The lone soldier awakens. He lifts his helmet, and looks around him. He is stunned. The destruction. The loneliness. The silence. No one. He tries to sit upright, and grimaces when he realises that his left leg is still fractured. He crawls towards camp, painfully. He wonders if he can make it. He finds it hard to breathe; the fumes are engulfing the air. “Help me!” He looks to his right. A fellow comrade reaches out with his hand. Searching for hope. Searching for warmth. Seeing that he was beyond help, the soldier decides to do his comrade one last favour. He struggles to lift his bayonet, and plunges it down. The man smiles. His pain is over.
After a long and excruciatingly painful crawl, the soldier finally reaches camp. A medic sees him and passes him an IV. The soldier makes himself comfortable among his fellow injured comrade, and inserts the IV drip. He winces as he tries to find a vein. He should have done better at medic school. He winces again as rust seeps into his bloodstream. Due to lack of supplies, that IV catheter had probably been used over 50 times. He drifts into a painful sleep.
A series of bombshells being fired wakes him abruptly. Men around him are standing up, readying their weapons. He pulls out the catheter, and struggles to stand up. Grabbing his rifle, he heads outside of camp. He puts on his helmet and looks to the distant horizon. Blasted Germans.
No comments:
Post a Comment