They say that war is hell. While undoubtedly true, the history of war has always been a strong fascination of mine. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been enthralled about learning about wars while listening to my grandfather telling me about his time in France after he arrived on the shores of Normandy in 1944.
I’ve always been interested in learning as much as I could about the tactics, leaders, and feelings of those who were boots on the ground while in the very thick of it. Given the vast amount of World War II games I had played on my original Xbox as a child, I found that by the time I was already being taught about it in school, I had already known quite a lot.
While others spent their free time hanging out with their friends or watching whatever passed for entertainment on live television, my screen was always tuned to documentaries about the greatest conflicts of mankind that had ever been recorded.
So, you can imagine my surprise and absolute excitement when my family discovered a large suitcase in my grandmother’s attic that had amongst many things - the journal of my great great grandfather, Matthew J. Redford, who had served in the first World War. Now I had already known that he was in the war, but given how he had passed away nearly 30 years before I was born, left no time for me to soak up his stories like I had with his son.
When I had gotten home that night, I went straight downstairs to my room and started to pour through the long dormant history of my ancestry. In hindsight, I see that this history has been dormant for good reason. However, today (for better or worse) that history will find new life today.
To be honest, I can’t really answer as to why I’m even writing this for you all to see. The horrors in these pages have hopefully long-since gone. Perhaps I’m only doing this for the simple fact that I don’t have to carry these words by myself. Whatever the reason may be, I feel the need to do this. If my great grandfather felt the need, then perhaps that’s the only reason I need:
July 22nd, 1917
Aisne-Marne, France
Captain Leggins came by our trench this morning. While no one else cares to admit it, the reason was pretty clear. He’s doing the numbers, seeing how many of us are left after the last attack on our position from the day before last. From the sorry excuse of a calming look on his face, I can only imagine they’ve dwindled far below even the worst of their estimations.
“Why are we here fighting a war that would never touch our home soil? Why should we die in France for their war when I could just as well die in Montana after living a good life?” I can’t really blame him for the thought. None of us had ever expected anything like this by the time we joined the conflict. In the end, war seems to laugh at boys who aren’t ready to become men - that is after it shreds them down to the bone and spit out the empty fragments that remain.
July 23rd, 1918
Aisne-Marne, France
For the first time since we took these trenches, we’ve had what I dare say to be the first quiet night. Top brass had been anticipating a German counter offensive that never seemed to come. Ever since sundown last night - to now, it’s been at least a good 13 hours of absolute silence. Not a bullet has been fired, not an artillery shell exploded.
Under ideal circumstances we would probably have already attempted to gain more ground towards the enemy, but even Leggins wouldn’t be so stupid as to use up the last of what little we have left to defend this portion of the front. He’s told us to expect some reinforcements by tomorrow, but I’ve heard that one before.
Darell thinks that this might be a sign that the war is over, that we’ll all be able to be home before the summer’s up. But if I’m being honest, everything tells me that this is nothing more than the calm before the storm. If we have the time to sit and dig in and await for more troops, then so do the ones far across the mud and barbed wire.
It’s likely that they’ll be sending out a small recon team once night begins to fall again, even in the silence no one would be willing to venture out there in the middle of the day, even with a gun to their head. Anyone would rather take it right there rather than tangled in the blood of others while the rats eat what isn’t already blown to bits.
Whatever they may find, may God protect them.
July 24th, 1918
Aisne-Marne, France
While the quiet had indeed lasted much longer than I - or anyone for that matter - had anticipated, it was of course destined to end, but not in the way I had imagined.
The recon boys headed out at about 10:00 last night. They had apparently been tasked by reaching the estimated middle ground of No Man’s Land to see if the Germans had advanced or seemed to be holding position as we were. While the distance was only a few hundred yards, navigating that nightmare in the middle of the night while trying not to alert the enemy could take hours.
For the first two the silence had continued as what passed for the strange new normal for the past day and a half. That silence came to an end with a sound I will never be able to forget for as long as I live, no matter how hard I may try.
It was this wicked and gargling howl that tore through the quiet like a jagged knife. Its excruciating echoe swept over the entire battlefield like the angel of death herself.
I’ve heard men scream while their arms are being cut off, I’ve heard boys cry out while a bullet pierces right through their throat. But through all the things I’ve heard, nothing, NOTHING compares to what I heard last night. It was like terror, pain, and rage all at once. But most of all, it was how loud it was. It carried over everywhere as if it were being screamed out right beside me, but we could all tell where it was coming from, right in the heart of No Man’s Land.
The howl was quickly followed by other much fainter screams that were far more recognizable as the last breaths a poor soul makes before it is quickly taken by another.
One of the most important rules to follow while beyond the protection of the trenches is silence. Even if you have a gun, a blade should always be the first and last resort. Which is why when I heard the rapid succession of gunfire coming from their position, I knew that I couldn’t even imagine the circumstances that would lead to their suicidal consequence of use.
After the gunfire was over, there were a few more cries. I swear I could hear one of them calling for his mother - an occurrence much more common than a civilized man would ever imagine when placed in combat.
Then there was silence yet again. This time however, it only lasted a few minutes. It was then that we could hear the eerie whine coming from up above, signaling an oncoming barrage of enemy artillery fire. Naturally we all hunkered down to await the bombardment that never came for us. Rather, the shells all made impact from where the cries had come from. The Germans knew our position, they had been firing on it for weeks. But this entire attack was focused solely on the center of the great divide.
After a solid ten minutes, the barrage ceased as quickly as it had begun. The silence then once again returned, this time haunted by the echoing memory of what had broken it minutes ago. I dared not look at any of the men around me, not to hide the look of terror on my face, but to not see it reflected in their own expressions.
June 25th, 1918
Aisne-Marne, France
At the first light of dawn, I cursed the silence that has nearly driven me insane since its return. It’s almost alien for a ground so muddled with bloodshed to be so… quiet.
While I will most certainly regret it, I would almost welcome a surprise attack from the Germans. At least that would return us to familiar territory, as opposed to the strange delirium we now find ourselves in.
Leggins was making the rounds earlier this morning, with a face I’m all too familiar with - as the very same one has been frozen on my own. There have been whispers amongst the trenches, saying that someone somehow actually came back from the reconnaissance. A rather unlikely tale, then again I’ve already seen my fair share of the impossible when it comes to the lengths many will go to survive.
The only thing I’ve heard about the poor bastard was that he was gravely injured, and bordering on insanity. They say he was mumbling something about a demon.
July 17th, 1918
Pauillac, France
It has been a great many days since my last entry, although it both feels like an eternity as well as just yesterday when I was last in the trenches of Aisne-Marne. While a main reason for the lack of any ink on these pages was due to my medical transport to the Naval base in Pauillac, another has been to simply keep myself from remembering what brought me here in the first place.
The days are much easier to handle. Seeing so many poor souls being sent home is more than enough to keep the mind occupied, the nights however is another story. My dreams have become a prison of that fateful night for the past several weeks.
While the doctors believe this to be nothing more than shell shock, they recommended writing what happened that night down on these pages. Their belief is that in recording them here, they may hopefully remain there and out of my mind. While I have little reason to trust this process may work, I also have no reason to believe that it won’t. But I’m afraid I’m beginning to run out of options at this point, so I’ll do whatever it takes to just try.
On the night of June 25th, I along with four other of the more experienced men in our garrison were selected to take part in a covert reconnaissance mission. Although it was made very clear from our briefing that our objective would not be to report on German movements, but to investigate the status of No Man’s Land.
Before we even had time to question the orders, Leggings explained that they had been in communication with the German troops on the far side, and that they were halting all military offensive operations until the status of the battlefield had been assessed.
As we were told, there was ‘something’ there. Whatever it was, it had no distinction for the armies of either side. It had single handedly led to enough losses that neither side was willing to move in deeper until an understanding and assessment could be made to allow for a plan of action to be developed to deal with the threat.
The captain explained that the Germans had agreed to allow for another reconnaissance team to be sent out from our side tonight, while we allowed one from their side to be sent out the following night. Once the threat - whatever it was - was dealt with, we would return to the standard military operation that had been prepared for.
The five of us were then introduced to Kayden Hitch, an agent for the US Intelligence Agency. While recon was the mission statement, our main goal would be to defend agent Hitch as he collects any valuable information as well as images of the area we would be investigating. Hanging from his neck was an obscenely large black Kodak camera that I had seen some news boys use to document our initial arrival in France.
We were told that we would head out just before sunset that afternoon, that way we would be able to collect credible visual intelligence. Captain Leggins reaffirmed the fact that the Germans had agreed to a temporary ceasefire and would not engage. When I asked him what would happen if they broke the agreement, his reply gave me everything I needed to truly understand what we were coming up against:
“If they fire on you, death from a bullet would be much more preferable from what has been reported in that area.”
Before we left the trenches, we had been reminded that anything we saw was to be listed as classified, and not to be discussed with anyone else under any and all circumstances.
As the sun began to crest towards the west, we began to make our way towards the edge of No Man’s Land. The ground was broken and sterile of any life. It seemed that not even the crows or the rats would dare to tread along this muddy wasteland.
Decaying corpses were strewn about everywhere, many completely tangled in the jagged barbed wire that littered the landscape. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the fear and unrelenting pain they had to suffer from in their final moments.
The further we marched, the stronger the silence grew. It was almost an audible sensation even in itself with how thick it was. Even the sloshing of our boots through the thick pools of bloodied mud seemed muffled and distorted with each and every step.
“We should be nearing the target area.” Hitch said as he started to look ahead. His voice caused me to jump instinctively as it broke through the silence. While everything else seemed much quieter than it should have, his voice broke through the silence much clearer than it should have been. While speaking quietly, it was as if he was shouting orders at us from across an entire raging battlefield.
As soon as he spoke, we could all hear a series of strange clicking sounds coming from beyond the hill directly ahead of us. The closest thing I can compare it to is the sound of rain pelting off of a metal roof, but with a sense of life and purpose behind it.
Without a thought I slung my M19 off of my shoulder and readied it, not worrying about any consequences of a German counter offensive to any shot I may make in self defense. It was then that I remembered the shots that I had heard the first night of the silent battle, as well as the horrific sounds that had followed from their usage.
Like a well-oiled machine we all made our way up the hill in unison, making sure to keep as quiet as possible. As we rounded the crest of the hill, I first took nothing at way lay ahead a few hundred yards. Through a faint fog that was beginning to rise, I could see the vast array of trenches that housed thousands of possible Germans. I couldn’t help but to think that each and every one of them had a rifle trained directly on us, their fingers itching to take us all to the clearing at the end of the path.
It wasn’t until I turned to see Hitch’s reaction to the trenches that I realized they were the last thing on his mind. I slowly turned to follow his downward gaze, and that was when I saw what had fixated his attention.
In the center of a crater below the hill was… Something. Standing at about seven feet tall, the thing had what appeared to be the upper torso of a French soldier. Where the waist should have been there was a large and bloated mass. Coming out of the mass was a tangled series of what looked like giant spider legs; except rather than being made of segmented appendages, these legs seemed to twist and curve down into the earth almost like jagged tree roots. The entire thing was covered in a thick layer of putrid grey mud, but underneath you could see the slow rise and fall of what appeared to be breathing.
Apart from that gentle expansion and contraction, the thing was completely still and devoid of any other movement.
It wasn’t until I saw the thing that I realized the horrid stench that seemed to be coming from it. It was unlike anything I had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It was something akin to a thousand varied rotting corpses covered in human waste, all with a vast and encompassing base of sulfur behind it all.
With each passing moment, the thick mud continued to flow down the figure’s form. It was covered so profusely that a single identifying detail couldn’t be made beyond its exterior husk of a shape.
The more I focused on the thing, the more the atmosphere around us seemed to change. While the fog between us seemed to dissipate into nothing, the mist surrounding us grew in severity. A thick ring of white circled us all in with the entity. It was almost as if the stage was being set for some terrifying final act, from which there will be no encore for any of us.
Hitch began to make his way down the hill without a word, making sure to never break his gaze with the thing in the crater. As he did so, I slowly began to raise my rifle towards it in anticipation for whatever response it may make. From the corner of my eye I could see the others doing the same, using the thick clumps of mud around us to steady their aim.
Standing about thirty feet ahead of me, I could hear the snaps of his camera as he began to try and capture some acceptable intelligence for the higher ups. As he did so, I heard that insane loud clicking noise once again as it cracked through the air light lightning. Suddenly, its head snapped towards Hitch so fast that it flung the mud covering its face completely off. Except it wasn’t a face, not really. Where flesh should have been, there was just a charred black human skull. While the bottom jaw was missing, the teeth of the top were jagged and serrated like arrowheads. Where the eyes should have been, there was nothing but dark holes leading to nothingness.
Suddenly the air erupted around us as it shrieked out that very same horrific howl that I had heard a few nights ago. As the screech cut through my mind like a bayonet, large twisted branch-like legs shot up through the ground around Hitch and impaled him right through his chest. The thing looked up at him as he was pulled up into the air. He screamed and contorted as he tried to free himself, jerking so hard that he ended up throwing his camera from his arms all the way to me. Another moment later, he was pulled down into the mud with a motion so swift that it was almost as if he had never even been there.
The rest of the regiment opened fire on it at once, I was too frozen to even think about pulling the trigger. Another moment later, similar branching muddy appendages came out from the ground, dragging them into the down below as well, all while I laid there in complete shock.
The black skull then came to meet my very gaze. Through the black abyss it had for eyes, I could see a crimson ruby glow emanating from within them. If it’s true that the eyes are the windows to the soul, then these were the windows to Satan himself. Through the glow I could see a realm of complete chaos and madness. A realm within our own, but hidden away from the eyes of the living. Beyond those eyes was the land of discordia, the final resting place for millions who would know nothing but pain and agony at the hands of beings who were all powerful and completely insane thanks to the infinite imprisonment of eternity.
It all became so suddenly clear to me. War is hell, but only by our own design. The natural order of things is for survival of the fittest, for life to only be taken by a predator so that it may itself continue its survival. War was chaos, an event of such madness that it disrupted the natural laws of existence. By disrupting those laws, the very walls of what we see as reality may sometimes break apart. This thing, this being was only here due to our own pastime for genocide and needless violence. It came from a hell of our own making, so that we may reap what we ourselves sow.
Upon the realization of this and a glimpse into hell itself, I suddenly found myself within a medical station far behind the front lines. According to the medics, I had been stumbling back towards our defenses clutching Hitch’s camera in my hands. A journey I had no memory of.
I’ve heard no word about how the front lines have shifted along Aisne-Marne, nore do I honestly wish to know. While I have suffered no real physical damage, they say that my mental state is worthy of a medical discharge back to the states. A journey I will be more than happy to make. It is my hope that once I leave this wretched place, I can begin to forget about this in the company of my family.
If there is a God out there, may he never send me to the land I was cursed a glimpse at, and may he forgive us for the hell that we ourselves have created.
Pvt. Matthew J. Redford