See Through My Eyes

SEE THROUGH MY EYES

This was the moment that petrified me the most, waiting. When the whistle blows we all know where to go. Three long years I have been stuck in this open grave. One day seems much like another. I feel like an old man who has spent his lifetime here.
I am known as the old man of the trench, because I am its only original inhabitant.
Everyone I joined with died years ago.

Their faces come to me in dreams that turn into nightmares. The dead reaching out and pulling me towards them. Then I wake up screaming. The guilt I feel for surviving devours me, everyday I go over the top, hoping death will come for me, but he never does. The grim reaper in his black cloak flying down from heaven to send me to hell for all the lives I have taken.

The old man of the trench, the nineteen year old librarian who foolishly joined at sixteen. The same boy who would return a conquering hero and go back to his beloved library. Books were replaced by bullets and polished wooden floors by mud covered bodies. I spent Christmas in a trench.
Why has no one blown the whistle yet? We were given the command to assume positions, ready to go over the top.
Something strange is going on, maybe that is the reason for the delay. The Hun had not shelled us all day. A few shots had been heard the night before, but they had not

come our way.
Now we were waiting to go over the top, at night. A thick mist had fallen for the second night running. A blanket of secrecy the donkeys called it. Sneak up on the Hun and win the war. We would most likely bump into the Hun in no mans land and butcher each other.

I could feel my heart booming in my chest now. If I stood here much longer it would be booming in my throat. Waiting scared me more, it meant you had time to think about what had happened and what could happen.
My vision was beginning to become a blur. Then it happened, the whistle blew and I charged, into the blinding mist.

Blurry vision did not matter, I could see nothing. A German soldier could run right by me and I would not see him. If he saw me I hoped he would put me out of my misery. It had to be at the hands of the enemy, I could not kill myself.
Maybe I should just walk away from all of this. I really don’t care if I live or die, but if I left this place that could all change. I was happy before the war so I could be happy after.
If I got caught I could say I got lost in the mist.

I raised my friend with trembling hands, a soldiers best friend was his rifle. All his other friends were dead. I did not want to die on my way to freedom.
Proceeding forward, rifle at the ready, with a smile on my face I felt a new sense of hope. My fragile mind really believed I could escape all of this. I knew if I headed right and kept walking straight I would be out of the trenches.

A sudden noise disturbed my happy thoughts. Someone was trying to creep up behind me, I could hear a squelching, dragging sound. Panic took hold of me as I spun in every direction, aiming my trembling rifle, waiting for my target to show himself. The sound was getting nearer and nearer as my heart began to beat faster and faster.

“Lower your rifle, Miller.”

“Who is that?”

“Sergeant Patch.”

“You nearly got a rifle right up your Khyber.”

“I saw you walking in the wrong direction and assumed you had got lost in the mist.”

“How did you see me, I can’t see a thing?”

“I always stick close to you Miller. You’re considered good luck, you old boy. Strange thing this Miller, listen, not a sound can be heard. Follow me and we may make it to the Hun’s trench.”

Patch was covered in mud and soaking wet, worse of all he smelt rancid.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“Fell down a hole full of water, dead bodies and rats. I think it may have been a grave at one time.”

I nodded and followed the young Sergeant. He was a twenty year old Sergeant with less than a years service. One of the chaps I think was the expression.
I could see a green blur through the mist, so I just followed its lead. My few minutes of happiness had been shattered, no chance of escape now, only a release when the bullet with my name on it found me.

The silence was bearing down on me like hand from above. I had not heard a single shot since I had gone over the top.
A sharp pain bought me out of my daze and I screamed.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Patch said.

“Something has cut into my shins.”

“You’ve walked into wire, shut up or you’ll get us both shot.”

I could feel the blood running down my shins as I stood there, trying not to make a sound.

“Wire is not normally below knee height, is it?”

“Shut up, I’ll get you out.”

Patch took his heavy trench coat off and threw it over the wire, then without warning he pulled me back. I screamed again as the skin was ripped from my bones.

“Jesus, Serg.”

“Be a man Miller and watch how you speak to me.”

Raising his rifle, Patch then walked over his coat. I followed with blood trickling down my shins and tears trickling down my face.
I’m sure the enemy would hear him coming with the squelching noise he was making.
The mist was still really thick, so I slid my feet forward until I found the top the German trench, knelt down and slid in.

Immediately I could see everything. The trench was clear, there was no mist hanging in the air. I shook as a shiver ran up my spine. The trench appeared to be deserted. There were signs of life, bullet shells covered the ground and there were several helmets lying in the mud, but no bodies. Even the footprints appeared to be dried in.

The trench design was impressive, it was deeper and drier than anything I was used to. The unmanned machine gun was the creepiest thing, it just stood there pointing straight ahead. I touched it and felt the coldness, I heard something behind me and was so startled I fell forwards over the barrel.

“This isn’t a friendly visit, Miller. Stop staring and act like a soldier.”

I had completely forgotten about Patch, his voice bought me out of my daze, again. If there was no enemy to fight, if they had deserted or surrendered this would all be over. I could go back to my library and bury myself in books. Maybe that girl with the glasses who was always reading on a Saturday morning would still be there. An empty trench filled me with hope.

“Sorry Serg, I’m just finding it hard to take all of this in.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you survived this long. Are you ill?”

I stared back at his wild eyes, he was more scared than I was. He had that look I had seen many times before, eyes that look but don’t see. The lion had lost his claws, mine were starting to grow back.

Patch led the way and I obediently followed. I felt as if I were walking through a haunted trench. Any second a ghost would leap out of the mud and drag me down screaming as I came face to face with old friends.

Raising my rifle I kept it aimed at the top of the trench in case anyone decided to drop in. Patch had his rifle aimed at the ground, I could see his hand trembling. I doubt very much if he could hit a cows backside with a shovel the way he was trembling.

Patch gasped and knelt down, trying desperately to raise his rifle. A dead German soldier was slumped against the side of the trench, his rifle lying on the ground next to him.

Keeping my rifle pointing forward I approached the body. When I was satisfied there were no enemy soldiers within range I pulled the body back and was shocked by what I saw. The soldiers face was a mask of terror, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, lips pulled back in a grimace. That was not the worst sight, his throat had been ripped out. There was no blood on the uniform, the wound was down to the bone. I checked his weapon, the cartridge was empty and he had hit nothing.

Looking round I could see Patch leaning against the side of the trench, staring at the ground.

“We need to keep moving Serg, he’s dead.”

Patch did not reply, he simply walked past me. His hands were twitching and he looked as pale as the corpse.
We passed two more soldiers who had died in the same way, both had empty rifles lying next to them.

Three soldiers lying dead in the trench, no one manning any of the machine guns and no enemy to be seen. How could a German soldier miss at close range, yet they hit us as soon we scramble to the top of the trench?
I had no answers but I intended to find one. I wanted no part in this victory, the injuries were unbelievable. An act of savagery, not soldiery.

We had come to a bend in the trench, it branched sharply to the left. With weapon raised I began to creep forward, expecting someone to leap out on me at any second. My heart began to pound again as the adrenalin surged through my body. I crouched down and peered carefully round the corner, only to see five more dead soldiers. Approaching them I could see they had been killed in the same way. Behind the corpses was a dugout, where the officers slept and weapons and food were stored. The poor wretches had died trying to guard their donkeys.

“Serg, its all clear,” I shouted.

The now haggard form of Sergeant Patch appeared before me. His time here had taken it toll on him, this latest find being the straw that broke the camels back.
Raising my rifle again, I proceeded forward. After what I had seen I was not sure how it would help if I was faced with this new, powerful enemy. Looking down the barrel however, made me feel better about what might be waiting.

Ducking down I walked through the doorway and was shocked by what greeted me. The dim overhead lamps shone down on bloodless corpses that had been torn apart. Limbs had been torn from their torso‘s. Rifles lay discarded on the ground, seemingly useless to their owners. Bodies lay on top of bodies, their terrified expressions telling me of the horrors that had taken place.

The smell of death hung in the air like a dark cloud. I had to tread on the dead to find my way through the dugout. They must have fled in here as a last retreat and faced down their enemy. The slaughter in here was not the doing of a soldier. No soldier could tear a man limb from limb and avoid bullets. I feared my friends had suffered the same fate, the mist concealing whoever had done this. Patch and I surviving because we had left the main unit. Maybe I was lucky, my plans for desertion had saved my life.

“What should we do, Serg?”

Looking round I realised I was talking to myself, Patch was nowhere to be seen.
No point in going back for him I decided, time to see what I could find of use in this dugout. There were small rooms on either side, stables for the donkeys. Checking the first one I found some old food, it tasted good. There were cigarettes on top of a small box, I smoked three and out the rest in my pocket. Something to drink would be nice, so my tour of the dugout continued. It was not long before I found the officers stash. Bottles of French wine and brandy were in a locked cupboard in an alcove. The butt of my rifle soon opened the door.

I smiled for the first time in a long time as I gulped down wine and then brandy, leaning back against the wall as the room began to spin. After a few minutes I decided it was time to go. I had a crazy idea of blowing up the dugout to hide what had happened. God only knew what people would think when they saw the butchery here. A feeling of numbness overwhelmed me, I felt as I would wake up at any moment.

I stuffed my pockets with as many bottles as I could manage and then staggered out of the dugout, over the dead bodies. The entrance was right in front of me and I could see a pair of legs on the other side, dropping to my knees I raised my rifle, then realised it was Patch.

“Where the hell have you been Miller?”

“Looking round, sir. I thought you would be behind me. Its full of bodies in there, torn to shreds they are.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I was thirsty sir, that is all.”

“Is that right?”

“Sir, I think we need to blow this place. The soldiers in there have been torn to shreds. If anyone sees what has happened in there they will think we are mad.”

“For a drunk you talk sense Miller. But, we blow the trench because it is the enemy’s, not because of tales of madness. Be about it.”

“Sir?”

“Blow it up. Find whatever fuel you can and pour it on the bodies. I will find the explosives. For goodness sake do not light anything. Leave all explosives to me. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

I staggered back into the dugout. I had seen rooms at the far end that looked as if they were used for weapons storage.
The door to the storage room had been forced open and several large boxes had the tops torn off of them and then crudely replaced. There was a sickening smell emitting from them so I did not look inside.

I picked up as many Jerry cans of fuel as I could carry and stumbled back to the body pile.
I emptied the cans onto the bodies and staggered outside, before I passed out. The fuel fumes had done nothing to improve my drunken state.
I lent against the side of the trench and promptly slid down it. The stench from those boxes in the storeroom still filled my nostrils, it was hypnotic and foul at the same time.

“Miller, Miller will you wake up, this is no time for sleeping.”

“I’m not asleep Serg, just overcome with fumes,” I said as I rubbed my eyes.

“You sound a bit more sober. Hurry up and help me unravel this fuse wire. The sun is sinking and that cursed mist is beginning to rise. I don’t want to be staggering across no mans land in the dark, not after nearly drowning last time.”

I helped Patch unroll the fuse wire, connecting it to all the explosives he had strategically placed in the dugout. We started at the far end and worked our way back to the entrance, through the door and round the corner, back through the trench.

“This should be far enough. Light the bloody thing and lets get out of here, “ Patch said, nervously.

Striking a match on my chin, then shielding the flame I lit the fuse.
The explosion was almost deafening. A shower of earth and wooden splinters rained down on us as we both couched down on the floor. The heat was intense, I could feel my face getting hot as I looked up into the sky, to see flames roaring up as thick black smoke drifted above . Then the smell hit me, the smell of burning flesh. I retched and vomited over my feet, my stomach now empty.

Then I heard something. I was sure came from hell, an insane scream like a banshee wailing. I felt drawn towards it, I had to see what it was. I could feel myself walking forward, towards the heat.
Three figures were running towards me, all were blackened skeletons, consumed in flame. Their empty eye sockets gazed at me, their mouths wide open revealing long sharp teeth. I stood still, rooted to the spot as they ran towards me. As they neared me they seemed to explode from within, showering me with a grey dust that felt like silk.

Feeling as if I had been released from a spell I ran back to Sergeant Patch who was still cowering on the ground, covered in confetti from the explosion.

“Lets get out of here, Miller.”

Patch ran down the trench and I followed him, we found a ladder, climbed up it and ran out into no mans land. There was no barbed wire in front of us, only a light covering of mist. We both ran back in the direction of our trench. I heard a noise ahead, a thump followed by a splash. We both aimed our rifles and crept towards the sound. Someone was floundering in a water filled hole, trying to get out. I recognised the fat face as Stumpy Monroe, the trench preacher.
I ran towards him, grabbed hold of his head and began to pull him back towards me.

“Leave me be you devils, no,” Stumpy screamed.

“Its Miller Stumpy, not the devil.”

“Thank god for you Miller, praise be my brother.”

“Calm down,” I said as I pulled him out.

He smelt worse than Patch did when I first saw him. The watery hole had corpses floating in it that looked as if they had been chewed by rats.
Stumpy staggered off towards the trench and we followed him. He kept crossing himself and mumbling something about devils. He was obviously tired and confused.

When we arrived back at the trench it was empty and eerily silent.

“What were you saying about devils earlier, Stumpy?” I asked.

“Devils flew through the mist and butchered everyone. I saw them as they stood round me, their pale skin and pointed teeth mocking me.”

“You’re delirious man. That is your over active imagination getting the better of you,” Patch said.

“I saw one of them drink Cornell’s blood, then rip his throat out with his bare hands.
I fell in that hole when one of them was chasing me. I swear as god is my witness, they float on the breeze. They seem to be afraid of water. I was splashed one of them with water and it burned his skin. Seven beasts from hell come to punish us for our sins.”

“Poppycock man. Utter tosh. The beasts from hell who drink blood and float in the mist. You should listen to yourself. Miller is drunk, he has an excuse, but you preacher, really,” Patch said.

“I saw the cause of that awful wailing. Three skeletons with sharp teeth who exploded. They sound like Vampires,” I said.

Patch bust out laughing, but he sounded terrified, his haunted eyes and gaunt expression showing how close to the edge he was.

“You read too many books Miller, it’s the drink talking. Filling your head with all that rubbish. Count Dracula, that story about creatures taking over the earth in tripods and that one by the poet about the creature made from body parts. Utter twoddle.” Patch said nervously.

“Vampires originate from folktales. Where do you think the stories came from? They drink blood and cannot show themselves in daylight. Fire and a stake through the heart can kill them, as well as garlic and holy water,” I said.

“I have heard of such things, and I believe you are right Miller. The water certainly burnt one of them. You say three are dead? Well, that leaves four to kill.”