Group+1+Soldier

My life as soldier.

// It’s December 14, 1914. Last night I was packing my bags for my departure. As I kissed my wife good bye, all you heard were the soldiers yelling, " onto Paris or off to Berlin." It was a very hard and painful day. I will be gone for about a year and 3 months. The young men and women who marched off to war filled with feelings of pride and patriotism. We expected the war to be a great adventure and an opportunity for personal heroism. My good friend, Rupert Brooke, died in the war. He was an amazing person. He gave his life to help out a fellow comrade. It’s six o'clock and was going over the North Sea. The plane got hit by an enemy. "Oh no!” Were going down.” We hit the water with such force that sailed me through the back of the plane. The plane is destroyed. In the darkness hear footsteps behind me. There is no where for me to run. They'll kill me like a bug. Closer I can feel someone coming. Please help me I whispered to myself.

January 3, 1915. I woke up bloodied, beaten and cold in a dark trench dug deep beneath the ground. I could smell the decay of dead bodies and in my mind I tried to picture my family and the warmth that I had when I was with them. My body was dragged for what seemed miles and left in a pile of soldiers. I knew at that point that they thought that I was dead. I was in such pain but I knew that if I didn't fight back I would be not only letting my family down but also myself and my country. My arm was broke but in the darkness I was able to crawl away into an area which when turning on my light in my packet of my fatigues I knew was safe. There I waited for the perfect moment to get away.

October 17, 1915. The weather was wet and cold, my fingers froze even with the gloves I returned to where the plane crashed to see what and who was left. We were under heavy attack, shots were fired, bombs were thrown, and bodies lying lifeless everywhere and I refused to accompany any of them. I reached for my gun and shot I knew that I was killing someone's son or daughter perhaps even a father or mother but in the back of my mind I knew that I too belonged to a family, people who counted on me to fight for them and return safely. The days seemed to all fold into one, life was tiresome, we were all spent, but still continued to fight hard.

November 10, 1915. We took turns emptying out the latrines that were near our trenches. It was cold out so the smell wasn't too bad, it was the dead bodies next to it that would sometimes attract the flies. We tried to keep the area as clean as possible so that the dead could lay in peace. We kept watch so we could sleep for a few hours only to sometimes be awoken by shell fire above us. I was counting the days in my head that I would be able to hold my husband and my children once again in peace. Peace a word that at this point and time in my life had such a foreign meaning. //



" The trenches: symbol of the statemate". __The great war.__ December 21, 2009. [].