There was never quiet at the front; no peace to be found, no resolution in sight. The only thing to witness was the War, a perversion of the senses. The thick smell of decomposition, gunpowder and sulfur was ever present. Endless mud fields, trenches and death reached as far as the eye could see. Even one’s own hearing was not spared, with the constant boom of artillery and wails of the wounded. In the week he had been at the front, Tom quickly began to realize the all consuming nature of this war, not even letting him keep his own senses to himself. He longed for the peace of his home in Rye, England, and wondered how he ended up hundreds of kilometers away, fighting over a foreign belgian territory. 

At the outbreak of war, everyone at home was enthusiastic. Parades had marched down the streets showcasing the might of the English Expeditionary, summoning patriotic fervor everywhere they went. Papers on every corner had detailed the assassination of the Archduke and England’s own declaration of war, announcing the new outbreak to the public. Although the small town of Rye far from any major cities, word of the war had reached them all swiftly. Men began signing up en masse, almost begging for the chance to see a good, honorable war. Tom still remembered his friends pressuring his hand to sign up, when he was just 17.

“ Come on Tommy, it’ll be a bloody good fight, Old Man Fritzie won’t even know what hit him when we reach Europe!” His friend, Oliver reasoned. 

Tom had known Oliver for all his life and had never known him to shirk from a fight, it only made sense that his natural instinct was to join up. Oliver had already convinced his friend Frankie and brother Noah, but all eyes had fallen to Tom as the group waited to join up in a communal regiment. He was the last holdout of the group, not as disillusioned with the chances of a quick and honorable war as the rest of the poor fools. He had tried to dissuade them all, but he was quickly dismissed.

“You do realize this is real, right? This isn’t some bloody playfight, this is an honest war. We have no clue what’s happening out there, it could be suicide.”

“Tom, the classic cynic. Haven’t you ever felt the need for honor in life?” Frankie questioned him. Frankie was by far the most excited, considering it his national duty to join.

Now it was Noah’s turn to chime in: “It beats the factory work here, right Tommy? We’ve got no future here. Come see Europe with us.We’re all going regardless, you may as well join your mates.”

It was at this point he had realized the futility of his argument, and his caution turned to reluctant acceptance.

At least this way I can keep an eye on them, he tried to reason with himself. Looking back on the thought, he couldn’t ever realize how wrong he was. 

He was torn from his thoughts and back to his foxhole by a looming, bulky figure. Panic seized him at first, then relaxing as he realized it was his brother.

“Everything all right, Tommy? You’ve barely blinked in an hour.” Noah asked. 

“Dandy. Apologies.” Tom answered curtly. He found it best not to elaborate. Night watch had everyone on edge, and too much noise was almost always answered at the wrong end of a sniper’s rifle. 

“Stay alert chap, heard word up the wire that the general has a push in store for us.” He didn’t elaborate before scuttling off into the darkness, down into his neighboring position. 

 Movement from no man’s land drew his attention, causing apprehensive fear. He raised his rifle, slowly peaking the barrel out of the trench and listened once again. Over the sound of artillery, he could keenly hear footsteps in the deep mud separating the two sides. He trained his sights in the direction of the sound, sliding a round into the chamber with an ominous click. Silence from his direction. 

Blokes must have heard me. He thought to himself in panic. Was he about to meet his end? To take his bullet? Movement again, this time, he saw the shimmer of the night off of dark gray helmets- the mark of the elite German Sturmtruppen, infamous in their art of infiltration and hand to hand combat. Dread filled Tom with the sight, and he forced himself down into the trenches. Hurrying along, he ran into the sleeping quarters and roused his comrades.

“Look alive lads, we’ve got stormies on the wire!” He whispered. He must have instilled panic in all, as none said a word in return. The four other soldiers in the bunk grabbed their gear with drilled precision and headed to the line, quiet as a mouse. Not even loudmouth Ollie and Frankie chimed in, too nervous to risk noise.

They lined up, taking positions along the trenchwall, as Tom pointed out where he saw the troopers with his hand. Voicing the position risked detection, so he made the motion saying enemy, 10 o’clock, 20 meters out. All rifles trained on his signal, and they waited with baited breath. No answer. Suddenly, the deafening crack of a gunshot was heard to their left. Tom felt his stomach drop; the shot came from his brother's position. He charged ahead of his squad, leaving them following as he raced to his brother's trench. It was a sight of chaos. 

Tom heard more shots ring out as Noah frantically fired into no man’s land, trying to find a target. The stormtroopers were upon him just as fast, rising out of the damp mud and lurching towards him with razor sharp entrenching tools. Seeing them up close was like witnessing a nightmare; a dark, hooded figure, with no visage behind a blank and empty mask. They had no emotions or thoughts, only the urge to kill the enemy. There were 5 in total, leaping into the trenches one by one. They had his brother pinned to the ground, raising the weapons of death downward to strike as Tom loosed his first shot on the attacker. He jerked back, stiffened by the shot to the skull, helmet bursting out the back. The remaining elements turned back to him now, charging him with bloodlust. Raising concealed pistols their shots rang out, as Tom realized they had shot a volley into his approaching squad. Watching in horror, he saw Frankie go limp and fall, taking a shot to the neck he knew he wouldn't recover from.  Noticing his comrade fall, Olliver rushed to his aid, and met the same fate from multiple shots to the chest. Tom felt the rage boil inside of him, as he charged forward, rifle in hand. He fired shot after shot, felling two more soldiers before he even closed the distance. The remaining entities charged back, raising their shovels to strike. Tom dodged the first blow, seeing another fall to his mate’s fire behind him, leaving one trooper to enact vengeance on. He raised his rifle, one last shot to end it all, but felt a paralyzing pain as the trooper dug his weapon into his chest. White hot daggers shot through him, as the tool burrowed into him. He heard his brother cry out as the hit came, too disoriented with pain to place the sound. With all the willpower left, he raised his rifle and swung with fury, bludgeoning the oncoming trooper with animal-like ferocity, before he collapsed to the ground. He saw the trooper fall, spasming into the mud floor of the trenches. As he watched the chaos around him, he thought of his home in Rye, and his last night in the trenches. War truly was hell, he saw now; there was no escape from their fates. He felt relief as he knew his time in the trenches was coming to an end with his friends, barely aware of the desperate voice of his brother trying to aid him.

His whispered words cut through Noah’s cries like a knife, uttering “Goodbye, brother”.