User blog:Feudy McPlagueface/Rains on the Somme - SSC

Rains on the Somme -Feudy McPlagueface

 Fränz Engel shook as his shaking hands fumbled with his rifle, slowly and deliberately sliding the bolt back. He tried his best to slide the stripper clip into the Gewehr 88’s magazine, only able to complete it on his third try his hands shaking profusely from a combination of coldness from the rain, and fear of another artillery barrage. He took his helmet off running his hands through his soaking wet hair trying to clear some of the wetness from his head. It didnt do much but he was to busy being afraid of further combat to try and pretend like he could continue to worry about anything normal like being soaked.

The battlefield was eerily silent with only the occasional pop of a rifle from either side. It had something to do with the fog which had engulfed the battlefield just over an hour ago and had stopped the attack. Nevertheless, Fränz was terrified, between the massive French attack, and the overwhelming artillery barrage the line had been thinned beyond belief. Of the nearly 4000 men holding this section of the line there couldn’t be more than 500 hundred left at most. He cautiously looked through the firing position he was crouched in the thin tin room making a dull almost imperceptible series of thuds as the rain impacted it. Fränz was able to come to his senses for a few seconds as he heard the roar of a mass of approaching men.

The machine gun fire from the line began to churn up most of it looking seemingly random from what he could see. The fog was obstructing the view of himself and all his comrades, it had even creeped into the trench to the point he could barely see a few feet in front of him. The roar of charging men grew louder and seeing the inevitable he reached into his shirt pulling out a cross. He quietly and with shaky hands made a quick prayer and put it back into his shirt. He reached behind him to a sheathe sitting on his back between two packs on his back. He drew a large knife from it and began to attach it to his Gewehr rifle.

He turned around and aimed into the fog, incoming fire giving Fränz a good base on where to fire. He sighted down his rifle and pulled the trigger. The rifle came back to his shoulder with recoil as fire spewed from the barrel quickly going out as quickly as it came. He put his hand on the bolt lifting it up and pulling back as he chambered a new round finishing the bolt cycle as he slammed it back into firing position. He fired again looking for muzzle flashes and aiming just a little bit to the left or right to try and at least hit something from the obviously large mass of men incoming. He cycled the bolt once again only to see something haunting. The Fog was parting, just the slightest bit as the many men charged parting it from their mass charge. His eyes went wide as he saw what looked to be thousands of men charging up the hill. They were mere meters away, his anxiety and fear set back in but he swallowed it just enough to keep shooting putting 3 men down on their way up the hill. He was forced to look away as he tried to carefully reload hoping to get it on his first try this time.

The wave of men seemed to slow down the spongey earth before the trench bringing these men to a crushing halt their charge now a slow slog up the hill. It hadn’t been this bad before, but 4 separate assaults and now the 5th had made the ground finally give way. There was nothing these men could do but try to fight through the mud. It turned into a slaughter as Fränz and now a few men which had retaken position next to him began to fire down into the mass of men before them. His relief didn’t last long as the first of the British soldiers hopping into the trench swinging the butt of his rifle at one of Fränz’s comrades.

Fränz was in a bad position as he tried to keep his mind together however a British soldier jumped in right next to him his boots landing with a wet thud against the wooded structure of the floor parts of the trench. Fränz turned to face the man and saw the man thrust his bayonetted rifle at him. He parried the attack away and deftly drove his own bayonet through the mans neck. Blood surged through the neck wound and he fell over with a sick gurgle and his hands wrapped around his windpipe. Another man jumped in right next to him and tried to hit Fränz with a studded club, which he barely missed falling backwards. He noticed his rifle was in perfect position and pulled the trigger, the point blank shot plowing through this soldiers chest blowing him back slightly and he fell into a small dugout to the front.

Fränz frantically cycled the bolt trying to stay ready to fight as more men piled into the trench. His comrades had concentrated on this part of the trench and all down the line had converged engaging in hand to hand combat. He stood up quickly taking a spot back to the front of the trench only to come face to face with a terrified young British boy, no older than 17. He hesitated and Fränz put him down putting a bullet through his shoulder sending the boy rolling down the hill in the mud. He cycled his bolt and aimed trying to hold the line frantically as the battle became more chaotic. He wanted to yell, scream, cry, but all he could do was fight for his life as the mass of men tried to fight for a cause most of them didn’t even believe in at this point. Nationalism, what a joke, he thought.

“Fuck you!” he screamed as he sent another round down the hill catching another soldier in the head, the man collapsing face first into the mud. “Just stop coming!” he ran the bolt again as he fired his 4th round missing as another British soldier piled on top of him tackling Fränz into the trench pinning him. The mans rifle was pressed to his neck choking him, the roughness of it caused him to start blacking out, he couldn’t figure out how to get out of this one. His rifle was at an awkward angle under him, and Fränz was in no position to move and grab it. The rain came down on the trench harder pouring now causing the mans hand to slide off the back of his rifle, the moment of pure luck gave him his opening as ha got his hand out from under the rifle and punched the soldier in the face as hard as he could knocking him off. His hand came down to his side as he took a deep breath with the rifle no longer at this throat. He felt something nearby and gripped it, his hand naturally fitting around it. The soldier came back on top of him and raised his rifle to hit Fränz in the face only for Fränz to slam the trench club he had taken from a dead British soldier into the mans face clearly taking him out.

Breathing heavy he stood up grabbing his rifle in one hand and the club in another as the line continued to collapse into a free for all, every man fighting for their lives in the pouring rain. Another soldier managed to run a bayonet past his leg slicing it opening somewhat as Fränz yelled caving in the mans face with the club. Blood coated the club as he gave it two more swings, stepping over the fallen man bashing another British soldier on the back of the head hoping the blunt force would kill him or knock him out. As he went for another bash on the mans head the club slipped from his grasp, the rain having made it difficult to hold onto anything. He swung his rifle back into a combat position and brought his bayonet into the dazed soldiers back. He turned and squeezed off a shoot at a man coming over the lip of the trench sending him tumbling in on top of one of his comrades. The staccato sound of a handheld machine gun was heard over all as the Stoßtruppen(Stormtroopers) entered this part of the trenches hoping to contain the massive breach.

   Fränz tried to cycle the bolt and fire only for a short click “Shit! Im out” he yelled as he dove under the lip of the trench trying his best to reload. As he tried to reload the rifle the stripper clip fell from his fingers due to the wetness. It fell into a puddle and he just gave up and reached into his wait pack for another clip. He managed to slip the clip home this time only to get slammed into. He felt men pile on top of him and he closed his eyes to keep from more rain and mud from getting into his face. He felt a punch, and then something harder, and then a few more punches. His face felt warm as he figured blood was coming out of his nose, and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. The punching stopped and Fränz looked up one of his eyes hurting and he felt his face lots of blood coming from his nose and a cut from above his eye. The three men lay dead over him with and older German soldier holding his hand out

“Get up soldier, were not done here” The Man said the Stormtrooper patch on his arm standing out the most to him.

Fränz emboldened by this got up and screamed as he sighted down his rifle pulling the trigger, sending a round across the trenches to a far dugout which served as a forward machinegun position, dropping a British soldier which looked to be throwing something inside of the dugout only to drop it as the bullet hit him. The Men around him all yelled and a medium sized explosion occurred sending 4 british troops down the hill screaming and one of his own comrades down as well.

“Grenades they have Grenades!” he yelled trying to spread the word as he cycled his bolt only to be confronted by another wave of British soldiers coming up the hill. Two jumped in front of him and fired a pistol. Fränz took the round to the shoulder and screamed feeling something rising through him and pulled his trigger, with his rifle at his hip catching the pistol wielding man in the leg. He screamed and fell clutching his thigh where the bullet impacted, and Fränz parried a bayonet thrust from another British soldier who looked in awe that his German counterpart had taken a round to the shoulder like that. He whipped the butt of his rifle around catching the soldier in the face only to bring his rifle back around and ram the bayonet through his chest. He cycled his bolt ready to take on the next challenge until this whole storm of combat was over. An unknown gun sound broke the usual sounds he recognized and it was coming from behind the trenches. They had been overrun, Fränz readied himself to fight to the last man with his comrades only to see British troops coming over the other side of the trench to fall quickly as more and more gunfire picked up. A large yell came from behind him as a man in a Tan-Brown uniform lept into the trench ramming his own bayonet straight through the neck of a British soldier. Fränz looked for anything that would distinguish the man. He saw a Red, White, and Blue star on the mans helmet as he nodded at him in acknowledgement. After 5 years of War the United States had arrived in France.