Black Jacks

“The Black Jacks they called them, 405th Fox Company 21st Squad. They were like Shadows, howling like wolves rushing forward towards us out of the dark oblivious to the shells exploding around them. They were upon us cutting our brave soldiers down. I wish I had died with them then. For the Fatherland.” - Private Schmidt, 95th Reserve Division, Battle of Lynch Valley

Shells exploded across no mans land, churning up the muddy field peppering the trenches with shrapnel. The men took cover in the trenches waiting for the salvo to pass by. No longer shocked by the sudden disappearance of friends into a  muddy and bloody explosion. Trenches torn out of the ground adding to the destruction of the land. Screams of men who’d been hit by pieces of shrapnel. A shell landed on top of the concrete bunker burying those unfortunate souls who sought refuge inside its confines. Shouts of men trying to pass information to one another. Then the bullets started flying, covering the lines in more death as both sides opened up lighting the trenches with muzzle flashes adding to the noise of explosions.

A single flare shot up in the sky casting an eerie green glow across the battlefields. The battlefield frozen, lit up by the green glow as the flare arced down to the ground. A scene of carnage so beautiful, as men died in spectacular ways, limbs blown off, men watching as friends lay dying slowly knowing that the fateful moment would soon come for them. A sudden lull as the artillery stopped and the enemy stopped firing. The occasional shot was taken. Then everything went silent. The roaring silence covered the battlefield drowning out everything with its volume. Nothing moved, even the wounded stayed motionless waiting for whatever welcomed them after death knowing that whatever it was it would be better than this hell on earth.

Then the trenches were bathed in explosions as explosives fell on the helpless defenders. This time harder as larger shells ripped apart the ground into fountains of mud and gore. It was all over this was the final moment. Nothing could save the men from there fateful end that they had all expected. As the soldiers lay in the trenches waiting for the shell to find them to send them to their death.  They jumped into the trench appearing out of nowhere. But they were gone as quick as any living thing in no mans land. They were out on the other side running through the artillery firing there weapons. In an unstoppable blood lust they raced forwards toward the enemy trenches ignoring shrapnel and casualties. Preoccupied with simply getting to the enemy first to let into them with weapons of any sort. Men were blown apart dying there heroes death they so eagerly sought.

They reached the trenches in no time. They tore apart the enemy swinging weapons of all sorts, firing guns. They howled with joy as they fought. Life or Death that’s all they lived for, that one moment where there was nothing but being killed or killing. Either way they won ending with a slain opponent or a warriors death, they feared nothing. The enemy screamed as they were killed, slaughtered like animals. They were all killed within minutes. An explosion ripped apart the concrete pillbox while the final men who had made there last stand screamed in pain as they were crushed or burnt alive.

Then the ferocious soldiers were gone disappearing into the night, Black Jacks.

The artillery continued to pound the area. Unknown that not a single soul was left alive in the area. Nothing moved, nothing was alive. Both sides annihilated by the other.  The battlefields of death, soon to be filled with more of the living who will then suffer the same fate as those before them. So the cycle continues, life thrown away like pawns in a chess game. Lynch valley, covered in the silence of the dead.