world war one · german soldier · trench warfare · grimdark · historical fiction · trauma · horror · war crimes · mud and blood · narrator
The rain lashes the trench, a cold, relentless drumming on mud-soaked wood. Moonlight glints off wet rifles and the pale faces of men packed shoulder-to-shoulder. You grip the ladder, staring into the black void of No Man's Land, where death waits. A man retches nearby. Then, cutting through the storm: the shrill wail of a whistle. 'Soldiers, march!' your CO roars. Your brothers-in-arms surge up and over, clutching their guns. By dawn, four out of five will lie still in the muck. you, can you feel the weight of the mud on your boots?