The cold air of winter was painful to breathe as it dragged across my throat, through the sinuses of my nose and down into my already-freezing lungs. The Krauts had forced us back into Bastogne and there wasn’t much we could really do about it at that moment. They’d said Patton was on his way, but hell, we’d held out just fine up ‘til then; we didn’t need any sort of rescuing—we were the 101st, I was in Easy Company, a Taccoa man. For all we cared, Patton could stop and stay right where he was.1
I thought back to my wife in the States, how she was a Rosie now. I suppose I should’ve been proud of that at the time, and I was, but I had to wonder just what would happen when I got back home. I mean, would things go back to the way they were before I enlisted and was sent off, me bringing home the bacon and her taking care of the kids? I know now things did not go as I’d hoped for, but at the time, I’d wondered about it often.2
Outside, the snow drifted to the Earth in a lazy manner to the winter tundra, offering camouflage and frostbite to anyone who dared dig a foxhole just outside the town. Sometimes a gust of wind whipped up a momentary blizzard that seemed only for the purpose of snow-blasting our eyes when we tried to open them to keep our bearings. How anyone survived in that God-forsaken ninth-layer hole is beyond me; staying there for just a couple weeks was bad enough.3
I walked back to the house we were using for the day, hoping it wouldn’t get shelled. Damn Nazis had attacked Bastogne from all corners and we’d held them off, but it didn’t change the fact that the air was below zero at noon and we were hanging on without winter clothing and low on ammunition. We were lucky that they didn’t attack from all sides at once; instead, they’d done the stupid thing and attacked each part of town one-by-one, which gave us just enough time to counter their strikes.4
I walked into the foyer and heard the radio crackling, struggling hard to stay alive, just like us. We could listen to either Vera Lynn or Axis Sally, and to be honest, we actually preferred the latter—hearing her propaganda against us was always worth a laugh, and besides, the Krauts played some awful good American music.5
There was little furniture left, as most of it had been used to build up fires for us to huddle around as their fuel ran out. Ancient stone from generations past mixed its gray with the faded, war-stained wood paneling of the 20th century. There wasn’t a W.C. in the house like we’d gotten used to having in France, which meant having to dig a trench in dirt that might as well have been granite and hoping our shit didn’t freeze, blocking our intestinal tracts.6
It was still snowing out, but I was sick of it. I sat in a corner and tried, not really to warm up, but to not get any colder. It was rough there, but I’d always think of Taccoa and how that jackass Sobel drilled us over the most chickenshit things possible, and that kept me going. Still, it was getting bleaker and bleaker each day, and that particular bit of inspiration was starting to lose its punch as time passed on.7
I thought back to my wife, and began to seriously wonder if I’d actually get out of that war alive, or just in a body bag with two guys to break the news to her as they’d done hundreds of times before. I thought of maybe shooting myself in the foot, and was wondering what would happen if I did, when Axis Sally started boasting of how great the Nazis were and of how us folks in Bastogne should just give up.8
I stared at the radio, thought back to our reply of “Nuts!” to the German commander that’d demanded our surrender, and laughed. We would win this war; I would make it out alive.9
Author notes
Again, I drew inspiration from Stephen E. Ambrose's Band of Brothers, as well as Citizen Soldiers. I admit this isn't very good; I'm a bit rusty writing stories, as I haven't done so in a while. It's not about any one soldier in particular.
If you're curious about my sole mentioning of Sobel, and don't know who he is, here's the basic run-down:
Captain Herbert Sobel was Easy Company's first commanding officer when it was formed and first started out in Taccoa, Georgia. Sobel, as far as the rest of the Easy Company guys were concerned, was the most chickenshit guy ever and everyone hated him because he drilled them like crazy. However, because of all this drilling, they got into tremendous shape, and were recognized as being probably the most fit company in all of the 101st Airborne division. Sobel was known for making idiotic maneuvers during battlefield drills, and getting practically the entire company "killed" during these very realistic drills. He was able to get to the rank of captain, but because of his very nature, nobody liked him, and about twenty years after World War II, he committed suicide, blaming his personal troubles on the rest of Easy Company; not even his ex-wife showed up at his funeral, and, needless to say, neither did anyone from Easy Company.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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I know that you asked that we read a pome for your contest, but I thought it would be okay if I perused this little piece. I hate war. I am disgusted to hear about all of the mistakes that lead to World War II and the shit we ignorantly let the German people, not just the Nazis, get away with. You sound exactly like an average soldier, a bit foul-mouthed and a bit pig-headed. I laughed aloud a few times; mostly like a pre-teen, for it always had to do with the word "shit". I liked:
Outside, the snow drifted to the Earth in a lazy manner to the winter tundra, offering camouflage and frostbite to anyone who dared dig a foxhole just outside the town
which meant having to dig a trench in dirt that might as well have been granite and hoping our shit didn’t freeze, blocking our intestinal tracts.
I’d always think of Taccoa and how that jackass Sobel drilled us over the most chickenshit things possible, and that kept me going.
This one line, however, bothered me because it didn't have enough strength: For all we cared, Patton could stop and stay right where he was.
Think about it this way, a whole buch of men are forced to be togehter to FIGHT, so they're feeling very macho, as guys are prone to feel around other of their sex, and they use a lot of, ahem, colorful language. I think it should be a bit more vulgar in that specified line as well as throughout. Nice job for being a soi-disant novice at the short story. I will admit, the ending is a bit hackneyed and anticlimactic. Nice job.
Arielle Giselle -
I've never really liked dressing up a piece of prose or a poem; I'd rather just be as realistic as possible. Thanks much for the comment.
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There is not a whole lot to say here. You delivered exactly what I was looking for, and in my opinion- thus far- you have done the best this week.
Your story had a very "real" and "true" element to it. The thought process of the man did not come off as "written." Instead, it truly did emmulate a person's thoughts. I was impressed with your choice in topics to cover, and just how you wove them in and when.
Justin -
I noted as I was scrolling down that the word "realism" was repeditive. You most definitely capture the tone - mellow imagery, apathetic perspecive... A beautiful job concerning the marriage of mood and genre. This isn't the sort of story you see often on AP and I applaud you in light of the scarcity of these sorts.
The phrasing that you delivered was a slightly bland in some places but the surrounding elements: the recollections, the war plot, the enviornmental lingo, the droned imagery - all of these things really flaunted your talent when it comes to putting together a short story.
I'm deeply impressed by your ability to work within the framelines of an theme. Being the sort that looks for outstanding imagery, this direction would have, in most cases, been a boring one. Regardless you've captivated me by being so well-rounded. Nice job, Blackknight. Over and out
Edited on Dec 08, 6:53 p.m. because ''. -
Two to three books a week, eh? I used to read like that, but have slowly dropped off over the years; now I'm lucky to read a book maybe once a year, since most of my reading is done online these days
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I'm glad you liked this; I wasn't sure how it would be received, and as I said in my author's comments, I'm a bit rusty as far as writing stories goes, since I haven't written one since...ummm...Feburary, I think. -
I have to tell you that I go back and forth on your writings, deciding if I like them or not but in doing that I am always reading - I think that is completely well done.
Interestingly written, it has a wonderful element of realism that with some I have not seen. It doesn't sound contrived or forced and yet, it invites me in and makes me want to see what hapens.
I am an avid reader, literally at least 2 or 3 books a week and this would be one that I would be interested in.
You have a way with words, your descriptions are just right, not over the top and not too little, creating this atmosphere that chills us with cold and yet, warms the body with thought. I think that makes for some great story writing.
The ending line really sets the rest of the story up - you are almost giving a preview but telling nothing. I truly enjoyed this Blackknight, well done! -
Trust me, I've written my fair share of horror/psychotic-type stories as well. What I meant in that comment above is that I'm tired of hearing about and reading stories whose main characters are, as you would imagine, knights, dragons, fairies, magicians, evil kings, etc. It gets kinda clichéd after a while, ya know?
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I found that the characteristic realism here, is indeed, a breath of fresh air. I found it amusing in your comment (above) that you are tired of the "silly, re-hashed fantasy plots", and so am I. However, I tend towards the graphic horror, and psychotic in my short stories (though many were written during my psychiatric rotation)...
This story seems to reach back, and pull out a brief moment in a mans life, and offers us (the reader) a brief glimps of his life, troubles and history.
Well done, and an enjoyable read. Keep it up my fellow ink-slinger! -
Ahhh, good eye; yeah, "the" is definitely missing there; I'll put it in upon finishing up this comment.
As for Sobel, he was Easy Company's first commanding officer when it was formed way back when it first started out in Taccoa, Georgia. Sobel, as far as the rest of the Easy Company guys were concerned, was the most chickenshit guy ever and everyone hated him because he drilled them like crazy. However, because of all this drilling, they got into tremendous shape, and were recognized as being probably the most fit company in all of the 101st Airborne division. Sobel was known for making idiotic maneuvers during battlefield drills, and getting practically the entire company "killed" during these very realistic drills. He was able to get to the rank of captain, but because of his very nature, nobody liked him, and about twenty years after World War II, he committed suicide; not even his ex-wife showed up at his funeral, and, needless to say, neither did anyone from Easy Company.
Anyway, that's pretty much the basic story of Captain Sobel; there's obviously a lot more detail behind it all, but I can't remember it all, and I'd have to go back and read the book over again to refresh my memory.
I'm glad you liked this, and yeah, you're right, nobody here seems to have a very realistic tone these days--everyone seems to be caught up in silly, re-hashed fantasy plots that everyone's already seen about a billion times over. -
A couple suggestions:
Paragraph 5:
I walked into the foyer and heard radio crackling, struggling hard to stay alive, just like us.
Are you missing a "the" before radio. At first I thought you were stressing the crackling, and that would be ok, but it is the radio that is the subject since you then mention that is was struggling to stay alive.
Paragraph 7:
You mention Sobel. It is the first time you mention him and I think some quick explanation of who he is needs to be made. Is he the Platoon leader or some guy back home?
You are wrong, it is quite good. I don't know poetry but I know something about fiction and certainly know bad from good. Your style is very realistic. Don't take that lightly. Almost no one here has a realistic tone. While it is brief, the story captures a moment in time that is believable and interesting. Being a fan of fiction I'd love to see you write more. There's a definite maturity to this piece. No mere platitudes here, just telling you what I saw as I read.
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