So here’s a little fiction, slightly cheating here as it wasn’t written today!

The Soldier

Winter evening draws in as the soldier takes his place in the watch tower.  An icy mist swirls over the river below. Within minutes his binoculars will be useless. For now, he looks across the wide expanse of the river and his eyes barely make out the dense forest on the other side. The treetops flecked with light snow exude a dull glow and sit perfectly still. The attack is expected from across the river before dawn.  Without warning, his mind floods with images of the carnage to come, of pine trees and human limbs mutilated and hanging at unnatural angles. He shakes himself from the thought and takes in the peaceful scene across the river one last time before darkness takes over.

He thinks of his comrades huddled together in the trenches below, misses their body heat. Now, alone at a height and guarding a cold river in a land he does not know, he feels momentarily cut off from everything. He can sense the presence of his comrade on watch in the tower fifty yards from him, but is forbidden to call out to him. He turns back and looks below to where the trenches would be, invisible now in darkness. He can make out a lit cigarette here and there, barely hears the sound of comrades speaking to each other in low voices. Voices devoid of emotion, jokes told without humour and empty laughter betraying fear. No more talk of home and of lives left behind, lives which can never be resumed as they were left. Scenes from a different past that will always be on pause in the memory.

The temperature drops below freezing, numbing his fingers and toes despite thick gloves and socks. With the cold his mind numbs also, blocking out some of his own fear. He takes comfort in this. The situation is not new to him or to any of them; lying in wait to attack or to be attacked. The landscape may change from one battlefield to the next but always the same result:  fields, rivers, villages, mountains become the unwanted witnesses to brutality and bloodshed. His mindset stays constant too on the eve of every battle with one overriding thought…live through this. No room for any other thoughts or emotions. He has watched many close comrades die in this war, never understanding the logic of the dice as they fall in his favour each time.

In the first few years his thoughts would have been different on the eve of battle. Mixed with raw fear was a huge swell of emotion towards his family. A desire to fight bravely and with dignity for them. How his heart used to fill with pride as he imagined his mother, father and younger brother eating a warm meal together by the hearth. He can still picture clearly the small house at the foot of the mountain. Though the scene is vivid, he has a recurring dream of approaching the house and as he enters he no longer recognises the faces of his parents and brother. Nor they him. Lying now looking out into blackness he cannot picture his mothers face. His mind struggles to bring it back to his memory, but sheer tiredness wins out and his eyes begin to droop.

The sound of approaching footsteps below jolts him back to attention. How long have I been dozing, he wonders.  He hears the clink of a spoon on the bucket below, hauls up the rope and takes the metal bowl and dried piece of bread from the bucket.  Warmth creeps into his body as he noisily eats, oats from the watery soup falling from his mouth onto the bread. Can the enemy hear me eating he wonders, and smiles to himself. Despite his exhaustion, he instantly feels a release of energy with the liquid nourishment.

One hour of his watch remaining as the first slivers of daylight begin to break through. Not long now. All of his nerve endings on fire as he scans the dark horizon, listening intently for movement on the far shore. How many will die today? He leans on his rifle and lies in wait, his mind clear and focused…live through this.

Kevin McCarthy