In the Trenches

I stand on the ladder, peering into the distant erratic flashes. They resemble the flashing stars of the night sky when I was still in the rear, although less beautiful the larger the flashes are. Some segments of the horizon flash more frequently than others, and I pity those sections. Once a flash appears, one would hear a thud on the ground and a whistle just after it. In that event, I would instinctively jerk and lower my stance, only to bring it back up.

Besides the short-lived flashes, the range between them and myself is bleak and lifeless. Silhouettes of various irregular shapes tend to stick out if they overlap the foggy line between the ground and the sky. Otherwise, most of these shapes are overpowered by the burnt earth that looks more attractive than the silhouettes themselves.

Everything and everywhere was deafening. I would hear everything, but nothing at the same time. During times of uproar and mass movements, the environment around me falls silent as I listen to my strangely audible mumbles. Inversely, silence is painfully deafening. I'm unsure whether that results from an overflow of thoughts or the intuition that something should happen imminently.

Thunderous cracks near and afar, the sliding of metal against metal, or even the creak of the ladder that I'm currently standing on are only a few types of noises constantly heard. Even when a louder crash attempts to veil an insignificant sound, my experience would usually amplify the volume of the latter source to be the more important event. I find that none of these sounds would ever soothe me.

----

The scenery beyond the parapet is growing too fond of me. So before I start to question myself, I duck down and glance at the trenches. It was very animated. I can see fresh recruits in a single file line with their heads tucked under the sandbags from the rear being poured into the front lines, filling the dugout to the brim. There are times when someone trips and stumbles on the entire line, effectively clotting the streamlined motion of their positioning. Once in their sections, they would lie on the trenches' revetment; now they wait, shaking as they try to calm themselves down. On the other side, the wounded and equipment were being transported against the flow of the greens. It was chaotic to watch, probably even more so to be stuck in one of the two opposing directions. In spite of it being chaotic, it had a sense of organisation in it.

I sling my rifle to my front and carefully lie my back against the steps. I pulled the bolt backwards, emptied out the chamber, and reloaded it with a new clip. I sling it back and wait for the ear-piercing shriek of the call to an unavoidable end.

As I wait, a private stumbled and rocked my ladder, which startled me. I looked down on the private and he gazed up. Our eyes met and I cracked a slight smile,

"You alright?" I asked.

"Ye-Yes! Thank you for asking! And, I'm sorry for startling you!" he responded with in a panicked tone.

"Heh, at ease. This is the front line; the place where courtesy and obligations die and your primal survival instincts will soon kick in. And hey, if you survive, you'll have to juggle between the two constantly, especially if you get shot often."

He only gazes at me blankly. It was a petrified gaze.

"Don't think too much about it," I attempted to reassure him, "thinking about it now isn't going to help you." I pushed his head down so that he lies on the revetment, similar to the rest of them. Thereafter, everything continued as normal with nothing in particular happening.

----

Our bombarding became even more intense. Frequently do I hear the cracks and thunders of shells being flung on the other side of this stand off, even more so now. All the while, the other side's shelling began to subside. What this means I do not know. It could mean that our barrages have somehow reached their emplacement foxholes, or they could be out of rounds, or they could be conserving what they have for something. Nothing is certain in this explosive slinging competition.

I look above as I hear the distinct noise of a plane engine. It's been a while since any of them flew in this part of the front. That's probably a sign that something is drawing closer. Even though I know what that might be, there is a part of me that still believes it might not happen. I wish I could just eradicate that part now.

The number of recruits finding their sections and positions begin to dwindle. I can see the end of the queue. I haven't seen any wounded or equipment being moved since a while ago. Confirming my suspicions, the major herself exits the trenches' quarters located near my station. I can see that she has a whistle on her left hand and a revolver to her right. She runs through every sergeant, including myself, ensuring that we begin the moment after her signal.

I flipped my body back facing the ladder with my rifle already slung forward, supported by the sandbags. I unbuckled my helmet and produced a whistle hanging from my uniform. I hear someone whispering to the privates that they should immediately go up the ladder once it clears out and do not stop no matter what.

I could feel my heartbeat intensifying. My breathing became heavier and a minor tremor begins to develop on the hand where I hold my whistle. I took a last glance at the new recruits now crouching near the trenches' wooden supports.

----

This is the moment that most of us are expecting. We don't look forward to retreat back after we've jumped over. For all of us, there is forward and only forward. Rationale is just something I don't want to have once I'm over because it will cause you to waiver and endanger yourself even more than what you would if you relied on your instinct to survive.

Our bombardments have ceased and it became quiet. A short while after, the screech of a whistle echoes destructively throughout the entire front. I took a deep breath and blew on my whistle as hard as I can whilst hearing the numerous other whistles resonate the initial call.

It has begun.