Two Feet Closer

The chant outside dragged him awake. From his dugout, he saw only white as sunlight ambushed his eyes. From the sound, he figured that Officer McAllen was once again reciting quotes and prayers that the old hags from up top thought were motivational and sacred.

McAllen droned on, ‘We die now so our future may live!’

He reluctantly adjusted to the brightness of the sun, revealing the muddy footpath ahead. Around him, the jagged pieces of wood were nailed securely on the dirt walls, occasionally pricking at him through his khaki uniform.

McAllen kept going, ‘The Federation has chosen us for we are Her warriors!’

A helmet flew from his left, hitting him on the head. He stumbled sideways, and tried finding where the hunk of steel had come from.

A voice from perhaps a few feet out answered his unasked question, ’Hey Dick! Sorry ‘bout that, I was aimin’ at McAllen.’ ‘Well then it’s a bloody good thing they ain’t got ye a rifle then Alister, that shot was well off,’ he scoffed, recognising the man, ‘make yerself useful for once an’ go stuff some guys with gauze.’

‘Nah, I’m not goin’ over the top. Can’t be arsed,’ replied Alister.

Before he could answer, the familiar bells rang. He hurriedly lugged a rifle lying on the mud, and looked just beyond the trench. A wall of bright red marched, unyielding and ever-advancing. The rhythm of boots were hypnotic and identical to drums in a parade.

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

A volley of machine guns to his left and right unleashed round after steelen round into the freakishly red wall, their efforts in vain as the blood-red barrier moved ever closer to the trench.

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

He took aim, and along with several others, shot hopelessly into the palisade.

‘It’s been fun while it lasted lads, I’ll see ye in the morgue.’ His words sank like metal in water as the men realised at the impossibility of moving the immovable. The khaki that he once so proudly wore now were his winding sheet. Despite this, he kept shooting.