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I actually wrote this for an English assignment but i thought i'd post it here cos i liked it quite a lot. I have plans of changing it to be more 40k themed.
A nauseating concoction of rotting flesh and cordite reached my nostrils and warm vomit made its way from my stomach to my mouth creating a small puddle on the ground. It felt good; it made me feel more human. Luckily my gas mask had been securely placed over my face before the gas fell or else I would have been lying out somewhere in no mans land coughing up my lungs. My hands wandered through my pockets until they felt the familiar square box containing those now all so rare and valuable tobacco filled sticks. Carefully placing one in the corner of my mouth I sat on a blackened log which not three hours ago was standing tall with its brothers in a small forest.
Hey Corrion, throw us that kraut lighter you found
The stick in my mouth smouldered with a reassuring red glow at its tip. It felt good, calmed me, and chased the taste of death from mouth. Memories of the earlier battle started to flood back into my bloodstained and tortured mind.
…Running. Running. Running. Chaos. Confusion. Bullets buzzing over head like flies. Men falling beside me and around me. Thick yellow-green smoke and gas swirling around and around, disorienting and dampening my senses. Was I running in the right direction? Or into the impatient arms of death? Left leg after right leg, sprinting now as fast as my body would allow. Adrenaline pumping wildly through my veins. Heart pounding in my chest cavity like an artillery barrage. Ears hearing a combination of sounds which no one back home could even begin to comprehend. And then utter silence. Signifying only one thing, death. Either we had won or we had lost. Either we had been annihilated or we had destroyed our enemy. My legs gave way from under me and the ground came up fast to meet with my body, and then darkness engulfed me. Consumed my body and what was left of my mind. It might have been days, it might have been hours when I felt that firm grip on my shoulder, arousing me again in to the land of the living. My eyelids slowly opened. Darkness was greeted by the light of the sun and chased away. My mind was free, at least for the moment. My eyes contacted with the human who had woken me. Moments later I was on my feet…
The memory faded, a butterfly flew across my field of vision, not meters from my face. Such beauty, such innocence and purity, if only all of us out here could be more like butterflys. It’s quite ironic really they are so much like us; they come into the world for only a short amount of time, lay their eggs and then die. The only difference between them and us is that they create life while we destroy it. Everyone here on this goddamn battlefield is doomed, doomed to die. For people in our position it is not a matter of if we are going to die it is a simple matter of when. It looks like I was lucky enough to gain a few more hours of living hell by surviving the battle. Lucky is not really the right word for it, more like unlucky.
Three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around me all I could see was death, all I could smell was death and all that I felt was a stillness which only meant the coming of death. How we can survive in such an environment is amazing. Constant gunfire, footrot from filthy muddy trenches, a whole manner of diseases I didn’t even know existed, malnutrition and a constant lack of sleep. We are like human machines, mindless, without a soul, not human, driven by some unknown source of power. The reasons for joining the army have long since left my mind. Fighting for honour and for the mother land? There is no honour in having your guts blown out of your body. Who was the one who said dying for your country was the greatest honour a man could have? Come to think of it I think that was my commander who said that before we started rushing the enemy trenches earlier today. Funny, I didn’t see him charging the enemy lines with us. That’s the thing about all those commanders, they’re all talk. They rave on about how brave their men and they are and yet they are rarely seen with in a mile of any real fighting. By the time they get to the battlefield the battle is over and dead and wounded men have long been carried away or buried.
I spotted my commanding officer approaching me.
I’m all right, but what about the rest of the company?
What!! So few?
Only twelve men left alive in my company, I was one of them. Most of my closest school friends weren’t. I added to the puddle of vomit on the ground…
Last edited by Frost; October 27th, 2007 at 09:37.
DOWN WITH THE FALSE EMPEROR!!!MAY HIS GALAXY BURN!!!