Post by The Dark Master on May 10, 2009 9:38:53 GMT -5
A made-up story (but there are probably more true stories similiar to it) about the WW1 trenches.
Please comment on what you think about it!
Jon Harkman stared at the cold, bleak celing above him, the desolate blanket that covered him gave him little comfort. As Jon lay in his misery and small bunk, he wondered how on Earth he had got there.
The judge at his trial had decided his fate with the bang of his hammer, sentancing him to his death by firing squad. The judge had accused Jon of deserting his platoon in the attack of the german trench in the battle of the Somme. Jon was one of the few to survive. Only to end up being executed for his survival.
Before the advance of his platoon, Jon had secretly posed as injured with a bandage over his head, covering most of his face. He missed his platoon's advance to suicide against the german guns. However, another soldier from his platoon who was really injured who had to stay behind, recognised him. 5 minutes later after the soldier reported him, Jon was imprisoned on suspicion of deserting. 1 day later, he was looking with fear up at the judge. He listened with silent to the accusations against him and the slam of the hammer on the table, thinking: 'If this was the justice made by our mad generals, then they're not worth fighting for,nothing is' with bitterness.
Yes, he later though, back in the damp cell. The generals, the so-called 'men of honour'. They sat in their cosy armchairs 15 miles behind the front line and gave the rifleman mad orders to walk very slowly towards the german machine guns, and didn't care about the lives of the men they destroyed. They executed men who didn't fight, and the ones who did fight were killed. Was that what they were fighting for?
With difficulty, Jon got to sleep, full of drea- nightmares of the prospect of staring down the barrel of his death the next day.
Morning came. The golden sunlight was pouring down through the window bars of his cell like water, and Jon woke up. For one sparkling moment, Jon forgot about his troubles and simply sat in the light in the moment of peace. It was roughly broken whith the sound of the key in the lock of the cell door, and the march of the guard into the room.
'You' said the guard coldly, pointing at Jon. 'Out.'
Jon slid off the bunk and started walking towards the door with numb legs. He was leaving through the door when he stopped himself and walked back in front of his bunk.
'I said, OUT!' shouted the guard, and raised his gun.
'Wait' whispered Jon, and he took out a trunk from under his bunk. When he opened the trunk, he extracted a battered violin and bow.
'What are you doing?' demanded the confused guard.
'I'm just playing something I knew from when I was a child.'
'If you must...' replied the bored guard.
Jon played. Although the last time he had played it was 17 years ago, he knew by instinct he was playing it right. It seemed to soften his and the guard's heart and made the guard lower his gun. It gave Jon hope and a small sense of freedom. Despite everything, Jon smiled.
With one last note, Jon put down the violin and bow softly back into the trunk with a little tear in his eye.
'Thank you' said the guard, his voice a little softer. 'Come.'
Jon was not a religous man. He didn't beleive in an afterlife. Although he never really had feared death. Until now.
Jon forced himself up and obeyed, his upper body rigid with fear. Outside the prison cells Jon blinked in the sunlight, and his heart gave a pang when he saw the firing squad lined up facing the wall.
'Line up against the wall' ordered the sergeant of the squad.
With a cold fear gripping his heart, he obeyed.
'Don't worry' said one of the men in the squad with a weak smile, 'you won't feel a thing'.
'I hope so' muttered Jon, looking directly at the floor Someone came behind him and tied a cloth round his head, covering his eyes.
Bom bom...
'FORM UP!' ordered the sergeant.
Bom bom...
'TAKE AIM!'
Bom bom...
'FIRE!'
BOM BO-
The last thought that ran through Jon Harkman's head was that he died a happy man.
Please comment on what you think about it!
Jon Harkman stared at the cold, bleak celing above him, the desolate blanket that covered him gave him little comfort. As Jon lay in his misery and small bunk, he wondered how on Earth he had got there.
The judge at his trial had decided his fate with the bang of his hammer, sentancing him to his death by firing squad. The judge had accused Jon of deserting his platoon in the attack of the german trench in the battle of the Somme. Jon was one of the few to survive. Only to end up being executed for his survival.
Before the advance of his platoon, Jon had secretly posed as injured with a bandage over his head, covering most of his face. He missed his platoon's advance to suicide against the german guns. However, another soldier from his platoon who was really injured who had to stay behind, recognised him. 5 minutes later after the soldier reported him, Jon was imprisoned on suspicion of deserting. 1 day later, he was looking with fear up at the judge. He listened with silent to the accusations against him and the slam of the hammer on the table, thinking: 'If this was the justice made by our mad generals, then they're not worth fighting for,nothing is' with bitterness.
Yes, he later though, back in the damp cell. The generals, the so-called 'men of honour'. They sat in their cosy armchairs 15 miles behind the front line and gave the rifleman mad orders to walk very slowly towards the german machine guns, and didn't care about the lives of the men they destroyed. They executed men who didn't fight, and the ones who did fight were killed. Was that what they were fighting for?
With difficulty, Jon got to sleep, full of drea- nightmares of the prospect of staring down the barrel of his death the next day.
Morning came. The golden sunlight was pouring down through the window bars of his cell like water, and Jon woke up. For one sparkling moment, Jon forgot about his troubles and simply sat in the light in the moment of peace. It was roughly broken whith the sound of the key in the lock of the cell door, and the march of the guard into the room.
'You' said the guard coldly, pointing at Jon. 'Out.'
Jon slid off the bunk and started walking towards the door with numb legs. He was leaving through the door when he stopped himself and walked back in front of his bunk.
'I said, OUT!' shouted the guard, and raised his gun.
'Wait' whispered Jon, and he took out a trunk from under his bunk. When he opened the trunk, he extracted a battered violin and bow.
'What are you doing?' demanded the confused guard.
'I'm just playing something I knew from when I was a child.'
'If you must...' replied the bored guard.
Jon played. Although the last time he had played it was 17 years ago, he knew by instinct he was playing it right. It seemed to soften his and the guard's heart and made the guard lower his gun. It gave Jon hope and a small sense of freedom. Despite everything, Jon smiled.
With one last note, Jon put down the violin and bow softly back into the trunk with a little tear in his eye.
'Thank you' said the guard, his voice a little softer. 'Come.'
Jon was not a religous man. He didn't beleive in an afterlife. Although he never really had feared death. Until now.
Jon forced himself up and obeyed, his upper body rigid with fear. Outside the prison cells Jon blinked in the sunlight, and his heart gave a pang when he saw the firing squad lined up facing the wall.
'Line up against the wall' ordered the sergeant of the squad.
With a cold fear gripping his heart, he obeyed.
'Don't worry' said one of the men in the squad with a weak smile, 'you won't feel a thing'.
'I hope so' muttered Jon, looking directly at the floor Someone came behind him and tied a cloth round his head, covering his eyes.
Bom bom...
'FORM UP!' ordered the sergeant.
Bom bom...
'TAKE AIM!'
Bom bom...
'FIRE!'
BOM BO-
The last thought that ran through Jon Harkman's head was that he died a happy man.