Foundations of Glass (Peacemaker Wars Book 3) by J.N. Chaney & Terry Maggert

Author:J.N. Chaney & Terry Maggert [Chaney, J.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Variant Publications
Published: 2024-02-25T08:00:00+00:00

19

Voices surrounded him—muttering, shivering, and frightened.

The darkness finally broke, and Mark opened his eyes. Mud and sodden timbers loomed around him, the drenching sheets of rain running in dirty rivulets down the trench’s eroding sides.

He lifted his boots, the soft ground squelching in protest. Infantrymen stood all around him, patinaed in the natural camouflage of mud, soot, and misery. Their breath fogged the air, only making the soft, drenching sleet that much more pronounced.

“Wait for it, boys. Wait for the signal.”

Mark turned, only to find a young officer standing next to him.

“I can’t hear you, Lieutenant—not with my ears ringing from that artillery last night,” a dirty man, Private Haap, groused.

“Our charge is a formality, as that bombardment likely killed most of the Germans. The rest of the Krauts undoubtedly turned tail and ran, so you don’t need ears, just your God damned feet to carry you, Private. Watch the man in front of you and do your duty.”

“How is a charge into machine-gun fire a formality? How long have you been here, sir?”

“Long enough to know.” The lieutenant cleared his throat and pulled at the relatively clean collar of his uniform jacket. But it wasn’t just his jacket or rain slicker, as even his boots and puttees looked unsoiled and dry. His cheeks and eyes weren’t shrunken, which told Mark all he needed to know.

“This might come as a surprise to you, Private, but the Germans don’t have the stomach for warfare. We’ll promptly break their spirit and send them scurrying right back home.”

“You’re right about that. It does surprise me,” Haap muttered. “But since you know, might you share how you know?”

“I’m university educated, Private. That is how I know.”

Adjusting the grip on his Enfield, Mark turned away from the argument and moved his feet, the soaking cold having made his toes numb long before. He turned back just as the officer pulled a shiny, freshly oiled Colt 1917 revolver from its leather holster.

“Bleib in deinem Graben, kleine Jungs,” a voice shouted from beyond the trench.

“I guess that means not all the Germans have run back to Germany, Lieutenant,” the private whispered.

The officer either didn’t hear or lacked a response. It didn’t matter either way.

“Stay in your trench, little boys,” a voice whispered just behind him. “Sometimes, I wished they would add a little variety to their heckling. Don’t you think, Tudor?”

Mark turned to find a short, young man leaning casually against the trench wall, a pump-action trench gun cradled to his body.

“They could go one better and just march right back to Düsseldorf.”

“You can say that again, boss,” the young man chuckled, his eyes reflecting a haunting, orange glow. His name tape read “P. Burd,” while a single chevron on his right arm identified him as a private.

“You been here long, Private Burd?”

“I’d say since the beginning, but I ain’t French,” he chuckled.

“On the ladders. On the ladders,” the officer said, waving them forward. The command rippled through the crowd of men. “If we take this field, we open the road to Verdun.

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