No Man's Land Vol. 1 - The Wire [Part Two]
III
Hours tick by, and as the clouds above begin to darken slightly, the corporal comes to a decision.
“Alright boys, listen up!” he says, garnering the attention of the platoon’s survivors before continuing his speech, “I think it’s safe to say that we’re not going to be relieved any time soon. I don’t know why that is, but finding out isn’t going to change the situation we’re in. We have our orders, and those orders are to hold this god damned trench system. If that means sleeping here too, so be it”.
“You! Rawls!”, the corporal continues, directing his words towards one of the soldiers, “go make sure one of those dugouts is stable enough for us to spend the night in. Check those support beams too, we don’t want to end up buried alive. The rest of you, hold position until nightfall, and stay – vigilant!”
Private Rawls heads off to prepare one of the dugouts for a prolonged stay, while the rest of the squad remain in place; watching the skies dampen into darker and darker shades of grey, as daylight begins to dwindle.
“Alright”, the Corporal finally says, as sundown rapidly approaches, “Rawls, you take first watch, the rest of you, head to the dugout back there and try to get some sleep”.
Donahue and Valchek join their squadmates, and return to the dugout Rawls has prepared.
Only five sleeping cots are still functional, but it is enough to accommodate six if one man stays on watch.
Donahue and Valchek bunk next to one another, with Walter’s cot being the closest to the dugout’s entrance.
“Donny?” he asks.
“What is it, Walter?”
“I think Corporal Cartwright is going to get us killed”, Valchek says.
“There’s bigger dangers out here than him, Walter, the guy’s just following orders” Donahue explains.
“Then, what do we do?”
“Same thing we’ve been doing for the last six fuckin’ weeks, Walter”, Donahue says, “just try to stay alive”.
As if on cue, the Corporal walks into the dugout, and unshoulders his rifle. Donahue and Valchek are silenced, and busy themselves with a soldier’s work.
As light fades, lanterns are lit, cigarettes are smoked, and letters from loved ones are read, and re-read, over and over.
Then one by one, and with the sound of distant artillery echoing along the trench, the soldiers recline in the grubby, canvas cots on which they lie, then fall asleep.
It is Valchek who awakens first, and he does so long before dawn.
Orange lamplight still washes over the room as he opens his eyes, and at first, the only sound is the distant hammer of machine gun fire, along with the rhythmic breathing of his sleeping comrades.
Yet suddenly, Valchek hears another sound creeping down the trench. It is the sound of metal scraping against wood, accompanied by deep, rhythmic grunts.
Valchek rolls over to see the other five sleeping cots occupied. Rawls has returned from his period of watch. Another soldier, Private Patterson, appears to have taken his place.
Assuming Patterson is in need of assistance, Valchek rolls out of his cot, grabs one of the lanterns hanging near the dugout’s entrance, then steps out into the darkness to search for his comrade.
As Valchek continues down the trench, the sounds of exertion grow steadily louder.
He approaches the dugout containing the broken radio, and realizes the sounds are coming from the sealed wooden door.
Valchek reluctantly advances past the entrance to the second dugout, and upon rounding a traverse in the trench’s zigzagging construction, he raises his lantern, and sees a fellow soldier, facing the sealed door.
“Patterson?” he asks, “is that you?”
Patterson doesn’t respond, he simply continues to slide his bayonet between the door’s planks, growling as he pries away chunks of rotting timber.
“Hey, Patterson, what the fuck are you doing?” Valchek asks.
But again, Patterson doesn’t respond.
He uses his bayonet to gouge away another thick splinter, then reaches into the small hole he’s cut away, and begins tugging at the planks with all his might.
“I don’t think you should be doing that, buddy” Valchek says, but he realizes the futility of his words before they even leave his lips.
His blood runs cold as he realizes something is deeply wrong with his squad mate. Something he does not have the capacity to face alone.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-fuck-fuck”, he whimpers, turning on his heels and running back in the direction of the occupied dugout.
“Donny!” he yelps, “Something’s happening over here!”