The Stench of War: A Soldier's Tale

It was a bleak winter’s day, and the snow had come early. The grass glistened like a carpet of crushed diamonds in the early morning sunshine. The air smelled pure and fresh. Everything seemed quieter, almost muffled. There was a sense of serenity in the atmosphere.

Feeling numb and wet, tired, and exhausted, he made his way along the path through the trench. His fingers ached in the winter wind as he clenched and unclenched them, trying to keep the feeling in their tips. He was a tall, slim man with a long face, a nose like a pin, and a thin, sandy moustache. He had a face like a lion’s and an eye like a hawk’s. His name was Fred.

As Fred trudged through the icy and frozen passageways, he nodded and weakly smiled at the soldiers that were drowsily slumped against the deteriorating trench walls. Entering deeper into the trenches and dodging barbed wires along the way, he could already begin to smell – among smoke and fire – the awful stench and odour that had reeked of half buried bodies.

The stench of war.

Stinking mud mingled with rotting corpses, lingering gas, open latrines, wet clothes, and unwashed bodies to produce an overpowering stench. He couldn't help but look at how the lifeless remains of fellow soldiers stared up at him blankly from the filthy mud. The mud was a combination of the many kinds of filth produced by war, whether food, blood, urine, or corpses. It all made him think about the ugly detritus of war. It had reminded him of all the times he had shared with his comrades.

He abruptly sat down. It was all too much. Fred leaned back, his tin helmet pressed up against the mud wall. He had an itch right in the middle of his back, but there was no way he could relieve it. not without removing his lice-infected tunic and giving his back a good scratch. Not that he would.

Bitterly, Fred stood up and walked away to resume his patrol through the dark and choked trenches.

By the time Fred reached the front lines, the sun had already begun to sink below the horizon. The smoky sky still had not taken the orange hue of sunset, and was instead blotted out by dark, eerie grey clouds. The men were huddled around the fire, which was burning higher and higher. It had burned itself out already, but was slowly being replenished by the snow.

Fred took his place by the main entrance, near the commander, who had already passed out a jug full of juice, and was passing it down the line to each man who stood by the smoking pot. He looked around and noticed a white blanket of snow covering the ground .