Baldwin and the Four Soldier's Nightmare

Sgt. Baldwin and the Four Soldier’s Nightmare

Written by: Levaniel Tukes

The sound of bombs and bullets flying over his head in the trenches were chilling. It was the Battle of Verdun, and the gray smoke from the explosion earlier covered the daylight sky entirely. Thereupon learning the regiment beforehand had been obliterated by mustard gas, and then ambushed by the enemy, Baldwin and four other men sits wounded in a muddy dripping trench. There were hardly any signal to communicate, shortage on ammunition, food and water. The enemy would be marching near as they sit helplessly. Pretty soon they’ll be surrounded, but for the moment they plan a way to escape. “The airwave is experiencing some sort of interference. There’s no getting through to anyone sir,” said one soldier sitting down beside a radio. He wore a glass eye due to an injury he suffered in a battle earlier in the war. He turns to Baldwin, “What are we going to do now?”

“Continue finding a signal, we must get through somehow,” he instructed.
“And what about ammunition,” complained the second soldier. “Food and water, what about those needs.”
“Hell once the enemy arrive, they won’t have much killing to do,” mentioned the third soldier.

As it began to storm soldier’s two and three retreated in their built-in bunk where the fourth soldier with an amputated right hand cooks a pot of soup. Soldier two tilts his wooden spoon slightly pouring the watery soup into his bowl displeasingly.

“You’re a grand cook,” he mocked.
“You just taste it,” said the fourth soldier. “If you close your eyes and digest the soup really slowly, then you’ll be able to taste the chicken.”
“Bullshit,” said the second soldier. “I can’t taste a damn thing but hot water.”
“Damn it! Eat it or starve to death you ungrateful son of a bitches,” said Baldwin irritably. He grabs a set of binoculars and observes soldiers making their way steadily toward him. He then looks over at soldier one.

“I hope we can find some sort of signal before the enemy draws nearer,”
“Hopefully,” said soldier one dispiritedly.

In the meantime back inside the bunk soldier three pulls out a deck of cards and commences to play a game of cards on a filthy rectangular shaped table. Soldier two places a tall bottle of whiskey and five cups on the table.

“Drink up gentlemen,” he said pouring into each cup.
“I don’t drink,” refused soldier four. “Drinking always seemed to upset my stomach.”
“I know why,” said soldier three. “Because you’re a coward,” he belittled.
“You might as well drink up. Hell there’s no telling if you’ll ever have another moment to drink anything again,” said soldier two.
“No signal still!” Baldwin shouted over the loud thunderous storm.
“The radio just died,” replied soldier one.

Baldwin must think of something quick or else he and his men will be doomed. Approximately a mile east is a station. If by chance one could reach the station and radio for help, then maybe they’ll have a better chance at surviving. From the front line it appears the enemy is closing in immensely. “I need a volunteer,” he asks, yet realizing the incompetence of the other two soldiers who are drinking irresponsibly while at the time playing a game of spades, he thus looks at soldier four.

“I suppose it should be me,” said soldier four indifferently.
“I need you to hurry and get to the station, radio the general, and request help.”
“But it’s so scary out there and dark,” he complains. He looks at his right hand that has been wounded badly. “I won’t make it,” he said. “Not in my condition anyhow,”
“Damn it soldier! This is our only hope.” Baldwin screeches.

After that he peels off a silver iron cross from his coat and gives it to soldier four. They salute each other, and then soldier four departs from the trench climbing up a wet wooden ladder. He runs low, dodging bombs and traps on the ground, and then at last vanishes in the midst of darkness. For the time being Baldwin sits down in a wobbling chair steadily trying to figure out a plan to escape this horror zone. Meanwhile soldier two and three plays a game of cards, and soldier one pace up and down the bunk nervously. This at any rate begins to irritate soldier two as he focuses on his next move in the card game. Him and soldier three is playing for shots. Soldier three has lost five times in a row, and is beginning to feel intoxicated.

“Could you please quit,” he said. “You’ve been pacing for hours and it’s starting to creep me the fuck out.”
“What time is it?” asks Baldwin. Soldier two pulls out a pocket watch with the picture of a woman on one side. He stares at it for a while which brings back memories of him as a child, and how his mother around this time used to tuck him in bed.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s a photo of my mother. She passed away prior to me enlisting in the army,” he said. “It’s almost midnight,”
“Damn it, where is he? He’s been gone for four hours now.” worries Baldwin.

Just then the radio comes on bearing a muffled voice. The four men races over to the radio with soldier one attempting terribly to comprehend the message being delivered. At first there’s a strong static, but then after a few minutes the static clears. Soldier one then indicates loudly, “Region Nine. The last of regiment four, does anyone copy. Region Nine. The last of regiment four, does anyone copy!”

No response. All that could be heard were bullets flying, and men yelling and squalling. Then suddenly soldier two staggers next to a wooden ladder and attempts to climb it.

"What are you doing soldier?" voiced Baldwin strongly.
"I'm leaving, this place is a death trap," he said staggering toward the wooden wet ladder. He attempts to climb it, but has difficulties doing so. Finally he reaches the top of the ladder, and sways on the battlefield.
"Damn it soldier. Get back here!"

Suddenly there’s a gigantic explosion in the trenches. The men quickly retreat back into the bunk. Half of soldier two’s lower body lies inside the trench decapitated. The scene inside the trench is horrifying since neither Baldwin, nor his men has ever witnessed a body blown to pieces. The sight temporarily drew him into a state of shock. He couldn’t function for the first twenty minutes, and panicked awfully. “We’re dead men,” soldier three murmured in a corner to himself. “This is hell. We’re dead. We’re dead. We’re dead men,” he repeated constantly more edgy.

“What are we to do? There’s no signal,” worries soldier one.
“We wait here for rescue,” Baldwin stuttered. “I’m confident that help is underway,”
“But what if help isn’t forthcoming? What if he never reached the station after all?” dreads soldier three.
“He has a point. What if he has escaped this terror?”

In any case, the men gather around the table, and Baldwin places a map of the surrounding territory on top of it. Soldier three seems to be still delirious after seeing a man blown to bits. In the middle of the discussion he staggers away, and vomits in a corner full of worms and bones. He retreats to the floor aiming his gun directly at the corner.

“What the hell is a matter with you?” clamors Baldwin.
“Didn’t you see that,” he said pointing his weapon at the corner still. “There’s a dead man lying there. A skeleton of a dead soldier,” he continues rambling.
“Straighten up soldier! There’s no one else here but us,”
“No! That’s not true,”
“Calm down. You’re drunk,” said soldier one.
“I am not drunk!” he bellows. “I am telling you that there’s someone in here other than us. Perhaps we’re dead, and this place is hell.”

Baldwin paused. He continues to lean on the idea that there’s a station somewhere near whereby help could be requested. Soldier three, on the other hand, believed very differently. Instead his escape is quite the reverse as he ponders killing himself with a fatal gunshot to the heart.

“The only way to know for sure is if we leave at once.” said Baldwin.
“But there are hardly any safe places that we can retreat to in the case of an attack. We only have a shortage of ammunition, and who knows how far of a distance between here and the station. The battle ground is flat. Hell we’ll be blown to pieces,” explains soldier one.
“It’s better than staying here to be either captured or killed,” said Baldwin.
“We’ll be dead. Dead,” added soldier three.
“As I stated beforehand the station is approximately a mile east,” Baldwin points out on the map. “Once we reach the station, we’ll be able to radio Sergeant General for help. Now let’s go,” he commanded rolling up the map.

At that moment a colorless gas enters the trench and clouds the bunk. Baldwin quickly flees, and then screams at soldier three who’s straining rigorously to make it out the bunk. He manages to climb out the trench but then collapses on the battleground. Baldwin and soldier one as they drop to the ground crawling like two caterpillars on the wall discovers that actually it’s a million miles to anywhere. Moreover they continue crawling as bombs launching from compressed-air trench mortars soars over them. Baldwin lifts his head slightly and notices a post which could be the station possibly.

“Soldier,” Baldwin shouts. “Look ahead. Do you see what I see?”
“I can’t see anything!”
“Stay behind and keep low! Keep low!” Baldwin continues to shout.

In fact all he could see was darkness and furthermore hear bombs landing only inches away. As soldier one continues toward the seeming post, he halts in front of a dead corpse wearing a brown scarf that resembled a scarf that was giving to him by his wife back home. Then he has a recurrence of his life back home. His wife iron his clothes while he stares out the window of their relatively small kitchenette looking at his son play outdoors. “Hopefully this war will change our lives,” he said. Outside a vehicle pulls up, and he grabs his suitcase of clothes. His wife kisses him on the lips, and then gives him a brown scarf in hopes that she’ll see him again. He walks outside toward the truck. Once inside the vehicle he calls his son over and tells him to look out for his mother, and that he’ll be returning soon. “I love you son,” he said to him. Then the vehicle drives away. In his mind, his family and home becomes a mere blur, and appears that he would never see them ever again as he stares at the dead body. Baldwin looks behind himself, and to his surprise the soldier has disappeared. “Soldier!” he exclaims looking back and forth. He buries his face in the muddy ground steadily crawling toward the station.

Once there he enters a narrow tunnel linking water from popped drainage pipes. At the end of the long and narrow tunnel, he runs into a rather strange bunk. Inside the bunk two men sits oppositely from each other at a square table playing cards. They seem somewhat relaxed and too cool for men who are supposed to be at war. Another man stands near a wall whereby a radio is positioned close to it. Baldwin approaches him. “Comrade,” he addresses the man. “We’ve been trying to get help for the longest. All my men have been wiped out, and another well, I don’t quite know his whereabouts exactly,” he stares coldly at the man. “Soldier!” he roars, but the man merely stands there stock-still like a statue. He in any case grabs the radio and sits in a corner in hopes of retrieving a clear signal. As beforehand gunshots, bombs, and men screaming outrageously is heard through the radio. “Soldier,” he said. “Does anyone hear me, copy?”

At that point, the noise on the radio faded out, and then an aged male voice introduces the next program following the dramatic play, “The Trench Nightmare”. The radio then begins playing dreadful syndication music which at any rate irritates him. Consequently he smashes the radio on the ground and suddenly there’s an eerie silence, and all the men looks strangely at him. “Do any of you care what’s going on,” he said. “We’re all under attack. This is a siege. Do you know what a siege is? We have a shortage of ammunition, food and water supply, and needless to say are surrounded. We’re going to all die! Don’t you all care!” he wails. However the men aren’t interested, and instead turn away casually either continuing a game of cards or roam about the bunk like mummies.

As a result he promptly flips over the square table where the two men are playing cards. “You don’t care,” he said. “You just don’t give a damn that men are dying!” Two men identically dressed in all white then grip him by the shoulders from behind while someone else stabs him meticulously with a needle. His eyes become incredibly low and weary as he falls to the ground on his knees. After that the two men drag his comatose body down a spotless hallway with benches positioned on both sides of the lobby like a drunkard. They place him in a room the size of a small office, and then shut and lock the door afterwards. Inside the room was a medium size bed that took up half the space, along with a petite rusted dresser, large window, and a crooked eight by ten mirror hanging on a bright eye blinding white wall.

Later, he arose from the bed pondering by the window. Outside it is very dark and rainy. Suddenly his thoughts are interrupted by keys rattling at the door. An older woman dressed in nursing attire enters the room accompanied by two other men dressed similar to the two men who escorted him to the room in the beginning. She carries a hard tray containing mushy mash potatoes, apple sauce and cold spaghetti with a small glass of water which she sits on the dresser. “Have you taken your medicine?” she asked entering the room. Baldwin then looks at the woman somewhat bewildered.

“Medicine,”
“Yes your medicine,” she said impatiently. “Have you taken your medicine for the second time?”
“There’s been a mistake madam. You see I am a soldier and need to get back to the front immediately,” he said.
“You sound delusional,” she said rudely. “Open your mouth,” she demands after issuing to him medicated pills.

He does as instructed, and opens his mouth. She then looks underneath his tongue until convinced totally that he has indeed swallowed the pills. Before departing however he stops her while at the door. He glances at the tray of food.

“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Take it with you.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “Unfortunately according to company policy it’s mandated that you eat a minimum of three meals per day,” she explains.
“Listen,” he sighs. “Please, just take the tray with you okay!”
“I see you’re one of the angry ones too. Goodnight Mr. Baldwin” she said leaving the tray on top of the dresser. The woman closes and locks the door afterwards.
“It’s Sgt. Baldwin,” he corrects angrily. “Sergeant Baldwin!”

He then takes the tray from the rusted dresser and hurls it at the locked door. He even attempts to break the plastic window in order to get back to the front, but his attempts fail miserably. After calming down slightly he sits on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands, and continues pondering his existence in this strange place. He spits out the pills hidden deep down in his left jaw then returns toward the dresser where he places the medicated pills on top of an old crinkled newspaper article about a regiment being wiped out except for several survivors who are institutionalized in a mental hospital located somewhere in Hungary.

He pins the article on the wall near the mirror where he observes himself. He wore a glass eye and had an amputated right hand. Around his neck was a brown scarf giving to him by his wife which he doesn’t recollect ever being married. Moreover, together with a picture of a woman inside of a pocket watch who he likewise doesn’t recollect ever knowing either. Ultimately he takes the medicated pills with the glass of water, returns to bed, places the covers over his head, and goes to sleep.

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