The Trench - Brian Hesse (amazing books to read .txt) 📗

right. At any other time, before the fog, rats would have had free reign within the trench. He remembered times when he was too tired to care as rats crawled across his dozing body like large cats eager for the warmth of their sleeping masters.

 

“Shhh, I hear something,” said Otto.

 

Within a few moments of hearing a loud squeaking cry, a large rat entered the dug-out to feast on the moldy bread. Otto and Paul hesitated staring at the unusual size of the visitor. Otto, and every soldier on the front-line witnessed rats of varying sizes, some as large as a cat, but this was the first rat both soldiers witnessed the size of a small dog, no less than, in Otto’s estimation, three feet in length, not including the tail. Its fir was slick with what looked like clotted blood, with large lifeless black eyes the size of ripe cherries. Otto made the first move and swung the shovel high over his head and striking the rat on its back, just below the massive neck. The rat let loose a squeal that sounded as more of a pig than a rodent. The blow did not have the intended effect. Its back did not break as planned and the beast turned to make a leap at Otto. He swung the shovel again using the sharper side of the shovel and connected with the rat’s jaw. Another loud squeal and the sound of Paul vomiting filled the small enclosure. Otto did not blame Paul for retching despite the horrible wounds every soldier was now used to seeing at the front. Men with missing limbs, missing faces, and torn to bloody shreds still did not prepare them for seeing a gigantic rodent squealing, wiggling on the floor in a pool of its own thick blood, broken teeth, and shattered jaw bone. Paul composed himself, ran over to the bloody figure and brought his shovel down three times on the rat’s head until no more movement persisted.

 

“Holy shit guys look at the size of that thing,” stated Hermann.

 

“I never saw anything like it,” replied Werner, echoing everyone’s horrified thoughts.

 

“Let’s not think about what it has been eating and let’s not think about how many more of these things there are,” said Werner.

 

Otto looked at Friedrich and smiled, “Ok cook lets get this feast started.”

 

Otto watched the others sleep soundly with bellies full of greasy rat meat. He wanted to sleep but his head ached with unanswered questions. He considered the wounds experienced, or imagined, by each of the group. Paul with a definite mortal wound to the back, but what about the others? On the surface, Werner and Friedrichs sustained only superficial wounds, but that is on the surface. In battle, a wound to the arm and leg could be fatal. Just one severed artery and a few minutes without first aid killed thousands of boys in no man’s land. What about Hermann, he thought, still leaning back against the dug-out wall near the entrance, shovel in hand, watching the remainder of the mutant rats’ bones sizzling above the fire on the spit. Hermann didn’t have to reveal any wounds sustained in the charge. Before he left on his adventure of exploration of the fog, Otto noticed thought he noticed three holes on the back of his uniform shirt with three small streaks of dried blood trailing from each. He confirmed this suspicion as Hermann slept with a belly full of rat meat.

 

But what about me? He thought. I don’t remember being hit by anything. As he relived the events of the battle in his mind, searching for clues, he laid down on his back and placed his hands behind his head. He felt something hard on the back of his head, a fleshy hard bump with something just beneath the surface. Otto pulled out his bayonet and placed the tip of the knife just to the right of the hard piece in the center of the lump. There was no pain making the extraction. Within a minute he had the tip of the blade inside the lump and was applying upward pressure, like squeezing a pea out of its protective pod. Carefully he used his right thumb and index finger to grab hold of the object. He brought the object into the weak light now barely streaming through the entrance. It was a piece of metal that covered the entire fingerprint of his index finger. Shrapnel he thought with horror. A piece this size should have knocked ne unconscious, or even killed me. As if experiencing a delayed reaction, Otto closed his eyes and drifted into dreams of gunfire, mutant rats, dead friends, and a mysterious blue fog.

 

Suspicions Confirmed

 

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

 

“Get away from him.”

 

:He needs our help.”

 

Otto was jerked out of the comforting blackness of sleep by the shouts from the others. He forced himself to his feet and fell back against the wall at the site of Hermann twisting and convulsing by the fire. The others were standing around in wide eyed terror, mouths hanging open, arms hanging at their sides like ventriloquist dummies. Otto would have laughed if he wasn’t so scared out of his mind by the surreal scene to his front. Hermann’s body twisted into unnatural positions, joints making popping sounds with each movement like corn kernels over an open fire. A thick blue and yellow phlegm colored liquid spraying from his mouth and oozing from every orifice.

 

He stopped twisting. He lay silent. The others gasped and sighed in relief. Otto cautiously walked closer to the still form that was once his friend Private Hermann Becker.

 

“Otto don’t get too close,” said Friedrich.

 

“What the hell happened?” asked Otto still half in shock and unbelieving what he witnessed.

 

“We were just sitting around the fire and talking, next thing you know Hermann here complained of feeling dizzy. He doubled over and started convulsing. You know the rest, as much as we do, nothing at all,” said Werner.

 

Nobody spoke for a few moments but looked at Otto as if, as Otto imagined, he was being held responsible for letting Hermann go out into the fog.

 

Otto regained his senses knowing that he had to act.

 

“Someone had to go out to scout the area. Nobody told him to take off his mask. Now we know that we are dealing with gas, and we need to get the hell out of here and back behind our lines.”

 

Otto looked around relieved that there were no objections.

 

“He began again, “but first we need to check Hermann and be sure that he can be moved with us.”

 

“What do you mean. He is dead weight and as good as dead and you all know it,” replied Werner.

 

Otto waited for the inevitable fight after Werner’s less than humane remarks but was surprised that everyone remained silent.

 

“I hate to say it Otto, but Werner may, for the first time in his life, be correct,” stated Friedrich.

 

Otto knew his best friend was right and was thankful to his friend for having the courage to say what was also on his mind. Hermann could not possibly survive the twisting, popping, and cracking of bone. And the blue froth spewing from his mouth, nose, and ears is something that could only mean extreme internal trauma.

 

“Well we at least need to see if he is alive, said Otto”

 

He continued to walk towards Herrmann’s prone body with the care of someone walking on rice paper. He bent over and placed his hand on Herrmann’s shoulder careful not to touch any wet areas of his uniform. He rolled him over and jumped backward landing on his backside and scooching himself away from the scene. The others also stepped back at the site of Herrmann’s face. His eyes were open but entirely blood red. His pupils, iris, normal white of the eye was entirely blood red like a red velvet bed spread draped over white sheets. They were also larger, much larger, the same shape of a normal human eye but three times the size. As well as an enlarged nose, thicker and longer by at least, later surmised, twice its normal thickness and length. His lips were swollen and parted, revealing teeth that were regular in shape but larger and extended.

 

“His teethe look like those of that damned rat,” came the voice of Werner.

 

“Jesus Christ what is happening? Is he dead?”

 

Otto decided that they were not going to wait for that answer.

 

“Were going to make sure he’s dead and were going to get out of here.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me twice, said Werner, as he walked over to the mutated form of Hermann and fired five rifle rounds into the deformed face.

 

They buried the body, lowered their heads in a moment of silence and looked to Otto for what to do next.

 

“I’m not going out there,” cried Werner, crawling into the corner of the trench with his thumb placed firmly in his mouth, rocking back and forth, making sucking sounds between fits of sobbing.

 

The others looked at him in amazement and looked at each other in horror. Through endless days and nights of relentless artillery bombardments and agonizing minutes of waiting to run over the top into a hail of enemy gunfire, each witnessed their share of insanity, but this was different. This behavior had the air of pure insanity, as if an alien hand-controlled Werner’s action.

 

“For Christ sakes what is happening? What are we going to do with him?”

 

“Take his rifle,” said Otto.

 

Friedrich sprinted the few feet separating himself and the babbling Werner with his hand outstretched to grab the rifle laying by his side. Just before he was close enough to grab the heavy wooden stock of the rifle, Werner reached behind his back with his free hand and brought the heavy blade of his bayonet at full swing toward the still sprinting Friedrich.

 

A shot rang out from Otto’s left leaving a small black hole in Werner’s forehead and thick blood and brains splattered against the trench wall. Paul took the shot that saved Friedrich from losing a hand to Werner’s shining steel blade.

 

“Were all dead. We were all exposed to the gas,” cried Paul, staring at the macabre painting he made on the trench wall behind Werner’s drooping head.

 

Otto grabbed Paul by the shoulders spinning him until they were locked eye to eye.

 

“Don’t lose it now Paul. Werner went nuts. He was always a bit unstable, but not you, you are the strongest of this group and we need you now”

 

This pep talk seemed to have the desired effect of snapping Paul back to reality.

 

“Yea Paul, we were all exposed and I feel fine,” said Friedrich.

 

“Yea me-too buddy,” replied Otto.

 

“Now here is the plan.”

 

Otto continued, “ we put on our masks, we can use the straps from our gas mask satchels to tie to each other, and we head back toward our supply lines.”

 

“That seems rational enough,” stated Friedrich.

 

“It’s at least two miles back to safety, that is of course the French didn’t gas that far back.”

 

“Were not even sure that this fog has anything to do with gas,” replied Friedrich.

 

“Oh, come on Freddy boy,” stated Paul. “The mutant rats, the mutant Hermann, and I still suspect Werner’s insanity must be connected. Not to mention severe wounds that mysteriously seem to heal.”

 

Nobody spoke another word. Only a fool could see these incidents as coincidence.

 

Friedrich tied his end of the make-shift rope to Otto and Paul tied his end to Friedrich. Otto was the first to walk into the glowing fog. Upon entering he immediately noticed that the cloud was thicker as if some type of living entity growing larger with each consumption of bit of rock, each grain of sand, each splintered tree, and every French and Germany corpse that litters no mans land. Otto felt for the side of the trench wall and carefully crawled along with his back scraping against the side, feeling for a ladder, once used by soldiers entering the trench from the safety of the