EXCERPT FW WWI

"Joe’s eyes darkened. His face tensed deepening the lines.

Relaxing his clenched jaw, Joe started talking again. The memories were fresher now, slamming around in his head, caught up in it.

“At one time, I was firing two guns at once. My .45 caliber Colt, the one the Army gave me, was clutched in my right hand, and in my left I had this German Luger I’d taken off a Jerry earlier in the day.

I was a walking arsenal. The M1917 rifle was still over my shoulder, bayonet stuck in my boot. I had two bandoliers with the .30 caliber rifle ammo strapped on along with my Colt ammo at my waist. I’d used up my grenades, so I’d try to grab one off the ground if I saw one, drop it in my kit.

Fire, load. Fire, load. I was grabbing ammo magazines for the Luger off any dead Jerry I saw. It didn’t matter whether I aimed or not. Never seen so many soldiers coming straight at us. It would have been a miracle if I’d missed. Damn, just blasting away at wave after wave of oncoming soldiers. Everywhere you looked men were either dead or dying. I don’t even remember reloading. Must have done it a hundred times.”

Oh, God, I can see it again—the horror bubbling up from the grave I dug in my mind for it, where I thought I’d trapped it forever. His freckles. So many. So dark on his white, scared face—clear as day—all over his cheeks, running over his forehead melding with the splashes of mud. His blue eyes, so shocked wide with fear you could see the whites all the way around them. Hardly a smidgen of red hair where he was trying to grow a mustache. Shocked at how young he looked. What’s he doing here? Oh, yeah, one of the ammo runners. How I froze—for only a second—when all of a sudden his head exploded, just disappeared, as I was reaching for the ammo. Brains and blood splattered all over me. But I never stopped reaching for that ammo— taking it from his hand as his headless body was crumpling to the ground. No time to stop. Just grabbed the ammo and turned away to keep firing at the Jerrys."