Tom trudged through ankle deep mud, marching lifelessly forward. The ever present chill numbing his body and soul despite the ear splitting screams from every direction. The barracks shook with fervor, slamming him into the mud. He peeled his face from the filth, flinching as he raised his dreary eyes mere inches from the lifeless grey eyes of a muddy corpse. The terrible swamp beneath had greedily drained the life from his mangled flesh. Shuddering, Tom stumbled backwards, struggling to stand. At last he found purchase on a wayward foothold looming from the turret above. He peered upwards at the grey country sky, his torn coat soaked through. The unusually frigid day was a blessing for it masked the smell of death, he thought to himself.

A sudden thrust on his shoulder sent him reeling back. His arms trembled around the cold metal grip as he raised the barrel aimlessly. “Hey! Tom! They’re coming! To your station!” said the voice in front of him in sharp staccato. He turned and faced the dirt wall in front of him, placing one foot on the platform and hoisting his body into the turret as he was trained. His eyes urgently scanned the foggy landscape, now a monotonous hue of bronze as the soot blended beautifully with blood. He lost himself in the mist, breathing in the rancid air. Objects began to appear in the fog. Had he gone mad? Tom jolted as the wood from the turret suddenly snapped and splintered, bullets piercing the silence at last. He aimed his rifle and fired blindly at the shapes, screaming towards the void beyond. To his horror, the silhouettes became soldiers, charging with bayonets raised.

Tom gasped and leaned too far backward, losing his footing on the slick wooden stand. The fall felt like an eternity as he slammed into the mud pit on his back, lungs gasping for air. His limbs would not obey his orders to stand. “Stand goddammit!” Tom screamed in his mind. Blue eyes met his, looking down with bloodlust from the turret above. With a primal scream, the man leaped into the trench beside Tom, thrusting his baton downward. Tom rolled to his right side at the last second, adrenaline filling his veins with life. As the soldier tugged his rifle free from the mud, Tom whirled and charged, his fist connecting with the right side of the man’s face. The man doubled back dazed, slamming into the wall behind him. In an instant, Tom had drawn his dagger with expert sleight of hand. The man’s right arm lazily swat at the knife, which Tom easily dodged. The man’s overextended arm began convulsing as Tom plunged the blade deep into his neck.

For a moment, the only sound was the disgusting gurgling as the man’s artery emptied into his throat. Tom could not turn his eyes away, dilating with rage at this rude interruption to an otherwise serene winter day, free from mortar and artillery. A tear streamed down Tom’s face. A wisp of humanity began to leak from his heart. He cursed under his breath. Tom stood completely still, exhausted from taking yet another life from this numb hell on earth. His eyes slowly traveled downward to the massive blade protruding from his chest. Where had that come from? Tom thought to himself. He fell to his knees as if bowing to the barrel of the rifle in front of him. With a broad grin, he realized death was the greatest gift of all. The calm patter of rain was cut with a click as the soldier pulled the trigger.