with sheer force. This was it. I was dead. Here I come, hell. Be kind to my soul.

My eyes opened slowly and hell was looking blur but also a little familiar. The devil had me in his arms, waking me up with sprinkles of inferno. Except it wasn't Satan. And this wasn't hell. It was Davey. And I was still in the battlefield. Which was basically a prototype of hell, but there was a subtle difference: everyone here was Satan.

"~Child~ache~duffer~cup~" His voice was fading away and I couldn't hear anything clearly. It was like an audio blur that felt like I was high. And I remained high until I felt the sting of a very hard slap on the dying warmth of my face.

"CHARLIE WAKE THE FUCK UP," Loud and clear. It was Davey shaking the life out of my body.

"We ain't got time for this you lousy pulp, you're alive, now get up, you got commitments to follow through on." I was completely awake now, by the grace of the sprinkles of his hot saliva flying onto my forehead, after every word he blurted out. I brought my hand lazily to my head and my palm felt the ruins of a 22 LR bullet stuck to the front of my helmet. Luck again, I suppose. I sprung to my feet and turned around, checking for the rest of my team. They were all there, and all quite alive if some wounded. All but one. I had a soldier left behind and I knew that Davey knew. He never misses anything. I ran to Evian and asked of Davey.

"Where is that hothead captain of yours?" I shouted, intending to be heard at once, over the deafening noises of guns and explosions.

"He's up there," replied Evian in a worried tone. "He said he had to get Jayden. Jayden was still alive. We're covering them."

Davey had lost his mind. Even if Jayden somehow survived the continuous flurry of bullets being aimed at him, and by some miracle was only unconscious and not dead, how was Davey going to drag Jayden and himself back here without getting himself killed? This wasn't some swimming pool lifeguard business, he was out in the middle of nothing except constant fire. I had to do something, I was the cause of this situation. I told my troops to cover me while I would duck my way to Davey and Jayden, pick them up in my arms like they were 2-year-olds, and run back to base without getting shot or letting them get shot. Now that I put it this way, it was a suicide mission. But I had just survived a bullet to the head and felt like Captain America. I climbed the ladder and crouched. After a brief moment of making sure I was facing the right direction, I ran 10 yards towards a seemingly unconscious Davey, and fell purposefully face down right next to him.

"The fuck are you doing here?" He was alive and very much awake.

"You tell me," I replied, stunning him. I never talked back before. "Where is Jayden?"

"He... He was shot in the hamstring. I couldn't make it here in time. I'm sorry. He was your guy," He looked genuinely sorry for something that was my fault.

"Hey its alright he'd been shot before you made it to my trench." I consoled him "Let's get the fuck out of here." It was like the Ambrosians had heard us or something. The firing grew more offensive and we were closer to their range than ever before. For the second time that evening, I was left in the position of responsibility. I had to get a wounded Captain to safety before he had his brains blown out by the Ambrosians because of a risk I forced him to take.

I looked around and tried to figure out a way back. It wasn't possible. We were almost 13 yards from our trench. That's when I looked at Davey and saw that he wasn't shot. He was bleeding but from bruises, not gunshot wounds. We could get to the reserve trench in front of us that I was trying to make it to the first time I dashed with my unit. Davey stared at me and then looked in front of him. He knew what I was thinking. That's when neither of us had to say a word, and we both braced ourselves. A 7 meter dash and we would make it to the point of no return. And then we ran the fastest run of our lives. I was a little crouched so as to cut the air more and possibly dodge some bullets that were meant to subside me. Davey, to my left, was on all four limbs, running quite literally like a dog. We somehow made it to an artillery hole, a foot behind the trench. I saw it and tried to warn Davey but I guess the sound of bullets skimming our ears was enough to distract me. Davey's right hindlimb hit the later edge of the hole and I heard a mild crack, even amidst gunshot sounds, coming from his leg. He cried like a crow and fell into the two meter deep trench on his back. I tried a low jump and made it in without any fractures. We had survived an onslaught.

I picked myself up and looked at Davey. He was in some pain, but that wasn't what he had at the top of his mind. We were both looking at something worse. Something that sent chills down our spines. The trench floor. It wasn't mud. It was bodies. Till wherever our eyes could see. A never ending, bloody, stacked pile of outstretched dead soldiers. We had escaped death but reached hell anyway. A hell of man's own making.