… and the Pipes Played Coming Home (Draft)

Draft to come soon.

The Cold Taste of Steel

The day was September 7th. It was overcast, and threatening to rain. A crisp breeze caressed the back of my neck, above my dress uniform. My lapel pins reflected what little sun light managed to break through the clouds. It was a dreary day at best, which matched my emotions.

A year had passed since I had first laid eyes on the young lass that shared battlefield experiences with me, and it was just over nine months since she had been laid to rest.

I sat in my wheelchair at the side of her grave with two dozen roses sitting in my lap – half black roses, half red roses. Why I had the red roses, was beyond me. I guess I felt some greater connection to her, and felt the need to express that.

As I sat there, gently laying each rose down upon the head of her grave, it started to rain – thankfully disguising my tears. After I had laid the final rose there, I hesitated for a moment, and then snapped to attention, saluting my fallen comrade. Thirty seconds later I relaxed, paused for a moment, and began to negotiate my way down the row of graves to the main road.

The rain was pouring down, and I was bawling as I reached the gates of the cemetery. It was so bad I could barely see the dim glow from the town from atop the hill, but I had to make the journey home…

Once I got home, I pulled off my soaking uniform, taking care to hang it up, although it needed to be cleaned. I struggled briefly to get back into my wheel chair, and wheeled myself into my den where I proceeded to stoke the fire in the stove, and pour myself a glass of scotch – neat, of course.

The scotch gently warms my insides, and starts to bring my spirit back up. The rain continues to pound down to the earth, in what seems like an assault on man kind.

As I am sitting there, sipping my scotch, listening to the storm rage out side, and the fire crackling inside the stove, a bolt of lightning offers a glimpse at a leather pouch. Suddenly I find myself transfixed on that object.

After a few minutes of sitting there, pondering, trying to remember what that is, I roll over to the pouch, and take a look at it… Instantly realising what it is. It is my old service revolver.

I withdraw the Enfield number 2, from the holster, looking it over. I feel a urge of adrenaline as I open it up, and look at the chamber, an all the striations from when it was fired. The memories of war all come rushing back, I feel great. In one last swig, I down what remains of my scotch. I feel rather joyous now, so I decide to go pour myself another drink, so I roll over to my liquor cabinet and partake again.

Drink in hand, I return to my desk. I start to rummage through my drawers, looking for a specific little box. After quite a bit of searching I find the little metallic box buried under some papers. I open it up, and I see the green felt lining the box, and one .38 cartridge remaining. I leave the box open, and I place it delicately on my desk, now beside the MK I.

I roll over to my window, and watch the storm rage on. The cobble stone of my walkway is starting to flood, and my flower beds are taking a horrible beating.

A tear begins to roll down my eye, and I place the revolver in my mouth, and pull the trigger. The hammer falls…

As the Curtain Is Drawn Back…

The morning was young, as the nurse came into perform her morning routine. Things went as normal, but I sensed something was wrong. Nothing was said, and when all was completed she left me and pressed on with her day. I couldn’t really do anything, so I slowly faded back into the cold embrace of my dreams.

I was jolted awake by the ere feeling of someone watching me. It was pitch black, I must have slept clear through the day. My eyes darted back and forth as I tried to find where the burning stare was coming from. After I few moments, I spotted someone moving in the shadows. I called out “who’s there?”

Out of the shadows stepped my nurse. “Sorry to bother you she said, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” We kept eye contact for a few minutes, looking into each others souls. I finally summoned the courage to say something, and I managed to utter “what happened?”

She looked me deep in the eye, and I saw tears beginning to well up. She started to gently sob, and came over to my bed. I reached out, and tried to hold her hand. Her crying began so slow, but her breathing remained shaky. Between breaths she managed to stammer “We did all we could. She’s gone.”

A Fortnight Later

My emotional fits during the middle of the night had basically passed. My body was adapting to the environment, and I was slowly starting to feel better. I was even able to sit up on my own. Things were looking up for me.

This morning the nurse, whom I now knew as Sarah, brought a wheel chair in. This surprised me, as I didn’t think I was in any shape to get out of my cot. She left the wheel chair at the edge of my “room” and gave me a cute little smile. They she followed the normal morning routine, help me sit up – though for the most part I could do this on my own, pills, and water. After I had swallowed the pills, and handed the glass back to her, I began eyeing the wheel chair. She noticed me doing this, and said “If you’re feeling up for it, I’ll take you to see the young woman you’ve been inquirin’ about. She’s been asking about you too.”

I sprang at this offer instantly, but if only my body was as cooperative as my mind….. I had a fair bit of trouble getting to the edge of the cot, but with Sarah’s aid, I was sitting on the edge. She wheeled the chair over to where I sat. She placed her arm under my arm, and ran it behind my shoulders. I slowly pushed up with my good hand, and she helped guide my body and weight into the chair. It was surprisingly easier then I had anticipated.

She asked me if I was ready, and I nodded. She wheeled me out of my “room,” and down through the wing. As I looked around, I noticed dozens of men and women, all from young lads who are hardly dry behind the ear, to older men appearing to be around my fathers age. All these people had been maimed, and brutalised. It was incredibly upsetting for me to see others going through what I have experienced. One young lad raised an arm in an attempted salute to me, and I tried to return it.

We turned the corner, went down a short hallway, and entered a new wing. All the beds in this area had curtains up around them. I swallowed, nervous and worried about what I was going to see.

We came up beside a curtain, and she stopped. She told me I would need to wait a few moments, and she disappeared into the make-shift room. I could hear her whispering, and laboured replies. This added to my nervousness. A few minutes later, Sarah emerged, and let me know she was ready to see me.

Sarah drew back the curtain, and wheeled me in. What I saw almost made me pass out.

Tenebrous Infirmary

I awake to the sound of a door closing, voices, and the sound of something rolling. The environment I find myself in is strange…. foreign. I cannot see anything because the room is submerged in a black veil. All I can make out is a very dimly lit hallway, and shadows. As I strain to listen to their conversation I am able to make out a few phrases, “blood,” “positive” and “O” being the ones that stick out the most. From this, I assume I must be in an infirmary. I must have survived the blast to be here. I wonder what happened to the young woman who was with me. Did she survive too? Did she perish?

My emotions start to get the best of me, and I begin to sob heavily. I can taste the salt as my tears pour down my face. The salt reminds me of my last memory, in the field… in hell. I begin to shake badly. I feel confined. I feel I need to escape from here, but my body doesn’t have the strength or will to move. I surrender to my emotions, and eventually cry myself to sleep.

I am now back in the trenches. There is yelling all around me. We’re under attack. I can hear gunshots all around me, and I can hear the bullets hitting the sandbag partitions. I hear what I think is their officers yelling. I can hear our officers yelling. To my back I see a glow, and see the green flares go up. We’re calling for help. It’s about to begin. Seconds later I hear the screaming, and see the blinding flash… and… I am startled awake.

There is a nurse standing at the head of my bed, opening the black-out curtains. The flash must have been from when she opened the curtains, and the light flooded in. I can feel cold, terror sweat all over my body. My gown is stuck to me. I look at her, and she looks at me. We make eye contact for a few seconds, until she says “Good morning,” and asks me how I am feeling. I do not reply. I just lay there in shock. She pauses for a second, hoping to get a reply from me, and we make eye contact again. She realises that I am not going to respond, so she says “Looks like a frightful nightmare you were having. Let me help you sit up, and I’ll get you a drink.”

She slips her hands under my arms, and asks if I am ready. I nod, and she gently helps me prop my body up against the pillows. She walks over to a small table where there is a metal tray, pitcher and glass. I look around trying to assess my environment. I cannot see very much because of the curtains that are surrounding me, but I gather that I am in a rather large room. The nurse walks back over to me, and reaches out with one hand. She hands me a few pills, and instructs me to take them. I barely have the strength to reach up, and put the pills in my mouth. She holds the glass for me, and I take a small sip of water, swallowing the pills.

After sitting there for a few moments, I decide to attempt to muster enough strength to swing my legs over to the left so I am able to let them dangle over the side of my cot… but I cannot move. I try again, but the nurse gently places her hand on my arm and stops me.

I look down where my legs should be. Under the sheet, I see no legs. I see a stump where one leg should be, and nothing where the other leg once was. I feel dizzy. I feel as if I am about to pass out. My vision starts to go gray in the corners of my eyes. I focus on my breathing, and manage to stay concious. After a few minutes, after the shock has settled in, I ask the nurse if she could pull the sheets back for me. She obliges.

What I see makes me sick. I’ve lost my left leg completely, only a small stump remains from just below my hip. My right leg is caked in blood, and has been quite evidently rebuilt. It us cut off just above where my knee use to be. I feel sick. I lean over to one side, start to collapse, vomit, and then black out.

I come to later that day, and there is a different nurse in the room. I ask her where the nurse from before has gone, and she responds that her shift has ended. The new nurse then proceeds to check my vital signs. This is done without any discussion. The only sound in the room is the scratching of her pen as she writes down the information she obtains.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I summon the courage to ask her what happened. She tells me that I was in a shell blast, and the shock wave and shrapnel tore off my legs, and two of my fingers. I look down, and I am missing my ring and pinkie fingers on my left hand. After this, I begin to look at the rest of my body in closer detail. There are stitches everywhere. I look like a cadavers that students were practising on. My body is mangled. She tells me that it is a miracle I survived at all. I ask her what happened to the young woman that was with me. She doesn’t know. She tells me that if I need anything, she will be back in ten minutes to check on me – she needs to complete the rest of her runs. After she leaves the room, I fight to stay awake eventually succumb to the grasp of sleep.

I awake to the pitch black again. All I can see is the very dimly lit hallway. I start to feel very scared, and confined again. I weep, and eventually fall back asleep.

War Torn Comrades

The time is 01:50. We’ve been assembled and drilled. We know our jobs, and we know the task at hand. There is an uneasy silence among the men. To my left I can see something being passed through the ranks. It reaches me, and the lad beside me whispers “Take a sip and pass it on. It’ll calm the nerves.” I take a swig, and it instantly burns. Whiskey. I pass it on along with the same message.

The time is now 01:55. The uneasy silence has turned into an ere calm. We know what’s coming. We’re not afraid. We’re ready. Some of the men, look ancient… carved of stone. Devoid of any emotion – unbreakable and ready for anything. Others have excited smiles. Some look petrified.

I can feel the whiskey taking effect. My breathing is easier. My nerves are calm. My heart no longer races. The time is now 01:59. Almost time.

Then all of a sudden all hell breaks loose. Our artillery starts the systematic pummeling of their lines. This goes on for what seems like hours. Then stops. I hear officers shouting orders, and we’re off. Over the wall, through the smoke into no mans land.

I see the bright flairs go up. They’re requesting help. In mere seconds, hell on earth is unleashed. They’re shelling us, trying to stop the advance. We hold for a second, and press on. All of a sudden we’re torn apart. I can hear my men screaming. Our ranks are devastated. Men dismembered, some dead. Others unscathed. I hear yelling. I know what we must do. I know what I must do. I press on.

In the distance, I see a silhouette appear. I think nothing of this, it can’t be more then a mere shadow. I was at the front of the column, and we’re not that close to their lines – so it can’t be the enemy. I think my eyes must be playing tricks on me – simply deceiving me. But the more I stare and the more I advance, the more convinced I am that I am seeing something – someone. I find myself transfixed by this image, lost in a world of my own.

Then I hear it. The horrible screaming. The sound I fear. I collapse, and hit the ground; barely having enough time to roll into a nearby hole, and cover my head. I close my eyes, cower – and wish this was a horrible nightmare. The world illuminates. Night is briefly turned to day. And then submerged back into jet back. I feel it in every bone of my body. I can’t hear anything over the deafening roar. All I can taste is my own sweat, and mud.

A few moment later I feel a sharp pain in my arm. Finally summoning the courage to look, I see my sleeve tattered and torn. Soaked in blood. I’ve been hit. A flesh wound, nothing devastating.

I peek my head up from the crater I am in, and peer around. I see no one. I hear no one. Am I alone? I know what we’ve been told, and I know what I must do. So I summon all my strength and press on.

Now I begin to hear men’s voices calling out. Trying to regroup. Some screaming in agony, some praying to God. I see the silhouette of the men around me advancing, so I continue on. I manage a few steps, only to stumble, and fall. I get up, and continue on.

In the distance, I see the same figure as I saw before. This time they’re close enough to make out. They’re one of us. Not small enough to be a young lad, but too big to be a boy.

I think to myself, what a shame. Someone that young, in this living hell. Fighting to abolish the need for this. A war to end wars.

By now, we’re close enough that I can tell this person is only probably only eighteen or nineteen years.

Again. The terrible howling. The blinding flash. The deafening roar. I fear the worse. Who ever was ahead of me must surely have perished in that blast.

For a moment, my mind wanders back to pity, and worries about their mother, and wife. The life before this hell. Gunshots snap me back to reality, and I press on.

Ahead of me, I see the same figure emerging from the smoke. Stumbling, staggering. They fall over. I head towards them, and they crawl towards me. We are now close enough that I can see facial features. This is no man. This is no boy. Its a young woman. She reaches out, and I collapse and grasp her hand. She grasps my arm. No words are exchanged, but I can see she is terrified. I am terrified. The howling begins again, and…