Love is Only in Peace

Love is Only in Peace


Blood trickled down his temple. A high-pitched ringing his ears. Slowly fading as he gasps his last breathes in the mud at the base of the trench. A calm, escape from the chaos around us, one we will all find one day. Another one down, soon to be replaced with the latest recruit. All too eager only to meet the dark truth of our lives here.

The yelling, the warfare, the clashing of shells impacting the soil, the dark skies as dusk approaches. The night raids would be rough tonight. We plan to abandon our front line. Hold strong on the second row of trenches.

We were outgunned, out manned, and vulnerable.
“We retreat to the second row at 19 00 hours, at 1915 hours anyone left in the front line will be shot.” The Lieutenant reported. Our front line has no defences from the rear. Our numbers will stand stronger against theirs. We’d take them by surprise, no cover, out of range of their snipers and artillery, safe? Not nearly.

Dusk, nightfall, night, death. Our Lieutenant told us our retreat was in three hours. I checked my military addressed watch, through the mud, the dial read 16 00 hours, give or take.  In three hours an alarm would sound. Ringing through the cold air of war. All artillery, guns and planes would stop. On both sides. The German's, guessing what we’re doing, as we slowly crawl to our second line. It’s pitch would rise and fall, the ringing sending a chill down our spines. We’d grab what we could, our rifles swung behind our backs. Letters, clothes, anything of personal value clenched tightly, as if we were clinging onto life with our hands. As we crawl out the rear of the front line trench. Slowly making our way to the second line. Heads down, praying under our panting, against hearing the sound of an enemy airplane, or worse, the screeching of enemy shells as they come crashing down onto the muddy soil.

Dinner was now or never. I reach under my cot, a potato bag tied with a thread. No one spoke. We all knew today might very well be our end. We ate whatever they decided to give us today, the stale bread, chemical jam, a raw potato. Lieutenant brought soup, he too knew today we would meet our maker. He didn’t say much as he came, usually he tries to make conversation. Maybe even get our adrenaline pumping a little. Nothing today. The soup was comforting it gave us heat, in our bodies, and hearts.

Finally John spoke.

“Hey Henri, you finally going to get around to reading those letters from that chick back home?”

“Yeah, probably should, shouldn’t I?” I replied, with a sad chuckle.
Some others chuckled too, but felt the remorse of how true the joke was. It was ironic, I guess.

“One hour gentlemen” the Lieutenant tried to say it as normally as he could, but he knew he was ordering us to our graves.

“I’m f*cking sick of this sh*t”

The newest recruit was only saying what we were all thinking. What kind of heroes were we? Honestly, we were left in trenches, not moving forward, and now backwards. They give us broken guns, stale food, almost inedible. Being ordered around by people 15,000 miles away.

“We’re supporting our country.” replied John, as if he read my mind.

“F*ck home, f*ck everything, they’re half the world away, what should they care, why do we have to pay?”

Whatever way you slice it he had a point. I didn’t feel like talking. I was thinking about Vallory.  Vallory, just hearing her name gave me shivers. Sent warm blood through my body. My heart tightened at the thought of sitting under our tree alone, together, safe. A perfect moment of our past, lost in my memories, one I cannot force, but must simply let it come. If I were to live my life in a memory, I might as well make it a good one. That would be my memory. I thought. Sitting with her, on the sunny beaches of California, thinking nothing could come between us, looking into her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. Her hair being pushed perfectly out of her face by the wind off the sea. Beautifully caressing her body. An angel. I always thought. Leaving the trenches would be dangerous, and very few of us will survive. I should read her letters. I thought. The small dirt wall on top of our first line was our only defense when the time came to retreat.. We we’re screwed if anyone saw us. Especially a plane. We’d be sitting ducks.

18 00 hours. Lieutenant would report again in 45 minutes or so, telling us to move out. I slide my fingers under the flap of the envelope, quivering in my hands. I tear as smoothly as my trembling hands would allow. Her letters, I saved her words for tonight. They may be her last to me. I open the twice folded sheet of paper. Just one? I thought.  Odd, I thought she’d have more to say. As carefully as possible, shaking nervously under the shell shock. I read:

Dear Henri,

I hope you’re doing well, the idea of you dying is with me every night. I keep having these nightmares, of you, being hit by enemy guns. It won’t happen I know. You’re careful.
Things have gotten worse here. I’ve taken a job, it doesn’t pay much. It’ll get me by, until you get home.

I wish you were back home, back on the beaches, under our tree. You remember our tree don’t you? On the beaches. Remember our tree Henri, every Saturday, we’d sit there talking, Forgetting the world, all our responsibilities all our problems. Gone as we sit looking into each others eyes. Remember that?

Urgh, I feel like i’m going insane. I miss you. I didn’t cook dinner last night. I woke up hungry like you always say I will if I don’t eat dinner. Come back soon would you?

I can’t do this alone.

Yours,
Forever and Always,

Vallory.


The second was also one page. I thought nothing of it. Still trembling I look up, the others are doing the same, reading and writing, some anonymous letters other’s from someone back home. John is reading his wife’s last letter. The new recruit, writing furiously onto some paper, soiled by the weather. I look back down, the second letter. I read:



Dear Henri,

This is my second letter. I still haven't heard from you yet.  But I guess that's the mail's fault, not yours. I have a confession. I broke into your house last night. I never remembered why, I don’t think I ever had a reason. I guess I felt like you were going to be there, and I could stop writing letters. That isn't happening anytime soon, I know. Your poor house, so alone, so abandoned. No one's moved in yet, even though you sold it.  It was cold, and dark. I didn't like it, and I'm regretting doing it. It wasn't right. I didn’t feel what I thought I would. I guess I just miss you, that's all. It's only been three months, but I haven't been out of the house much. You wouldn't approve.  California's still nice as always, I hope you have enough sun there as it is. I hope you're alright, I know this is going to be a long 18 months.

Henri, I have another confession. You’re not going to like this one. I guess I should get to the point of this letter. I can’t be with you, not like this, not alone. You were great to me, but I can’t stand the stress. You gone has given me a chance to see, no longer blinded by your love. I can see again. I don’t need you, I don’t want you. You’ve been good to me always, but this is our good bye.

I will continue to write letters if you want. You do great things for our country, and I know you will want encouragement. Come home safe.

Vallory



Tears swell in my eyes, I close them. The letter drops into the soil at my feet, unwillingly. I slide my shaking hands onto my face, pulling them through my rough hair. I hear and feel soldiers rushing by. One grabs my arm but I don’t move, I can’t. His grasp releases, I hear him run off. The sound of the soldiers stop.

My hands fall. The trench is empty. Night has come. A siren pierces through the night air. I hear shells crashing in front of me. Germans yelling in the distance. Suddenly sober, I check my watch in a panic. 19 22. I feel my steel magnum in my hand. Gripping it tightly. It’s barrel cold, pressed against the side of my forehead.

Blood trickled down his temple. A high-pitched ringing his ears. Slowly fading as he gasps his last breathes in the mud at the base of the trench. A calm, escape from the chaos around us, one we will all find one day.v