Hiding in a trench was somewhat boring me. Ceasefire lasted for days which made us crawl in the dirt, hoping we wouldn’t be overrun with surprise charge. There was nothing smart to do, really. Just sitting, napping, taking a shit in one of the holes we dug, endless conversation of how we joined the army and why. We were so bored, command officer yelled stretching from a nap:
– Let them come already. At least we would have something to do, damn it!
I haven’t said anything, but I saw in the soldier’s eyes they approved that thought. After five more days of waiting for one side to order the attack, things changed in the trench. Food we were getting was meager and the meat was half rotten by the time we got to prepare it. We couldn’t even start a fire, because of the smoke and the smell of cooking.
Officers wore no insignia because of the enemy snipers, but frequent chatting showed them who was important in the trench. Soon ranks fell on soldiers that had basic training, and communications went thin and occasional, just when we had to give reports from the first lines. One day, a soldier I barely knew came to me and said.
– You are an officer now. It is your duty to hold this section and report to the Tilion of the 34th regiment. – I nodded in lack of other words, then he left.
Rain began falling that night, so we huddled in the elevated spots and kept each other warm. Still, we couldn’t make a fire, because flames would gave away our position which could end a war with one round from the artillery. Morning came, and breakfast also. A blend soup with something resembling a rotten meat and maggots floated in it. I threw my eyes about where hungry soldiers slurped the damn thing like the most delicious meal ever.
– Just like my mother’s cooking. – soldier said holding himself not to vomit where everybody laughed, but not me.
I threw the can on the ground and got up on my feet when something hit my helmet and a boom echoed in the distant grey field.
– Fuck this shit. I am going home! – I yelled and started stomping away.
My stories are better than yours. Here’s the proof.