~ Come on boys! Do you want to live forever? ~
July 15th, 1917
Zemio, British Africa
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Dear Ben,
Seems like an eternity since I was sent to the Western Front to fight with the Army of Northern Virginia. Hope your doing okay and that you get this letter in time. France is so much different from Egypt and Africa, its so much more dark and depressing. Things are rough here, life in the trench’s is hard and the Germans are much more determined than the Ottomans were.
Turns out Goose was attached to the Army of Central Kentucky, met up with him not to long ago when our two armies met to prepare for the attack into Germany. I can’t believe it myself, it looks like it may be all over soon but sometimes I have my droughts, the British don’t seem as determined as we are to win this war.
Hope you are doing well, and I hope to see you soon, hopefully back in North Carolina.
Your Brother,
Charles.
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Ben read over the letter, slowly, before folding it up and putting on his helmet. The ratatat sound of machine gun fire could be heard as the remains of the first charge fell back into the trench's. The Army had been in a harsh fight with the Germans in Zemio for a several days now and with no luck in dislodging them.
“Medics! Come on lets move!” he heard one of the Sargent's shout. This had been the third assault on the German lines that day, each one coming back with fewer and fewer of North Carolinas finest young men.
“Ben, how things look on this end?” a young man he and several others nick named Ziggy asked, crawling along the slope of the trench. He was about twenty, younger than most of the others in Ben’s platoon, and a bit skittish too, he always jumped when an artillery shell was discharged.
“Bloody.. how about your end?”
“About the same, so have you heard any news from the West?” he asked, flinching as another artillery shell was fired, hitting just infornt of the trench.
“Got a letter from Charles, said there getting ready to go into Germany, thinks the war might be over soon…I hope he’s right.”
“Yea, yea, me too…”
“Look sharp boys! Here they come!” Ben heard someone shout as loud whistle was blown. Quickly Ben turned held his rifle level with top of the trench, making sure to keep down as far as possible while being able to shoot anyone who came near. Ziggy did the same, trying to mimic Ben.
Not long after the machine guns opened up as the German waves began to pour out of their trench's, making the deadly charge across no man’s land. Taking aim he began to shoot, waiting until they got close so as to have a larger target and a smaller chance of missing, though most didn’t make it that far.
The machine guns had made the trek across no-mans land a suicide attempt, yet everyone did it, the charges became a habit. The whistle would blow, everyone would go over the top and charge toward the enemy trench, if they took the enemy's trench they waited for everyone else to get there, and then repeated.
Pow, pow, pow, the loud shots came flying from the end of his rifle as a German soldier fell before him, the bullets riping holes in his chest. The assault only lasted a few minutes before the whistle was blown and the Sargent yelled “Over the top boys!”
Scrambling up the sandy trench slope and over the dead German that lay before him he ran toward the enemy trench, the retreating Germans in front of him and his comrade’s beside him. The whole battle always seemed to slow down to him, especially the charges. Every shot seemed to fly by him, the shots were louder, so were the screams and he could hear himself breath.
The last thing he remembered was sharp pain in his left shoulder, like someone had drove a bayonet through him, but hit like a train. The old familiar sound of the machine guns opening up could be heard echoing across the field as he fell to backward to the ground, his head slaming into the ground and then nothing but a vast expanse of black.