“Psst,” Murphy whispered.

When that failed to get his attention, Murphy put away his watch and grabbed his weapon. When he peeked over the crater wall he saw it immediately.

Against the rolling fog there was a gangly man in tattered clothing, an outfit more appropriate for someone interred at a cemetery. It had an unusually long nose, bald, ashen skin and beady black eyes.

What was most disturbing was the fact that it was gnawing on O’Reilly’s arm. Tearing flesh from bone with a casual indifference that was hard to imagine even the worst of the Huns doing. That’s no man.

A battlefield at night could be quiet as a tomb, doubly so when the wind died down. While there were night time artillery barrages, tonight was mercifully free of action.

Still, there was a bizarre noise in the distance. It sounded very much like a dog gnawing on a bone, but both of the men knew that man’s best friend knew better than to venture into a land that the Lord himself had forsaken. Snipers aren’t fussy.

Murphy made a series of hand motions which Roy acknowledged. Once more the corporal took a peek and froze in place. Murphy could even see the young soldier’s jaw hanging loosely as though no one was home.

“Holding on,” Murphy whispered. “I’m not sure if that’s by the divine will of our Lord or because Lucifer caught his eye.”

Given the conditions of this blood soaked mud, Murphy guessed the man would lose the leg. If gangrene or infection set in, his death would be slow and excruciating. Had the sniper been a better shot, it might have been more merciful.

“Sergeant—(Do you think it’s time to head back?)” Roy whispered.

A battlefield at night could be quiet as a tomb, doubly so when the wind died down. While there were night time artillery barrages, tonight was mercifully free of action.

“Is he alright?” Roy asked.

The Sergeant shot him an icy glare. While the question might have been valid, that tone of voice confirmed it was not uttered out of gallantry. If the Private was dead, it would mean two able bodied men making their way back to the line. Otherwise they had to carry the casualty through a hundred yards of the most hostile land imaginable.

Nevertheless, Murphy checked on the soldier. Even in this light he could tell the man was pale as a ghost. Still, putting his watch against the man’s nose showed his breath on the glass.

Murphy spotted a fresh crater, and lunged himself at the three men. Roy and the wounded Private were pushed into the crater, but O’Reilly broke free and stood there with wild glassy eyes.

From Murphy’s perspective the Private must have been standing there for an eternity. Instead of the time needed for him to take a deep breath needed to order the man to get down. I never got the chance.

The artillery round struck nearby, enveloping them with a shockwave followed by a wall of dust and debris. He never knew what hit him.

The lad’s uniform quickly turned crimson, and he dropped dead six feet away from safety. I tried to reach for his body, but the snipers forced me back.

No Man’s Land was a mass of barbed wire, traps, unexploded munitions, craters like this one, and the dead slowly sinking into the mud. Last night’s rains softened the ground, which made their advance treacherous. So much so that the regiment only made it a hundred yards before the enemy opened fire and felled a third of their number. That’s when they signalled for a general retreat.

As what remained of his men turned to get back to the relative safety of their lines until a private took a hit to his ankle. The round pulverized the bone leaving behind a bloody stump.

Corporal Roy and Private O’Reilly moved in to assist. For a minute it looked as though they would all make it back, the menacing whistle of artillery bearing down on their positions reached their ears. Out in the open they had no chance to survive the impact.

“A fog rolled in,” Roy said. “The Huns can’t see us.”

“But they can hear us,” Murphy whispered, in a way that bordered on making a confession in church.

“Right, Sergeant,” Roy whispered in return.

They had been stranded here for eighteen hours. Before first light his regiment had been readied along the trenches, and orders given. Upon hearing the whistle men went over the top of the wall and began the perilous journey towards their enemy.

After waiting for thirty seconds the soldier took a longer look. First towards the German lines and then back towards their own.

“Psst,” Murphy uttered while making a downward hand signal to remind the Lance Corporal that he was risking his head.

Roy dropped to his knees and worked his way back. He had a wide grin on his face, which could only mean that God almighty granted them a bit of luck. Keep calm, you’re not out of their mess yet.

“A fog rolled in,” Roy said. “The Huns can’t see us.”

“A quarter passed midnight,” Murphy whispered. “Corporal, take a peek over the lip of the crater.”

The man of nineteen years grabbed his helmet and weapon before moving closer to the edge of the crater. He first popped his head over the crest for a few seconds to confirm if a sniper was on alert. Delay too long and he would end up taking a bullet to the head.

While the shallow dish-shaped helmet with a narrow brim might have deflected the shot, it was better to be safe than sorry. It was said that they were working on an improved variant. I’ll believe it when I see it.

After the last light surrendered to the night, the air cooled and humidity began to cling to their uniforms and weapons. It was a matter of time before they started shivering after the humidity soaked through their jackets and kilts.

Sergeant Murphy poked into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver pocket watch. It was a gift from his father, the watchmaker, before he boarded the train. The first leg of the long journey to the battle worn shores of Europe.

He rubbed the glass clean, but there was a persistent fog within now. Still the familiar ticking was present, and there was just enough light from the crescent moon above to make out the time.