An impatient wind snaps at the flag above the trenches, whipping drizzle across the cold noses of the men huddled there.
'It's alright lads,' says the Sergeant, in the absence of talk. He's not sure why he says it. It isn't true. It doesn't make him, or them, feel any better. But what else is he supposed to do? The officers have all left for a briefing, convieniently far from the front lines. Well, they're smart to. Those fancy educations must have bought them some brains. They know what day tomorrow is. So do the lads.
'Aye, we'll be alright,' he casts into the continued silence. But it won't be. He can hear the rattle of their bones in his memory and feel the old scar on his ribs ripple. Tomorrow he will see their glowing eyes and hear their terrible battle dirge. The skeleton army brings only war.
Paddy Dobson
30th September 2020