Foxhole

Author's Note (A/N):

Prompt: Foxhole

Word Limit: 1500

Please scroll to the bottom of the page to view the content warnings for this piece. I have estimated it as appropriate for 14+ ages.

Private William Anderson sat in his foxhole for the fifth night without break, feeling melancholic. After being separated from his squad, he and several others dug holes into the ground and made them home. He thought he saw around three others, but his memory was waning.

Water was an issue, but not in lacking quantity. Instead, muddy rainwater filled the foxhole – stagnant and dirty. Fortunately, Private Anderson was no city boy and knew how to use his socks, and some nearby sand, as a filter through which to pour the water, making it drinkable. In fact, so knowledgeable was he of the outdoors, the foxhole he had made was expertly crafted. He could lay flat on his back in every direction, and still maintained cover when sat up. The roots of a nearby tree adorned one side, which Private Anderson used as small shelves on which to place his supplies – keeping them dry. On the other side, a deep hole functioned as a toilet, with rotting leaves as paper. On the second day, when enemy fire had relented, he had managed to scavenge a door-sized section of fence. With some considerable whittling, the planks fitted well as a floor, keeping him suspended above the nasty, murky, water. Overall, he was dry, clean and well-organized.

After rationing his ammunition, he had 4 bullets to his name – but that didn’t scare him. Apart from the odd sniper round piercing the air when a head peeked above the ground, there had been very little activity in the area. Neither side was pushing on this front. Just silently waiting for new orders in equal misery.

It was that fifth night that Private William Anderson was awoken by a scratching sound. Gripping his rifle, he scrambled to face the noise with the barrel. It took his hearing a few seconds to adjust to the direction of the noise – It was inside his foxhole!

Next to the tree roots, the scratching noise got louder. The dirt began to move. Plopping down into the puddle below, through the wood of the repurposed fence. Private Anderson steadied his gun upon his knee, steadying himself as he always did before a fight.

‘Is this a new strategy from the enemy? To dig through?’

‘Is this a friend from a nearby foxhole?’

His mind raced and his body sat stuck in an impossible stand-off between himself and the shifting dirt.

A sizeable hole had been made by the mysterious excavator when a nose popped through, sniffing frantically.

‘Oh, an animal’

The fur which soon accompanied the investigative nose was red.

‘A fox, then’

The animal soon tumbled into the foxhole, which is when the irony around the situation became apparent to Private Anderson. He chuckled to himself, alerting his new companion. Yellow eyes fixed on his own, the creature's hackles raised upon seeing the gun he held.

The gun made a dull thumping noise when it hit the wood below Private Anderson. Upon placing it down, the fox began to look a lot scarier than it used to. Resisting the urge to reach for his knife, Private Anderson took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

A dull boom sounded - a far away explosion.

When he opened his eyes, the fox sat there, contemplating him.

It was decided then - friends.

Private Anderson reached slowly towards the tree roots, the fox ducking down as he did, unsure of his action. A package rustled when he picked up his withering supply of crackers. Private Anderson broke one in half, offering one to the fox.

Waiting for the fox to thoroughly sniff the offering, he noticed that the creature was female, one which had recently had cubs by the looks of it.

“Ah, you poor thing, we have thoroughly disturbed your life. Your home is bare from our bombs and your cubs are probably scared by the noise. You’re probably scared by the noise, aren’t you girl?”

The fox blinked back; cracker forgotten.

“Here take it” He wiggled the cracker at her “I reckon you need it more than me”.

The fox stared a little longer, seeming to both understand and not understand him. Suddenly, she snatched the cracker in her front teeth and wiggled back through the hole through which she came.

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Another two days had gone by since the fox had first appeared when she appeared again. This time, she stood on the edge of the foxhole, staring down at Private Anderson.

“Hello again.” He said softly, very glad of some company.

She huffed at him. She appeared unimpressed by his shaggy appearance.

“Come on down, I’m sure I have a crumb…”

BANG

A sniper shot rang out, breaking the silence suddenly.

The fox wailed, falling into the hole with a dull thud.

‘No no no no!’

Anderson’s mind struggled to comprehend the scene before him.

The fox scrambled on the wood floor, its hind leg limp. She was in a state of panic, eyes wide and unseeing. She was attempting to jump out again. Private Anderson grabbed her before she could, pinning her down.

“Breathe, breathe, don’t go back up - wait!”

He went to grab his medical supplies with one hand, knocking many things down into the flooded foxhole puddle below.

“Hold still!”

They wrestled a little longer, the fox flashing her teeth at him before they became still, breathing heavily together.

Private Anderson examined the back leg. A small chunk of debris had broken through the skin. The bullet must have made contact very close to the fox.

“You, little fox, are very lucky!”

He pulled out the debris, a sizable chunk of wood, and threw it away. Filling the wound with herbal antiseptic paste, he wrapped it tightly in a bandage. He gave her space when letting her go. A good idea, as she was not pleased by his handling. Teeth flashed at him again, and she curled up across the foxhole, sniffing at her wound.

Night fell when it became apparent that the fox had to get back to her own foxhole.

‘Perhaps for her cubs’ Private Anderson thought as he watched her scramble at the tunnel she had made previously, unable to wiggle through with her painful leg.

‘Fuck it’ Private Anderson thought.

He placed on his helmet and clutched his rifle to his chest.

‘Let’s get you back home’

She appeared to understand his intent as she was less disgruntled when he picked her up, tucking her under his arm.

“Ready?”

She squeaked

“Good enough for me”

For the first time in a week, Private Anderson stood and hopped out of his foxhole.

Immediately, he took cover behind a tree. His body shaking with adrenaline.

“Which way?” He whispered frantically.

The fox under his arm reached her body towards the left and so, Private Anderson ran to the nearest tree to his left. When she turned right, he ran right. That is how they moved, effortlessly communicating and moving strategically until the fox wiggled, facing a hole in the ground.

“Home?”

She squeaked with fervor.

“Brilliant”

He set her down and watched when she scurried underground. The delighted squeaks of several kits announced her arrival and, for the first time in a week, Private Anderson smiled. He placed down another cracker near the foxhole entrance and turned back. He had made it halfway back when…

BANG

A sniper shot

A jolt to his head

Private Anderson fell down with a dull thud. He was dead.

What many people aren’t aware of, is the spirits that live in forests. Forests have souls, which contain many others; spirits of each animal, roaming the woodland. Ancient and knowing.

William was greeted by one such spirit when he awoke in the next world.

A translucent blue fox greeted him on the other side. Staring down at him with neutrality.

He looked towards it noting his new, small stature. He was free of his clumsy human body.

“William.” The fox spoke without moving. A feminine voice but it was difficult to place.

He felt eerily calm.

“Your war is over William,” it said, staring still.

“I am here to guide you, do not be afraid”

“Where am I?” He asked, confused and airy.

“You are in the next place.” It stated matter-o-factly

“I am here to guide you” It repeated

“Why?”

“You helped my sister get back to her kits. You are kind.”

“Will she live?” he asked the fox spirit, thinking of his foxhole companion

“I am not supposed to tell you that, but yes, she lives. Her kits live, as do their kits. As long as the forest is here, they all live”.

William felt himself smile. The cryptic answer seemed to make perfect sense to him in his new state.

“Ready?” The fox spirit asked

“Yes” William smiled

A/N:

Content Warnings:

• Character Death
• Afterlife Depiction
• Swearing
• Injury
• Gun violence

I hope you enjoyed this story - It was fun and...therapeutic to write!

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