The war had dragged on for four years, neither side seemingly gaining any advantage. To the rear of the frontlines, generals sat in comfort looking at a map, moving markers around hoping to gain an advantage over the enemy. None of them for one moment considered those markers represented living breathing human beings.
Paul sat on the firing step with his back to the trench wall. His rifle lay propped up beside him as he reached inside his tunic for pencil and paper.
You and I are the only ones left from the class of 1912. Remember Opellman? He died this morning at dawn when we went over the top, shot through the head. At least it was quick. I doubt he felt anything.
Gruber was eventually found a week ago by the military police. Poor Gruber, he’d had enough. All he wanted to do was…
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