Journey Back by Staright

In the muddy trenches of France, 1918, Lance Corporal Horace Yule felt an unsettling weight on his boots. It wasn't just the cloying mud but also the dried blood of another soldier. Despite his best efforts, the stains resisted his attempts to remove them. A plump rat darted past him, sending shivers down his spine. These discomforts, however, were trivial compared to the impending danger. Nightfall was approaching, and soon Horace and his comrades would venture into no-man's land to raid the German trenches.

The distant thud of cannons echoed like a relentless heartbeat, a grim reminder of the ongoing battle. Suddenly, rain began to pour from the sky. Horace sought shelter in a funk hole, but they were all occupied. He considered hiding in the officer's dugout but settled for donning his beige poncho, flipping up the collar to shield himself from the downpour.

Alexander Armstrong, a fellow soldier, joined him. Raindrops drummed on their tin helmets, splattering their cheeks. Horace's cold dog tags tapped against his dirty chest as he shifted uncomfortably.

“Amelia had the baby,” Alexander whispered, breaking the silence. “It’s a girl.”

“Congratulations, when did you find out?”

“In my wife’s last letter,” Alexander replied.

Horace remembered the letter from Maggie, his own wife, that had arrived earlier that day. Amidst the chaos of war, he hadn’t had the chance to read it. He yearned to open it now but feared the rain would ruin its contents.

Gazing upwards, Horace noticed a solitary tree, its branches swaying in the wind. Alexander nudged him, signaling it was time to move.

Following his comrades, Horace made his way to the front line trench. The chilling rain seemed to seep into his bones as he waited his turn to climb the wooden ladder. As he ascended, he unslung his rifle, its bayonet glinting menacingly in the dim light.

Navigating through the maze of barbed wire, craters, and fallen trees, Horace was haunted by the sight of a dead horse. He imagined Maggie's tears if she were to witness such devastation.

Approaching the German trenches, the rain ceased, leaving an eerie silence. A wave of fear washed over Horace as they neared their target. Just as they reached the firing bay, Horace's world went black.

Awakening in the trench, covered in sweat, Horace was greeted by Alexander's concerned face.

“W-what happened?”

“The Germans are gone. You fainted at the sight of a dead soldier.”

Horace admitted, “I’ve never seen a corpse before.”

Realizing his wet trousers, he felt embarrassed but was thankful for the darkness masking his shame. The stench of the dead soldier lingered, a taste Horace would never forget.

Returning to their trench, Horace's party became disoriented. Lost in the darkness, they debated their next move. Horace suggested using the stars to guide them.

“You know how to do it?” Alexander asked skeptically.

With determination, Horace led the way, navigating by the North Star and the surrounding constellations.

When they heard familiar British voices, relief washed over them. They had made it back to their trench safely. While Horace expected praise for guiding them, he received none. Strangely, he didn’t mind.

After reporting their uneventful raid, the soldiers dispersed to find shelter. Horace tucked himself into a makeshift canopy, pulling out Maggie’s letter. He savored the scent of lemon verbena perfume that always reminded him of her.

Carefully opening the envelope, he read Maggie's words, tracing her loopy cursive with his finger. Leaning back, Horace felt a sense of peace, even in the midst of war.