Futility

Futility The drama, the chaos and the bedlam of war has draped me into a never-ending circle of bewilderment. O! The false valour, the fabricated pride and the deceptive gratification; was it for this that the limbs dear achieved, now rot in mucky foreign soils. Alas! Is it too treacherous to live serenely in our homes' Does it not simmer the blood in your bodies that soldiers died to recover a few metres of land' Does it not infuriate you that 60,000 of our men were killed in one war, over one city' Subsequent to finishing my training at the tender age of 18, I was sent to war with my friends to the city of Somme. We reached at our camps at the night of 29’Th of June, full of delirium. Alas! Did we realise at that moment what would happen to us the next day. I was in the same regiment as my best friend, James Fret. I could see from his eyes honour he felt to be in this war; had he ever had a vision of the future the dignity from his eyes would have been swept away by pure humility. What we saw that night was far from what we had expected. I assumed that in our trench we would see people roaring for the morning to get to war, hearing people laugh taking the fun out of Germans and smell the delicious food prepared by the a low ranked soldier. I had heard that soldiers get brilliant treatment in war. But what I perceived that night was out of the ordinary. I was dumbfounded to see the utter contradictory in my perception. Instead what I saw was soldiers shot, wounded, bleeding; their blood merging with the brown mud on the floor. I heard the same soldiers crying of pain, their loud voices over shadowed the voices of gunshots and shells dropping over heading. Walking past these soldiers, I felt anguish. I looked into the eyes of James. He looked very different from an hour ago; from feeling pride and dignity, it was clear to see he was now frightened and felt helpless for the soldiers around us. So did I. Next Morning. The world around me was spinning when the general came up to me. His eyes pinned into mine like a dart. “Alan, now is your time to turn from a boy into a man”. “Yes sir” I replied. “I command you to take position to run through no-man’s land and carry back 2 of the Fritz. You will take James with you”. I was bamboozled. Did the general just ask me to run across the no-man’s land' Surely this was suicidal. Me and James exchanged looks. In front of us we saw the stairs leading to the land of demise. We walked up the stairs in order. I knew we were not going to make it, but James looked ambitious. I whispered to him “let’s fake injury”. He simply looked up into the sky and it seemed as if he became part of the sun. He smiled. Suddenly, the general shouted “charge”. I was still in shock but the downfall of the smoke bombs around me caught me and I ran after James. What we saw as we ran past was a blur. I could make out soldiers caught in barbed wire, seeing limbs blown all over the place and blood splattering everywhere. I saw James being hit by a shell. My best friend’s head was blown off in front of my eyes. I felt horror. I looked up into the same sun that James had earlier. I saw nothing but a helpless object. It provided no hope; no glory. I put James’ left over body in the wheel barrow that was supposed to contain the bodies of 2 Germans. I carried the barrow back narrowly missing shrapnel to my legs. I sprinted back to the general and cursed him for the futile orders. I was court marshalled; nearly killed. I have not been able to sleep since that night. My brain has deceived me. I feel anger and mournful all the time. Is this why we fight wars' Is the value of the lives of millions of Britons less than the deceptive glory' Does it not strike the people of Britain that we are fighting a futile war.