Trenches

28/02/2020 07:40

A shot rings out among the trees of France and neon birds scatter into the skies. On the forest floor, far
from the high treetops in the canopy, another shot rings as a flintlock pistol is fired. A soldier lies in a
pool of crimson on the ground—his eyes still gazing into the space above him,
‘Anybody else?!?’ The executioner, clad in a french uniform, cries to onlooking soldiers. They avert their
gazes as to not arouse this brutal officer. He shouts his question again then the forest around them falls
silent. The officer turns on his heel and walks away. Leaves crunch and crackle as he walks.

Hours later the captured soldiers are working far away under close guard by enemy soldiers as they
painstakingly dig out a trench line for their enemies…
‘Sir,’ one soldier whispers to a Lieutenant working with him, ‘I’ve just realised that these trench works
are going right through where Captain Kimbley’s men are to march over tomorrow morning.’
The officer looks up from his shovel, ‘Look, sir, there’s the windmill we saw on the map and all around
us,’ he gestures to some large grain fields surrounding their position, ‘are farmlands.’
‘Oi!’ Comes a shout and the two fall silent and hastily into their work, ‘What were you two just talking
about? Well?? Answer me!’

By the native accent, they can tell it is a guard from the enemy’s camp but he is behind them and they
cannot hear him. CLIC. They hear a pistol cock. CRACK. They hear the snap of twigs as he approaches.
They continue with their work and he shouts again:
‘You two! Turn around!’
They follow his order,
‘What were you talking about?’
‘Nothin-’
Before he can finish, the soldier buries the butt of his pistol into the Officer’s face with a bone-breaking
crunch. He staggers back and is about to fall to the floor when the soldier catches him. He asks again and
the Officer in turn spits a fountain of blood onto the man’s blue uniform coat. A punch connects with his
face and the Officer is unconscious.