"GET DOWN!"
The roar of explosions and engines shook the battle ground masking the shout. Shooting from the horizon to horizon, like a comet, a fiery white ball of flame licked the craft, covering it. A sharp whistle pierced the deafened ears of the mud caked soldiers below, and the boom that followed ruptured what was left. Solid stacks of billowing smoke wafted out the craters littering those rolling hills. Within a bunker, hidden away from the crimson mists that sprayed with each round that hit the earth, stood a boy. He watched the horrible whine of soldiers on death's door, the rumbling of tanks and the booms that sent shrapnel hurling towards the still fighting troopers. The sky shattered as bomb after bomb pelted the bunkers and the interconnected web of trenches that only seemed to bring more wounded than reinforcements. Dirt fell from the bunker's ceiling as a round impacted the reinforced roof above their heads, and that boy knew what he had to do.
"SECOND SQUAD, FORM UP!"
gruff and loud the order came, but the explosions and wails of enemies and friends all but deafened the boy. His body began to fail him as he looked up from the anarchy just beyond the slit of the bunker. Reaching into his jacket, he retrieved a folded photograph. Long wavy hair cascading down the subject's face, brown eyes richer than chocolate, and a smile that brought warmth in the cold and mud. Sucking in a breath, he reached over to his rifle, chambering a round, and stood.
"Lot 272! get yourself over here!"
"SIR, YES SIR!" He screamed over the ringing. He scrambled over to the huddle of soldiers, stepping over the bodies of both the fallen and lost, and leaned into the group to hear what was being said. "We'll be attacking...", the screech of artillery amplified the ringing. "If anything happens go to-" The boom of shells landing near the bunker shook his head inside his helmet, "And remember that if anything goes wrong-" a trooper lying on a cot screamed bloody murder as another soldier tried to make do with yesterday's medic's only lesson on first aid, the total extent of his knowledge as proven by the dying cry of yet another soldier.
"Understood?" The squad responded in the affirmative, the boy unable to ask for the Sergeant to repeat himself. The squad split and headed to two separate exits, leaving their comrade to figure it out. He hesitated for a brief moment but, before he could follow one group outside of the bunker, an artillery barrage landed just outside the bunker's exit. Mud and guts were hurled onto the boy's face, stunning the boy and saving his life as the bunker's entrance collapsed. The boy doubled over and spewed a green sludge as his closest allies were blown to bits, misting him in their blood.
"Hey, Lot 272, was it? I need an extra set of hands and I happened to notice you have both," called a nearby corpsman, his hands buried in a disemboweled soldier who somehow clung to life.
The boy could only nod as he meekly rushed over to aid the man. He thought back to the photo that sat in his left breast pocket, and he thought about the girl within. A sharp pain stung his heart and a pit formed in his stomach as the bile forced its way out of his mouth, he put aside any squeamishness and tried his best to follow the corpsman's instructions. "Alright, hold this vein still and make sure to not-" the roar of aircraft above cutoff the man as the ceiling collapsed above them, crushing numerous of the wounded and dead beneath the reinforced concrete.
A splatter of liquid impacted his neck, and he looked over to find the corpsman collapsed on the ground with a piece of shrapnel embedded into the neck and through the spinal cord. The eyes of the corpsman went wide before getting lost in the fog. And now, for the first time in the boy's life, did he get a glimpse of the elephant. Picking up his rifle, the boy climbed out of the hole busted into by the shell and sprinted. He ran and ran and ran, bones and muscle aching, lungs burning and struggling. The boy tasted copper with every breath, yet he still continued on pushing. The enemy was close now; he could hear the machine guns, and he remembered his old teachers tuts. The man had spat saliva with every tut and it infuriated the hell out of the boy, and despite himself he felt his mouth tug up into a faint smile. Looking over his shoulder he saw the guns spew out bright beams into the approaching enemy, cutting though the smoke, soot, and dust leaving a trail of clear air in the projectile's wake. For better or worse, the boy knew his fate and nothing he could do would change it.
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The revelation hit him so hard he stopped, causing him to faceplant into the mud with a squelch. Picking his head up, the boy thought about the girl whose portrait sat neighboring his heart. His eyes locked onto his rifle, which landed a few feet away from him, and his heart sank as he steeled himself. He picked up his right arm, then his left, then his chest, and then his knees. He stood, mud falling down from his now brown uniform, and lunged toward the rifle and embraced the mud once more. cradling it, he looked over his shoulder to find silhouettes forming in the smoke. His instincts screamed to run but his mind had lost control of his body, seizing up and locking him into a desperate tug of war that waged in his mind. To run or to fight. To run or to fight. He stared at the figures as they slowly marched forward, wading their way through the thick mud over to him. The battle in his mind only intensified as his focus shifted onto a crumpled portrait lying atop the mud, and the war within was instantly over. He bear-crawled over the portrait, making sure to keep the barrel out of the mud as he slowly made way though the ancle high mud that carpeted the once luscious greens and blues that composed these rolling hills. He grabbed the portrait and shoved it inside the pocket it escaped, then he brought his rifle up, shifted his position, and opened fire.
Brilliant blue beams lanced out into the center of one shadow on the horizon, dead before he hit the ground. The boy- no, the Soldier- adjusted his aim and shot another bolt, it grazed the second man. By now, the enemy noticed the incoming fire and jumped into the mud's embrace. Grenades flew out from where they fell and sent the mud flying out everywhere, hiding where the enemy lay as vivid orange light shot through the concealment provided by the explosion and into the ground all around where the Soldier lay. the Soldier dropped his rifle and pressed his helmet further into his head as the artillery battered the ground all around him, the enemy trying to destroy him. He shut his eyes and hoped to wake up in his room, his home, before his heart lurched and he remembered the outcome of his own internal battle. He picked up his rifle once more, and loaded a grenade onto his rifle and fired it. It arced out and atop the enemy infantry lying face down in the cover of the terrain. He heard the screams of surprise from the enemy as their own friends were blown up, and the soldier thought of his own squad and how they'd died. Amongst the barrage of mortar fire, the soldier sobbed out as the people cried out for their friends. The elephant had now been fully revealed in its ugly truth. It stood amongst the enemy, black eyes staring directly into the soul of the soldier, of Lot 272. It bore deep into the boy's soul, of Matthew's soul and it sickened Matthew's very core. His own self had now been fully exposed against the world, unprotected by the flimsy lie of another identity beneath the gasmask and helmet. He cried. he sobbed and bawled his eyes out, as the elephant continued to stare into him. the sickness he felt was his own disgust and humanization of the foe, their cries for their fallen and his own allies' cries of pain and suffering. An impact to his kidneys sent him rolling onto his back as the enemy -no, person- held him at gunpoint. Their arms shook and trembled as the distinct yet quiet sound of sobbing not his own came to Matthew's ears, and Matthew didn't hold the boy Infront of him in contempt he simply continued to sob. The boy's knees buckled, and he fell down next to Matthew. Both soldiers of different sides became wracked with sobs as they lay there on the ground. The mortars had stopped now hammering away at him now, their thunderous booms becoming more distant as they shifted their fire onto more important targets. The two continued to lay there, motionless and tired by the war. Matthew looked over at the soldier next to him and saw him laying lifeless, limbs splayed in unnatural ways. Dead. Matthew moved his gaze back up toward the sky, greyed by the smoke and smog from the battle's effects, and prayed to his god. Matthew heard the whistle of a mortar shell; he felt an incredible force on his stomach, before the world turned black and Matthew knew no more.
