Having read this and recently watched Fury, this has been on my mind.
I have no experience with war so I know my writing is lacking, but this demanded a voice so take it at face value. Special thank you to an amazing proofreader who kept me on track with my war history.
Thank you to those who have and do serve. You have immeasurable value.
“Ideals are peaceful, history is violent” – Fury
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He tried blinking the sweat from his eyes, but his vision refused to clear. Between the heat and the fear it was a useless task.
The sound of shrapnel whistling through the air and screams of pain set him trembling again. He blinked, refusing to take his eyes off the field of fire to his front or his finger off the trigger.
A man rushed into the field in front of him and he fired. He didn’t know him. Just a face that would gun him down if he didn’t take the shot.
There was so much damn smoke around them it was any wonder he didn’t choke on it.
He glanced at his periphery at the body of his squad mate, a grass-fed farm boy from Pennsylvania. The redhead stayed focused even as the man on the other side of him screamed in agony, a gaping wound in his shoulder.
He thought of his wife at home with his new son and a spasm of pain gripped his chest so hard that for a moment he wondered if he’d been shot. What the hell was he doing here in this godforsaken field instead of at home with them? For God and country mattered little when they’d send you home in a body bag or back with no limbs. He shuddered at the thought.
“Remember, you kill them bastards before they kill you.”
The sergeant’s directive echoed in his ears as the call to charge went out. He stared ahead into the smoke-filled meadow and summoned courage from within.
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.
Death was looking him straight in the face, but as he rose to his feet he comforted himself with the knowledge that he’d take a few sons of a bitch with him.