Remember Your Training.

A short story following a nameless British soldier in the trenches of World War One who must remember his training in order to survive.

Remember Your Training.

… And as I walked away, the noise echoed across the field. It rarely stopped. The constant shelling kept us all awake - a spine-chilling lullaby for us all. I continued to crawl through the trench. I was knee deep in mud. Yet we had other things to worry about, mud meant little when you were going over the top the next day.

 

Remember your training. 

The stars hung in the sky, their silvery gaze judging us all. This war was awful. 

“Careful, lad.” Came a voice from behind. I spun around, half-twisting my ankle and ending up face first in the mud. Towering above me was the Sergeant Major. Seemingly more bulldog than man, Sergeant Major Reid rarely smiled and if he did, you knew something was wrong. Staggering up from the mud, I stood to attention, shaking from the cold.

 Remember your training.

“What’s there to look at in the sky, lad?” He asked, clearly not caring much for the answer. He stroked his prickly moustache, the beady eyes seeing right into my soul. 

“The stars, sir.” I muttered.

“The stars?! Do you see the Germans in the stars, lad?” 

“… No, sir?”

“Then stop bloody looking at the starts and get your bloody arse to the bloody sentry box!” His shadow, cast by the ivory moonlight, shrouded me. I nodded quickly, darting off to the sentry post. Once there, I made myself comfortable… or as comfortable as you can be when covered in mud, the new home for every flea in Belgium and a rat’s new best friend. I turned my gaze out into the dark abyss of the battlefield. Shells crashed down. German voices erupted from afar, screaming curses in their language. 

Remember your training.

I sighed, leaning back into a slope of mud and sandbags. 

“Get on the bloody machine gun!”

“They’re coming over the top!”

“Hold the line! Hold the line!”

My eyes shot open as gunfire erupted from all around me. I grabbed my rifle, brushed as much mud off of it as I could and pulled the bolt back. Sliding in a stripper clip of bullets, I saw the German line making its way towards us. I snapped the bolt back shut and took aim. 

Remember your training.

I don’t remember how many I killed, I didn’t care nor did I want to. I only remember having to reload and fire again. It didn’t matter much. The Germans continued their onslaught. They were singing a song in German. No �" chanting. The machine guns rattled but did little to wither the advancing Germans. I roared as I squeezed the trigger of my rifle. 

“Retreat!” 

My eyes widened as the Sergeant Major’s voice bellowed through the trenches. I grabbed my rifle and began to run through the trench. In the distance, shadows of my comrades ran away from me. Mangled bodies were sticking out of the now bloodied mud. Arms. Legs. Heads. 

Remember your training.

I shook the images out of my mind as I ran, focusing only on catching up to the shadows of my fellow soldiers. As I got closer, one turned around and tilted his head. We both stopped running. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at him. My face recoiled in horror.

Remember your trai-.

“Schießen Sie ihn!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs. The shadows of soldiers spun around and looked at me. They raised their rifles, bellowed something in German and everything went black.

Author's Note

This was the first story I have uploaded to this website! I hope you enjoy.