Short Story

Men were living outside for days or weeks on end, with limited shelter from cold, wind, rain and snow in the winter or from the heat and sun in summer. Artillery destroyed the familiar landscape, reducing trees and buildings to desolate rubble and churning up endless mud in some areas. The incredible noise of artillery and machine gun fire, both enemy and friendly, was often incessant. Yet soldiers spent a great deal of time waiting around, and in some quiet sectors there was little real fighting and a kind of informal truce could develop between the two sides. Even in more active parts of the front, battle was rarely continuous and boredom was common among troops, with little of the heroism and excitement many had imagined before the war. The Italian infantry officer Emilio Lussu wrote that life in the trenches was ‘grim and monotonous’ and that ‘if there were no attacks, there was no war, only hard work’.[1] The order to attack – or news of an enemy assault – changed

The storm clouds were dark, gloomy and grim like a graveyard. They were near the surface of the earth. It was going to rain. They were lingering on. The soldiers’ uniforms were repeatedly buffeted by the howling gale. The sky was as black as a devil’s soul. A large boom echoed across the crimson battlefield as the lighting returned the thunder’s call. Endless calls for help could be heard. Then, the rain started pouring down, filling up the battle field, like a flood, as the constant sound of the rain pounding on the metal could be heard. Heavy boots pressed down on the wet mud, which would not be dry for the next week, due to the trenches. The trenches were six-foot-deep and reeked of dead bodies and human excrement.

As the soldiers lay in the rat filled trenches, with bullet's whistling overhead. While the soldiers sleep the enemy never stops throwing bombs near the trench, as they try to catch the sleeping soldiers. Every night when they sleep they need to bear with rats biting their wounds caused by the cold. All the while surrounded by the whistling bullets of the enemies. As a bomb goes off feet away from the soldiers, they hear a quit whistle blow signalling for them to get back to the cold hard war that seems to never end.

The troops had little food, lick grass for water, had to bear the sight of other’s deaths, as well as live under the thought that they could

The air is cluttered from the blasting of cannons, and it is hard to see with the darkness all around us. Piercing sounds of gunshots and pain come from all angles, making France seem like the perfect setting for a nightmare. The ground beneath me shakes like an earthquake every time a cannon is blasted, and it is difficult to keep my balance. The fear that I feel at this moment must only be a portion of what the soldiers are feeling on the battlefield. Smells of dirt and dust linger in the air, and I can’t breathe quite right. There is nothing but terror on this battlefield, and lives are being lost at every moment. I can hear the soldiers yelling at the top of their lungs, “Fire! Fire! Charge!” The British and German soldiers are both yelling commands from all angles, and even horses are understanding. I see horses leaping over barbed wire, dodging bullets, and doing everything they can to keep their soldiers on their backs. Everyone involved in this war, whether German or British, is courageous. German soldiers are dragging their wounded soldiers through the thick mud to try to save their lives. Horses are taking bullets for their soldiers. This is a bloody battle, and the pouring rain is only making this battle harder to

The trenches would smell like blood, gunpowder, and everything that was rotting in there. After the gunshots have stopped, and the air is filled with silence, the remaining soldiers drop onto the dirt ground, realizing they have survived another day. I always get this uneasy feeling, knowing that although I have survived another day, there is much worse to come. Even though I have survived, every shred of my sanity is gone. Before I go into another restless night, I think about my friends who have died for this war, and finally get the chance to mourn about them.

All bullets were counted, beds made, uniforms cleaned, this occurred until suddenly 03:45 arrived. “Men, the time is nearly here,” my words choked as self-hatred flooded my body, “What we do here today will be remembered for generations to come, we fight today not only for ourselves, but all who we know. All our mates and family who live back home!” A faint cheer followed my speech as I steadied myself for what was to come. “We charge in 5 minutes. We charge not only for our freedom but for the freedom of our country. For the freedom of the world!” Spit filled the air from the cheer which erupted from my unit this time. A unity formed over the men, a cold malevolent sweat captured me. Who was I to send these boys to their death? A resolve set inside me, I would fight alongside my men, their lives are worth the same as mine. 04:00 “THIS IS IT MEN! WE FIGHT FOR THE WORLD!” I screamed as I led the charge. Vaulting out of the trench I saw no man’s land clearly for the first time. Death was everywhere, flies swarming the pools of blood. The land so barren of life no greenery was seen. A cold resolution set over me, it was the Germans fault, they caused

it is life, Mama!” Mama: “Oh—so now its life. Money is life. Once upon a

We all sleep and rest and eat in the trenches, but it’s not paradise. One night, the sound of loud booms woke us up. We were being attacked by some very dangerous artillery. We could feel every boom and every crack in the dirt above us. Many soldiers were not prepared for this and got sick. The attack come out of nowhere and frightened all of us.

The Things They Carried Short Writing Project Luke Wakumoto Paragraph #1 In Tim O’Brien’s novel The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien made a distinction between a true and a fake war story. He states that a true war story isn’t morally black/white, doesn’t encourage bravery/ethics, nor is it ever uplifting. This is important to the story as it implies some of the stories he tells is untrue, making him an unreliable narrator. Also, the false stories, while not true, are still important as they represent major themes (such as innocence and courage) O’Brien, the author explains the contrast between a real and a false war story.

The Novel All Quiet On The Western Front illustrates the effects of war can be highly effective on most soldiers. In this particular novel these characters go through some many hardships and are tested to the maximum. In many ways, World War I demanded this depiction more than any war before it completely altered mankind’s conception of military conflict with its catastrophic levels of carnage and violence, its battles that lasted for months, and its gruesome new technological advancements that made killing easier and more impersonal than ever before.

Shadowy clouds hover over No Man’s Land, they were all fed up with the war, the lives it had already claimed, the unburied dead and the smell, oh my god, the smell. Life in the trenches was unbearable, cold, muddy, vermin and parasites that consume your skin for food. Every man entombed in the trenches dreaded the day they would hear the whistle, the whistle to move forward into No Man’s Land.

Bullets whizzed over their heads, spat out from the german machine gun.James sat crouched with his back pressed against the sludgy wall of the trench.The clouds covered the sky like a dark blanket, not a single sunray to be seen.James forcefully ripped a grenade off the coughing corpse next to him, he pitied the poor soul choking on gas, noticing the crimson puddle his head was surrounded by. He cocked the hammer of his revolver, took aim and abolished his misery He threw explosive holding on to the ring. A few moments passed and silence filled the air.

The wind whispers words that are foreign. It speaks a language that man has understood since his beginning, but as it can only be understood once it is foreign to most men. The wind carries something lethal, it is the harbinger of an evil inflicted by man upon man, it speaks nothing but death. A brief silence follows in its absence, and takes ahold of the battlefield. Now and then one can hear the desperate breaths of men unwilling to part with life, but these too are snuffed out, choked under a hellish canopy made of gunpowder powder, soot, and mud. This is the worst part. The battle is always the worst part. He knows this too well to be bothered by these scenes that unfold before him.

trenches. "Multitudes of rats shared the trenches with soldiers and, even more horrifying, they fed upon the remains of the dead. Soldiers shot them out of disgust and frustration ,but the rats continued to multiply and thrived for the duration of the war" (Why Was).Even as the sights and smells the soldiers had to endure didn't compare to the noises they had to bear. "In the midst of a heavy barrage, dozens of shells per minute might land in the trench, causing ear-splitting (and deadly) explosions" (Why Was). Only just a few soldiers could remain calm under these conditions and many suffered emotional