The Dark Side of the Moon

Charlie ran up over the small ridge hoping to shelter behind what was left of the tree. Bullets were whistling overhead. The thump-thump of the cannons were pushing shells down on both sides. Mud, machinery and bits of people were being splattered all over the fields of France in this summer of 1916. "If this is glory," Charlie thought, "save me from hell".

On the other side of the ridge a handsome young Prussian officer, Kurt Illas, was having the same thoughts and was heading for the same tree stump.

A shell crashed nearby as the two startled soldiers ran into each other by the tree stump. Time stood still as they looked into each other's eyes. Both had been taught to hate the enemy, kill them on sight. Both held their guns steady pointing at the enemy's guts. One movement and that would be it.

Kurt could feel the hatred burning in him. The Kaiser had said kill. The Kaiser was always right. The Kaiser expected it of him. He knew he could not fail in his duty. How would he be able to show his face in the mess? One little squeeze of the trigger and duty to the Kaiser would be done. For God and the Kaiser, he should put this scum out of its misery. The burning fear fired in his belly and matched the horrors he had seen.

Charlie could also see the horrors clearly. He had seen so many die in the trenches and now it was to be his turn. Death frightened him. He had had little in the way of education, but even the vicar had not made it clear exactly what to expect. Was it going to be heaven or hell? What would it feel like as the bullet flung his guts apart? Would he feel the pain? Yes, he had seen others die shrieking. Grown men screaming for their mothers before they collapsed and breathed their last. Did the pain die when you did, or would it go on forever?

They had all seen others writhing in agony as their horrific injuries took their toll. The shrapnel had no mercy and tore off any part of a soldier it chose. It seemed to have a willfully vindictive mind, knowing just where to hurt most. Charlie felt it was sentient - it knew what pain and suffering it was causing. He had seen friends take hours to die and had known the internal torment of wishing their death on them sooner. It is horrific when you want your best friend to die.

The British squaddie could see the tension in the enemy finger and another wave of fear swept over him. The fear awoke the demons, and he tensed his finger too. Maybe he could just shoot to wound, just turn this monsters' legs to mush. Charlie had seen lots of mutilated soldiers. Fleeting visions broke through of the keen football players with broken backs, the proud husband who would never be able to put his arms around his wife or pat his children on the head, the intelligent and articulate lawyer who had no voice box anymore. Was he about to join them? Could he really do this to someone else? Did his beloved country really want him to?

For Kurt his country would expect a Prussian officer to shoot this ordinary soldier in cold blood, blow him into the next world. Kurt had position, he was aristocracy. His great-uncle had married the eldest daughter of Queen Victoria. His country expected and he was frightened to fail. He was part of his country, and his county needed the right decision. He could not fail his country! His finger tightened on the trigger.

Death had visited here so often. Just a few happy years earlier these men were the future. They had ambitions, dreams to live and hopes to realise. They had ideas and ideals with would benefit others. Now all that was left was shattered bodies and minds so numbed by horror that they would contribute little. The scarred and overburdened minds of those who remained had been made impotent by fear and hatred. They would now be incapable of fathering real progress.

Kurt Illas could see the indecision on the face of his opponent, and this left him undecided as well. It was far easier to kill someone who was about to kill you. No others were coming up the ridge behind either of them, but how would he fair in the mess when he told his fellow officers that he had not shot the British pig on sight? Status would be lost and possibly promotion too. How could he live with the fear of exposure, the fear of ridicule? In his mind's eye he could see his stern father peering over his glass rimmed spectacles and tutting with a disgusted sneer on his face. The humiliation yet to be hit hard. How would he, the eldest brother, ever be the eldest brother again?

Thoughts of his family were also passing through Charlie's mind. How would his mum take his death? His dear mum who doted so on her eldest son would be devastated. He could feel her grief, he could see her distraught tears, he could sense the emptiness inside her. Annie, his sister would miss him too. Whilst they had fought as children, they grew closer as they got older. It would be particularly stupid if he threw his life away by not pulling the trigger now. He started to squeeze his trigger too.

Suddenly, the young Prussian officer straightened up, smiled and pointed his weapon down. He had made up his mind and conquered his fears. Honour to man had overcome honours on the battlefield. The tension was broken and both started back down the hill.

---ooOoo---

They were to meet again thirty-four years later at the wedding of their children, my parents. But whilst these brief moments lasted, each considered the other to be the dark side of the moon.

William Safire's Rules for Writers