Chapter I
Chapter I
Early morning, Novemeber 11, 1918, Near the Meuse-Argonne Forrest; Northern France.
It was a cold and dank October day, the American troops were calm and collect inside the overall safety of their trenches. American artillery had been pounding the German defensive lines for the past few days, especially in the most recent hours. American commanders, now well aware of the terror and horror of trench warfare, told their soldiers that the entire German line was going to be in shambles. True it was, that in most instances, the German soldiers were resiliant at resisting Entente artillery barrages, especially during the Somme and Cambrai, but at this moment, the German Army was crippled and retreating on all fronts. Austria-Hungary had fallen, the Ottoman Empire knocked out of the war, all that was left in the Central Powers was the once mighty German Empire.
Private First-class, Michael Anthony Franklin was gripping onto his Springfield rifle harder than normal. A veteran from the Second Battle of the Marne, the boy more over has had incredible luck up to this point. He looked to his left to see his comrades breathing deeply as they could tell the American artillery was slowing down, the assualt would begin shortly. Michael saw walking through the trenches his lieutenant, pistol and whistle in hand; he paused at a ladder along the interior of the muddy trench, the rain began to fall.
Small driplets of rain hit Michael in his face, slowly running down his face to his neck and into his uniform. The American artillery had finished firing, the soldiers inside the trenches began to pray. The lieutenant was looking at his men, then to his watch, then back to his men, he took a deep breath when he saw his second hand reach 12. He placed the whistle in his mouth and the high-pitch scream, one of the worst sounds a soldier a could hear, engulfed the countryside. The American soldiers went over the top, their bayonets fixed, charging and screaming towards the German lines. The Americans were running quicker than ever before, Mike in particular was so far in front of the rest of the men in his company they called him to come back.
An odd moment of silence had befallen the normally hectic battlefields of Northern France, the soldiers could see the German lines up ahead only a few thirty or so yards away.
"Be careful men, it's a trap!" shouted the American lieutenant as they came closer to the German trenches. Mike was the first to run up the mount and peered down into the trenches, they were for the most part empty; at some turns and places the bodies of dead German soldiers were seen. Mike looked up and saw two young German soldiers make a break for it, they were quickly gunned down by the soldiers behind him. The Americans were shocked that the Germans were no where to be seen, minus a few left-behinds. Mike walked over the trench as his comrades took a break, wiping the rain off of their faces. A small clang of thunder could be heard off in the distance.
Mike went to the edge of the trench, on the slop descending down he could see the grass only a few feet in front of him begin to move. Out from his hiding spot came a German soldier, no more than 16 years of age by the looks of him, bright blue eyes and a face full of dirt. The soldier was unarmed, only having his uniform and helmet on, as he got up form his stomach to his knees, his hands in the air; the rain began to fall heavier as thunder and lightning filled the air. Mike looked straight into the eyes of the German soldier, his rifle pointing right at him; the German soldier smiled at him in hopes he would come to his surrendering.
Mike blankly stared back, his hand clutching the trigger. Just as thunder exploded overhead, Mike pulled the trigger of his rifle. The German soldier, hands in the air, was knocked back with tremendous force; killed instantly. Mike took off his helmet and sat down on the muddy ground, beginning to cry at what he had just done. Behind him, no one apparently knew that he had just shot the boy soldier as the lieutenant walked back to the men.
"Men," said the lieutentant, "I just recieved war from General Pershing, we not going any further. The Germans and Allies are discussing what he said, some sort of treaty. There is no point in fighting or killing anyone anymore."
Mike got up and walked toward the dead German he just had killed seconds ago. He reached into his oversized uniform, pulling out a sketch book, an information book, and a name-tag. Peter von Page, it read; Birthday: November 10, 1902. Mike set the name-tag and information book. He opened the sketch book where it was dog-tagged, inside there was an unfinished sketch of some sort of bird on a dead tree. Mike soon saw the tree the bird was apparently on, only a few feet to his left. Mike began to cry further knowing he killed a young German soldier who was trying to surrender, especially now since the war was coming to an apparent close...
Chapter I
Early morning, Novemeber 11, 1918, Near the Meuse-Argonne Forrest; Northern France.
It was a cold and dank October day, the American troops were calm and collect inside the overall safety of their trenches. American artillery had been pounding the German defensive lines for the past few days, especially in the most recent hours. American commanders, now well aware of the terror and horror of trench warfare, told their soldiers that the entire German line was going to be in shambles. True it was, that in most instances, the German soldiers were resiliant at resisting Entente artillery barrages, especially during the Somme and Cambrai, but at this moment, the German Army was crippled and retreating on all fronts. Austria-Hungary had fallen, the Ottoman Empire knocked out of the war, all that was left in the Central Powers was the once mighty German Empire.
Private First-class, Michael Anthony Franklin was gripping onto his Springfield rifle harder than normal. A veteran from the Second Battle of the Marne, the boy more over has had incredible luck up to this point. He looked to his left to see his comrades breathing deeply as they could tell the American artillery was slowing down, the assualt would begin shortly. Michael saw walking through the trenches his lieutenant, pistol and whistle in hand; he paused at a ladder along the interior of the muddy trench, the rain began to fall.
Small driplets of rain hit Michael in his face, slowly running down his face to his neck and into his uniform. The American artillery had finished firing, the soldiers inside the trenches began to pray. The lieutenant was looking at his men, then to his watch, then back to his men, he took a deep breath when he saw his second hand reach 12. He placed the whistle in his mouth and the high-pitch scream, one of the worst sounds a soldier a could hear, engulfed the countryside. The American soldiers went over the top, their bayonets fixed, charging and screaming towards the German lines. The Americans were running quicker than ever before, Mike in particular was so far in front of the rest of the men in his company they called him to come back.
An odd moment of silence had befallen the normally hectic battlefields of Northern France, the soldiers could see the German lines up ahead only a few thirty or so yards away.
"Be careful men, it's a trap!" shouted the American lieutenant as they came closer to the German trenches. Mike was the first to run up the mount and peered down into the trenches, they were for the most part empty; at some turns and places the bodies of dead German soldiers were seen. Mike looked up and saw two young German soldiers make a break for it, they were quickly gunned down by the soldiers behind him. The Americans were shocked that the Germans were no where to be seen, minus a few left-behinds. Mike walked over the trench as his comrades took a break, wiping the rain off of their faces. A small clang of thunder could be heard off in the distance.
Mike went to the edge of the trench, on the slop descending down he could see the grass only a few feet in front of him begin to move. Out from his hiding spot came a German soldier, no more than 16 years of age by the looks of him, bright blue eyes and a face full of dirt. The soldier was unarmed, only having his uniform and helmet on, as he got up form his stomach to his knees, his hands in the air; the rain began to fall heavier as thunder and lightning filled the air. Mike looked straight into the eyes of the German soldier, his rifle pointing right at him; the German soldier smiled at him in hopes he would come to his surrendering.
Mike blankly stared back, his hand clutching the trigger. Just as thunder exploded overhead, Mike pulled the trigger of his rifle. The German soldier, hands in the air, was knocked back with tremendous force; killed instantly. Mike took off his helmet and sat down on the muddy ground, beginning to cry at what he had just done. Behind him, no one apparently knew that he had just shot the boy soldier as the lieutenant walked back to the men.
"Men," said the lieutentant, "I just recieved war from General Pershing, we not going any further. The Germans and Allies are discussing what he said, some sort of treaty. There is no point in fighting or killing anyone anymore."
Mike got up and walked toward the dead German he just had killed seconds ago. He reached into his oversized uniform, pulling out a sketch book, an information book, and a name-tag. Peter von Page, it read; Birthday: November 10, 1902. Mike set the name-tag and information book. He opened the sketch book where it was dog-tagged, inside there was an unfinished sketch of some sort of bird on a dead tree. Mike soon saw the tree the bird was apparently on, only a few feet to his left. Mike began to cry further knowing he killed a young German soldier who was trying to surrender, especially now since the war was coming to an apparent close...
