Kirby Rogers

English

November 18, 2019

WWI

                                Dear Ma, Pa, and Sis,

 Today is my 20^th day on the front lines, and so far it has been a very

 bad experience.  The food itself is bad enough, but the fact that it is always

 covered in flies so much that you can’t even see it, makes it seem unpalatable.

                I, Sergeant James Smith, looked up from my writing and stared out over the misty, mess of No Man’s Land with my sharp blue eyes.  Twisted, lifeless trees dotted the landscape like gnarled witches fingers seeking to grasp the dark night sky.  A thick fog drifted lazily across the tattered and shattered land. I looked back down at the letter and started writing again.

                                  The cornel said that me and a few other men are going out tomorrow to

  scout out the enemy position.

 I paused to think, then continued.

  A new soldier of mine has a cute little cat who is getting very fat on all the rats here.

   Well, it’s late, and I’m going to bed, but I have

   to say, I have a really bad feeling about tomorrow.

                The next day, me and a few of my men went out with enough provisions to last us about six days. My few soldiers were all friends of mine, aside from a few random people who had been added to my gang. My second in command, Elliot, who was a German but had lived in America all his life, Silas, a lazy but good hearted man who was the best sharpshooter in all of Europe. Ian, the Korean soldier who was a loyal fighter and also a fierce one, and Ian’s small cat, Zoey, a little furry calico who always had energy to play a game. We left about at the eighteenth hour, when a large cloud covered us, the shadow covered the landscape and with the sudden coolness the slight mist sprang into a thick fog. We flitted from cover to cover like little shadows. Soon we had somehow gotten to the enemy lines, and, as ordered, we continued on, Zoey like a little furry guide, telling us where to go as we followed her into the lion’s lair.

                Cornel Dylan, commander of the 105^th regiment of the Axis power, had failed his country, as the newspaper had said, and had been demoted to Privet Dylan, commander of mud. At the start of his career he had risen quickly, the newspaper had called him a legend in the making, he even conquered a nearby town that had been taken by the Briton, in his honor, and they renamed the town Dylansberg. Now in his demoted state, he had to find a way to get back to his former prestige, and he thought he had found a way when he saw a small band of Allied troupes going too far behind enemy lines to ever make it back alive.

                Me, my friend Elliot, and the rest of my men came to a small forest at the foot of a large hill that somehow still stood, tall and strong, so near to the front lines. We had been traveling all night , we only traveled at night so that we weren’t seen, and we thought it was a good place to rest for the daytime because it had good cover and a small but deep, clear steam. I posed two guards, rolled out my sleeping bag and was just about to fall asleep when I saw Ian feeding little Zoey, it was a fascinating process, first he would coax her over by holding a choice piece of meat, then he filled a small bowl with some food, once she was done, he filled the bowl with water from the stream. “Cute, Ain’t she?” questioned Elliot, seeing my interest in the cat and her master.

                ”Yes, she is,” I smiled back. That was the last sight I saw, cat and master, before I fell into a deep sleep. I woke a couple hours later to the sound of Zoey hissing, a chill ran down my spine, ‘Was that faint rustling sound Axis men, creeping up on my squad’  I thought to myself ‘or was it just….’   BANG!! The dangerous hissing from Zoey was instantly turned into yowls of pure terror. It was a warning shot, telling us to be afraid and silent, still in our sleeping bags. Zoey, who was poofed up with sheer terror, ran back to her master, once in the safety of his cradling arms, she felt she was safe to growl and hiss once more. A commanding person, who could only be the leader of the force of enemy soldiers, stepped forward. Surprisingly, the leader was a woman, a woman about 35 or so, she had flaming red hair and a furious face like a thundercloud, not far behind her was a huge dog, ready to protect its master. When she spoke, it was in a very bad form of English, “My mane is Francisca. I am leader of these troops!” she hissed at us, “And we,” she continued, “We are here to kill you!’’ At first I thought she said, “We are here to ill you,” but then I realized what she had said and prepared for the worst.

                I woke with a start and sat up quickly, that was a mistake, with the sudden movement, my head felt like it would split apart, “OW!” I yelled, or I tried to yell, my sore throat stifled the yell into a low croak. My hand flew to my head in a not so helpful movement. My camp’s medic came bustling over to check. He was a little man, but was an excellent healer.

He took my temperature and frowned, “You have a high fever. You should stay here with me while the others go on ahead,” wheezed the man.

I felt like refusing, then my head made itself felt.  “Fine,” I replied, without the slightest bit of guilt.

  “Elliot, come here,” I croaked weakly, my old friend marched over, “You will be the leader of the troupes. Lead them on to the main camp of the Axis power and get info on anything of interest, then come back to me here.”  I watched my men march out of the clearing on and on without me only the little healer and Zoey remained with me, Ian had left her here. A couple minutes later there was a huge explosion in the direction of where my men went off marching, followed closely by sounds of shouting and gunfire, I knew what was happening, we had been followed.Knowing that the Axis men would check our campsite to make sure that there were no one that had stayed at the camp, me, the healer, whose name was Corbin, and Zoey hid in some thick bushes. In a minute there was a tramping sound getting louder and louder as the enemy men approached. The first person I saw struck a chord in my memory, she had red hair, a face like a thundercloud, and a large, black dog following closely behind. Oh, how much I longed to pull out my 22 and shoot her, but then I restrained myself thinking, ‘if I shoot her then I will reveal my position. Still, I took the precaution of drawing my little handgun ‘that dog might smell us out.’ By sheer, dumb luck, the wind was blowing from them to us so the dog couldn’t sniff us out. After a few minutes, they were convinced that there were no one left at the camp, so they left. After about half an hour, I was assured that it was safe to come out. I peered through tearful eyes to a large, smoking crater where my men had… had, it was too painful to even look at. Even Zoey seemed sad as I stroked here fury back, “Oh Zoey,” I asked her, “will we ever get out of here?”