60 Seconds and Over the Top

Captain Montgomery was cold. It seemed to him that he was always cold. His boots were coated in a thick, cold mud. The air was cold on his face. The only time he wasn’t cold was when he was in the officer’s mess, sharing a bit of brandy with the other commanders. But the last drink they shared was weeks ago. Now half of those officers were over the top – lying in the muck and craters of no-man’s land, dead and left behind.

Duty first—

Captain Montgomery moved along the trench. The ground was flooded, and rats scurried at his step, taunting him – one day soon he’d be their meal. He was determined to spite them; he was afraid he would fail.

He inspected his troops. The fear in their eyes at the very sight of him sent a chill down his spine.

So cold.

The responsibility of an officer was to lead his men to death and if he did not die himself, he would be rewarded with more men to lead to death – they called it a promotion.

Words didn’t need to be spoken, for the regiment knew what was next. And to remove any doubt, Montgomery put his whistle to his lips and blew it. The sound was shrill – all breathing seemed to stop. The men moved to ladders along the trench wall. Some pretended to be slow so they wouldn’t be the first wave. Those in front trembled as they gripped the muddy ladders.

Captain Montgomery inspected his watch—

Sixty seconds. Fifty-nine seconds…

58 Seconds

Rolling fields of lush green. A silver river flanked by weeping willows. A mill of old English stone.

The English countryside on a summer afternoon. Montgomery felt the warmth of the sun on his face.

So warm.

He felt the grass beneath his shoes, the taste of pipe tobacco on his tongue.

Then he was back in the trenches. Cold. His watch ticked, and time, it felt, slowed down. His watch continued to tick.

42 Seconds

He was in his study. Books upon books stacked on the shelves. A warm fire lit the room. He drank a glass of whiskey while about him, seated in cushioned chairs, his wife and two young children listened intently to his reading. The sound of his voice a comfortable hum of peace and relaxation.

He blinked and he was back in the trenches. His men watched him closely. Prayers were uttered upon their lips.

He took a deep breath and looked upon his watch once more.

25 Seconds

His father seated in a red cushioned chair, a cigar in his mouth. He was writing a letter upon his oak desk. His eyes obscured by the rim of his spectacles. A letter of academic recommendation. Montgomery was filled with excitement. The most excited he’d ever been, for it was upon that desk, written by his father’s hand that his professional future would begin.

The excitement turned to fear, and he was back in the trenches. The men were white as ghosts now, prematurely. However much life they had left to live, by no intentional choice of their own they had taken it for granted in these seconds.

Montgomery took a pained breath this time and looked again upon his stopwatch.

15 Seconds

His mind was unable to wander now, for the time drew too near. The past was locked away and the present at the forefront of his mind. But with that came clarity and purpose, and against all odds a sense of calm came upon him. His men noticed, and their grip on the ladders lessened.

Five, four, three, two, one…

Captain Montgomery brought the whistle to his lips, and it was cold to touch. He blew into it and the whistle grew warm. Its shrill sound echoed along the trench and the men, in a unified fashion, let out their cries of war.

The first wave ascended, and before they had covered ten yards were faced with the fiery hail of machine guns.

Montgomery looked upon his valiant men, and his heart (which was tested by fire and as strong as iron) broke for them. His whistle echoed in his mind – the shrieking call to death - the wail of a banshee.

They gained ground, yard upon yard, but the enemy fire did not stop.

Montgomery knew to charge on was futile. He lifted his whistle to his lips, and it was cold again. The whistle that could call retreat and make in vain the deaths of the men devoured. He hesitated. To incite death was torturous, but to then distinguish the dead from the living was inhuman. And in this moment death became a deliverance, for Captain Montgomery was stricken, and his dying thoughts were not what he had expected. They were not of bitterness or regret, they were not of the life he had lived, nor the life he could’ve lived. They were the thoughts of tomorrow, wherever that may be. He realized then that death wasn’t the end, for the end never existed before.

And so, he moved on, and the others were left behind.