Diary 3
It was our turn to attack. It was all a bit of a blur really. It started about a week ago, when our general - Lord Henry McCeaghan – had announced an attack on Fritz. Everyone was in a kind of hurry, telling each other how excited they were about going over the top. But actually, some of them were scared that they had to go first. It was night when George told me that he was afraid of dying.
“I cannot die, Charlie. Maybe for other people – for other soldiers – I mean, it’s not a big business, dying for the nation, but I rather wait a couple of years. You know what I’m saying? Scotland is very different than England, Charlie. People are different.” He sighed as he drank something from his whiskey. “I’ve got five kids, Charlie.” A little bit drunk, he cried and John told him to go to sleep.
I felt better after a few days. My leg didn’t hurt anymore and General McCeaghan told me that I could join and fight. Our attitude to the officers was quite good and the general smiled at me when I agreed. We were all ready on that Tuesday morning, John had shaved himself last night and I looked at him with a different view, he didn’t look so old to me right now. The generals stepped upon their horses and the infantry – including John and me – were ready. General Leigh put his left arm in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers.
“For Britain.” He said soft, but still clear. And everyone nodded.
“For Britain.” John said to me and then the whole crowded repeated the sentence.
“For Britain.” Was yelled in the whole trench and we got the sign to go over the top. We stepped over the barbed wire and suddenly I heard screaming.
Blood was spilled over the soil. British blood. John and I weren’t the first ones to attack, but I saw are friends falling, bursting into different pieces, as we didn’t know where the machine guns of the Germans were established. I stumbled over a dead body I hadn’t seen laying on the ground and I scared up as I saw a face, ripped apart by a gun, missing one eye and skin that turned black by powder. The Scot George had died, and I saw Clifford Waynes laying on the ground, gasping for breath. I felt sorry when I saw his clothes turning red. It was a red spot marking the place where the enemy had hit him.
“Help me,’ he said, but his voice was soft and hoarsely.
“Do not help him, soldier. We’ve already lost him.” One of the generals raised one eyebrow when I wanted to help Clifford, and since I had the order to not help him, I let go of Clifford’s hand and I saw John running, trying to avoid bullets.
I ran to John, I wanted to reach him and see his face, telling me that it’s going to be alright. I ran next to him, he looked at me and he smiled. He opened his mouth to say something, and then he was gone. It took a second for me to discover what had happened, but I figured out. A bullet had hit John right in the breast and I ran to him to help him, I got down on my knees, I sat beside him and I looked at him.
“J…. J….Jo….John?” I could hardly speak.
“It’s going to be alright, Charlie. Everything’s going to be fine.” With his last breath, he spoke to me with a calm and clear voice. And then he was gone, forever gone. John Williams, my father in the war, had died. And I ran, I ran to Fritz, as hard as I could. The tanks were already ahead of me and I could see them. I faced the big machine guns but I didn’t care. I saw everything so clear. I saw John, my friend, meeting him in the train that transported us to the front, playing cards with him and laughing with him. But I also remembered John the father, having conversations with him, he helping me when I was wounded, and telling me that everything’s going to be alright.
I didn’t think anymore. I could only concentrate on one thing, and that was killing. Kill them, kill them all. Murder the Germans, I want to see German blood. Bloody thoughts filled my head and I couldn’t control them. I saw the Germans, with their hard jaw lines, their ashen hair, their sharp cheekbones and their long bodies. With my knife in front of me, I jumped upon the Germans. Killing them, till the very last breath.
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