The Soldier
(Reading Time: 02:15) 'Ere we are on the edge, again. We've been on the edge for as long as I can remember, always just one step away from disaster. Okay I knows I'm not that old but even when you talk to the old timers it's the same, always on the edge. None of 'em remembers it any other way.'Course we're on what could be described as the front line I suppose. The top knobs they're down in the bunker. I suppose that's the way it should be and I wouldn't like it down there but it must be nice to know we're all 'ere between them and the others, the outside as it were.
Born a soldier, that's what I've always been told, born a soldier, meant to be a soldier and meant to die a soldier. I di'nt seem to 'ave 'ad much choice in it really, still no point moanin' about it some things are just the way they are, end of.
Not sure I'd want any of the other jobs though. You take them motherly types they 'ave to stay and look after the littlies, an' let me tell you that's no cake walk. I seen em die, I 'ave. I seen em die trying to get the youngsters to safety, now that's brave you ask me. In the middle of carnage and there they are pickin' up them little 'ens and makin' off with em, breaks yer 'eart it does.
Then there's the foragers, that's what we call 'em now, foragers. They're the poor sods got the job of tryin' to keep us goin'. Out there every day scavengin' for whatever they can pick up. I reckon they got a worse job than us really all that draggin' and carryin'. Brilliant teamwork though, you talk 'bout one fer all and all fer one, well you just got to watch them foragers to see that, by god it's 'umblin' an' no mistake.
Yesterday was bad, two columns just 'bout wiped out. One blow they reckon, just one impact and two whole columns gone just like that. They sent out a recovery team and they brought some of em back, survivors. It were 'orrible, all screamin' and thrashin' fair turned yer stomach. When my time comes I 'ope I goes quick, not brought back in bits like that.
Gas, the gas that's the worst. I seen the poor sods that's been gassed. Staggerin' an chokin' trying to get back. Mind even if they make it back there's nowt to be done an' it just upsets everybody else. Last gas attack the big knobs didn't know whether to be mad, sad or just plain scared but they went down deeper anyway just in case. We didn't, we 'ad to stay 'ere on guard. I were scared then, yeah the gas scares me. First there's the noise, like an 'issing and then there's the mist and then that's when the coughin' starts. When I go I 'ope it's not the gas or the poison. The poison takes a long time an' 'all. I seen me mates squirmin' and writhin' - god no I don't want to go wiv the poison.
Eh up, wots 'appenin'? oh god this looks like it. Comin' down the line, the alarm. Passed on warrior to warrior they calls it - oh aye thing is though I don't feel like a warrior, standin' 'ere waitin' to go over the top. No, I don't feel like a warrior at all. I feel like just what I am - a little black ant. -Diane Dickson
Military Short Stories
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