Jack thrust himself against the dirt mound. Head covered, body shaking, fingers trembling, he sat like a helpless child as the screams of artillery shells filled the sky with a deafening screech. The explosions almost drowned out the bloodcurdling howls of pain from the soldiers unlucky enough to be caught in the fiery hell storm.
Jack sighed, breathing in the aroma of freshly shifted dirt, gunpowder, coagulating blood and singed flesh. His heart was a drum, beating with each crack of a gun. Each agony-soaked shriek. Each triumphant, animalistic roar from the enemy across the trenches after yet another successful kill.
Bullets tore through dirt and flesh all around him. He watched the young, the old, the scared and the brave struck, taken down in the blink of an eye and their bodies sent limp into the dirt, collapsing like a house of cards. They lay motionless. Lifeless.
To his right, sat his friend. His best mate. Simon.
Simon came running down the road, screaming Jack's name.
"Jack, Jack! Have you seen this?" He shoved a poster into Jack's hands.
Jack unfolded the crinkled poster. It read:
Join Together.
Train Together.
Embark Together.
Fight Together.
Enlist in the Australian first regiment.
Show the enemy what Australian men can do!
"Simon, are you serious about this?"
"Yeah mate, one hundred percent serious. Everyone else is joining. They'll pay us, feed us, and we'll get to see the world!" Simon's face lit up, beaming with excitement.
Simon's face twisted and contorted, as he grimaced in pain. A cry for help escaped his trembling lips. Blood seeped from a fresh bullet wound in his side, tears cascaded down his cheeks like raindrops on a window and incoherent mumblings travelled on his fading breath.
"Jack..." he croaked. "Jack, h-help me."
Jack was a statue. He stared without breathing, unblinking, devoid of feeling. Simon shuddered, holding a hand outstretched to his best mate.
"Jack, p-please help me..."
His arm fell limp. The eyes that once pleaded, laughed and loved with Jack fell dull, as though the light inside had been switched off. Now Simon stared without breathing, unblinking, free from feeling the pain, the suffering and the heart-ache that now filled Jack's shuddering figure.
A pulse. Building. Igniting. Jack's stomach was an engine, and rage was his fuel. A burning fire sparked inside Jack's heart. Warm, furious, blood pumped wrath and vengeance around his body.
Jack threw himself from the dirt mound. Head held tall, body tensed, and fingers flexed into a tight fist, he rose. His khaki uniform billowed in the wind like the flag he and Simon had once raised every day back home. The proud Union Jack and Southern Cross pumped in unison with the beat of his very own drum- heart. He hid his tears well, lest the others saw his pain. And without thinking, without planning, without fear, he leapt over the trench and the Bull charged the enemy, unblinking, breathing wildly, free from fear. Free, even from the ever-growing coldness of Death's icy grip on his shoulder. Join together, train together, embark together, fight together. Show the enemy what Australian men can do!
Great short. I never understood why people would sign up for war by choice. But I guess they didn't fully understand the realities - as you've portrayed in your story.
This was devastating, and the contrast was incredibly powerful.