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Weekly Contest #340
Gunshots smothered John's voice, so I never made out his last words. I assume they were something to the effect of 'God save the King,' but I like to think he was splattering something less acrimonious. A little after four, the 'other' made its way to me and John. We spent the last seven hours on watch duty for our sector of trench, staring out over the barren expanse of barbed wasteland, eyes peeled for anything white. It's a dreadful business. Enough to drive a man mad if left to his own devices, so we always watched in pairs. The night w...
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