They dropped At Dawn

The Whistles

"Got a lighter?" Arthur asks.

He asks this seven times a day. You would think nothing in these disease filled trenches could amuse the soldiers. Somehow, we still manage to laugh at our comrades' routines.

"Bad habit you got there, Arthy," I joke, handing my muddy lighter to him. Despite the shape it's in, it still manages to conjure up a tiny flame.

"James! How many times have I asked you to stop calling me Arthy!" he snaps, snatching the lighter.

This man goes through half a box in a day. Command said they had to up the supplies just to keep up. I truly wish I was surprised.

"Germans' been pretty quiet. What do you lads think they're doing over there?" Thomas steps in to change the subject, thankfully.

Remembering I'm on watch duty, I picked up my binoculars. I change my position to see over the edge of the trench, pushing my bare feet further into the damp mud. Every splinter, every drop of blood engulfed my toes.

I surveyed the destroyed area between our position and the enemy positions. Every square meter is filled with fire, bodies, and the stench of the battlefield. I try to get a better view, and lift myself up a bit. My feet sink further into the cold ground, sending chills through my spine.

There were no machine gun nests, barely one mortar, no shifting movement coming from them. Like they just decided to pack up, all at once.

After a couple more sweeps through the landscape, I finally say, "It looks like they want to leave! The machine gun nests have been taken apart, and half their mortars are packed up!"

"Let me see!" Arthur says curiously. He quickly grabs my binoculars and points them at the enemy trenches.

"Great heavens, you're right!" He yells excitedly. Thomas and I quickly quiet him down, a silent reminder that noise means death.

"I'll go tell the lieutenant." Thomas says plainly, then he stands straight up, then walks down the dirty trench.

The second Arthur knows that Thomas is far away, he whispers to me, "Really? Why does he show off how formal he can be?"

"Told me he came from a noble family, they don't usually join the Royal Army" I responded, "Trying to leave a good impression, I guess."

Faint noise comes from down the line, horrendous one too. Oh, it's Charles. We can hear every note he whistles, from here to the machine gun nests. I'm surprised someone hasn't shot him. Eventually, through the jumble of strange notes, I manage to make out the melody of "The British Grenadiers". Familiar tune, ten times worse coming from his lips.

After a moment, we hear soldiers angrily blurting out things like, "Stop it!" "Charles, it's annoying!" or "Quit whistling!" Finally, the whistling stops.

"They were going to tell him someday. Guess today they finally did," I mumble to Arthur.

Hours and hours go by, we can hear our commanders shouting orders to the supply trucks, sometimes a yell from the Germans. Finally, Thomas comes back with a grim look on his face. I already know.

"We push to take their trench in the morning." he tells us with pain in his voice.

Not once have we pushed to take a trench without a friend dying. I scan the area around me, looking at every soldier sitting between the wooden planks. I try to remember their faces, because by tomorrow, I might never see them again.

"L– Lets get some sleep" Arthur stutters. The sun has set once more, over the smoke filled sky.

We travel through the trench line, finally making it to the area filled with our makeshift beds. Not a sleeping bag, not even a hammock. The material is crunchy and all the blankets are soaking wet. Even if we wouldn't have to fight tomorrow, I wouldn't get a wink of sleep.

Knowing the devastating news, everyone crumbles to their beds. I can tell by their breathing that everyone is faking their sleep. Tomorrow we will fight. Tomorrow, we watch our brothers die.