There’s No One Here But the Dead

The other soldiers laugh at Francois, who is wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the oppressive hundred-degree heat. The rest of the men in the Third Lovari Regiment have stripped off their thick uniform shirts, fighting in their camouflaged T-shirts.

“Aren’t you hot?” Herve Verdun asks.

“We’re not supposed to be out of uniform,” Francois replies.

“If you think our Helican officers care, then the heat really has gotten to you.”

A beagle pads through the muddy turf toward Herve. Herve picks it up, stroking its fur.

“Good ole, Karma…”

“What do you see in that fleabag?” Francois asks.

“I’ve got a pair of beagles at home just like him. Chloe and Eloise. They’re better behaved than my two kids. Smarter than them, too, I’m afraid. And from what I hear, I might see them again soon,” Herve says, exposing the gap between his front teeth as he smiles. “We’re close to ending the war. Despite our losses, our troops on the western front have pushed the Vendalians back to their capital city.”

A shell explodes nearby, throwing clods of dirt into the trench.

“Too bad we’re on the eastern front. We’re getting slaughtered,” Francois says.

“What are you going to do when you get home?”

“See my Mom. She grows award-winning roses in her garden. I’m going to help her farm this year’s crop.”

“Mama’s boy.”

“You bet,” Francois replies. “Some of the best moments in my life were spent in that garden… Talking with my Mom… Laughing with my sister… It’s where I get my kiss… And later that night…”

“No need to go any further.”

Karma yaps at Francois.

“See, Karma agrees… Did you know Karma has survived six major battles? This dog has seen more action than a latrine on taco night.”

“Ask him what his secret is to have survived this long,” Francois asks as a nearby explosion pelts them with mud.

Two hundred soldiers sigh in relief as a warm breeze wafts through the trenches. It brushes against Francois's skin, and he smiles, recalling the sweet smell of roses in his mother’s garden.

Captain Curry, the Lovari soldier's Helican commander, uses the trench periscope to survey Dead Man’s Crossing, a deadly stretch of muddy territory separating them from their enemy, the Vendalians.

A scout tumbles into the trench, a line of machine gun fire ripping up the swampy ground behind him.

The soldier salutes Captain Curry. He begins to froth at the mouth, his eyes bulging from their sockets as he collapses, writhing at Curry’s feet.

“What's the matter, you bloody coward?” Captain Curry shouts.

A sizzling sound grabs the men’s attention. A pungent, overpowering, death-like stench replaces the warm breeze. A greenish-yellow cloud envelopes the Lovari trenches. 

Francois’s skin begins to itch, and his eyes burn as his vision blurs. Seconds later, his fellow soldiers are howling and scratching at their bare arms.

“GAS!” Captain Curry yells. “Put on your masks!”

The only men in the Lovari trenches with gas masks are their Helican commanders. They watch helplessly as their men claw at their eyes, vomit, and gasp for air.

Francois covers his mouth with one of the soldier’s discarded shirts.

“We have to get away from this gas,” Captain Curry shouts, his eyes rolling back in his head. He fumbles for his gas mask, but it's too late. As he clutches at his throat, he rasps out a final command.

“CHARGE!”

Francois turns to Herve. Herve lies on his back, a white foam issuing from his mouth. A dozen dead soldiers lay stacked next to him, looking upward at the cruel cloud that stole their lives. The remaining troops gag, trying to see through their watering eyes.

Wagging his tail, Karma yips at Herve, waiting to be petted.

Francois bounds out of the trench. A sniper cuts down the soldier next to him. Francois staggers through the cloud, his eyes ablaze and his lungs burning in his chest.

He moves across Dead Man’s Crossing. Looking back, he sees five dazed Lovarians cut down by machine gun fire.

The earth at his feet rumbles and erupts, splattering mud like rain and dropping Francois to his knees. When Francois’s eyesight clears, the soldiers on his left flank have been pulverized into clumps of torn flesh and shattered bones.

A shell turns the terrain in front of him into a crater. Another explosion cuts down the men creeping alongside him like a scythe going through wheat.

Grown men scream in agony for their mothers as the explosions get louder and more frequent.

Francois slowly rises, finding himself stuck in knee-deep muck.

Two officers pull him out, leaving his boots and pants behind.

Francois turns to thank the Sergeant. The Sergeant’s skull explodes, and his headless body falls backward to the ground. The Lieutenant pushes Francois face down into the mud as machine gun bullets rip through his uniform.

“I wish I could have been around to see you explain to the Colonel how you wound up with no shoes and pants,” the Lieutenant gasps, dying with a bemused grin on his chapped lips.

Retreating, Francois crawls back toward the trenches. He pretends to be dead whenever the Helicans fire in his direction.

Francois reaches the tent of Colonel DuBarry, where he’s told he’s the sole survivor of the Third Lovari Regiment. Instead of being hailed as a hero, Francois is branded a coward.

The word steals his breath. He feels the concussion of the shells falling around him again as his body slides to the floor.

When his eyes flutter open again three days later, he’s in a hospital.

                                               ***

Francois twists and turns in his bed.

“Non est hic nisi mortuus!”

“Obviously faking insanity,” Dr. Wolf Hartmann says to the nurse.

“No. He’s speaking Lovari.”

Hartmann’s bald dome reddens with anger, and he spits out, “Lovari! That language is as dead as its people. You understand their gibberish. What’s he saying?”

“There’s no one here but the dead.”

Hartmann prepares a shot of adrenaline to wake Francois up.

Nurse Hannah Linder’s gentle grey eyes widen, and she wrings her meaty hands. “That much? It could kill him.”

“Lovarians are animals. Their nervous systems thrive on pain.”

Waking, Francois asks, “Ubi sum?”

“You’re in a hospital.”

“… I have the same nightmare of my friends dying over and over,” Francois says. “Can you stop it?”

Hartmann attempts to examine Francois.

“Get away from me, butcher! Butchers like you have killed thousands of Lovari soldiers.”

“Good for them,” Hartmann says disgustingly, storming off.

                                               ***

Francois tears through his lunch.

Hannah’s plump facial features pull together into a smile. “It looks like combat didn’t kill your appetite… I didn’t mean to say kill… What was the food like on the front?”

“Steak, eggs, turkey, fresh fruit, even dessert for the Helican troops. The Lovarian soldiers relied on Spam. Bread, what there was of it, took a week to reach us in the trenches, so it was always stale. Sometimes, we had mystery meat, but only when cats or squirrels were around. The water tasted like petrol because it was stored in old gas cans that were never cleaned. And we had to keep our eyes on the food because of the rats…”

Hannah chokes back her lunch. “You had rats in the trenches?”

“They shared the holes we dug in the mud to sleep in. You could go out on a mission and come back to find the hole you’d slept in had been blown apart or there was a dead soldier in it. But the rats… I once saw rats as big as cats run out from under a dead soldier’s coat. As I got closer to the body, the man’s helmet fell off. His face was stripped of flesh. A rat leaped out of his mouth… Another time, one strolled by me, pretty as you please, holding a severed hand.”

“We never heard about the conditions the Lovari troops fought under,” Hannah says.

“…Because nobody cared. The trenches were a horror show. The dead were piled on top of each other six feet high. The air always smelled like rotting fish and sewage. The constant shelling destroyed all the trees and vegetation, creating ‘Dead Man’s Crossing,’ a wasteland littered with shell craters, barbed wire, bodies, and body parts. Rain turned it into a death trap of mud four feet deep that could suck a man up without leaving a trace.”

“There must have been something on the front lines that gave you hope…”

“I once saw a single rose growing up through the mud… I went to touch it and was cut by its thorn… Like everything else, it only had the illusion of beauty.”

“Why did you call Doctor Hartmann a butcher?”

“Men like him would rather hack off a Lovarian’s arm or leg than touch one of us. We had an outbreak of lice in the trenches. Once in a while, a truck would drive by, and they’d spray us. If you were away on patrol, too bad! But our biggest problem was trench foot. When soldier’s feet get wet from standing in water all the time, they develop ulcers on their feet, which eventually blister and rot. Then, they’d get gangrene. And here comes the butcher, eager to cut off their leg.”

“Does it bother you that you’re fighting for us? We conquered the Lovari.”

“And executed four million women, children, and old people because you couldn’t be bothered to care for them.”

Shocked, Hannah says, “That can’t be true.”

“You’re right. The total is probably much higher.”

“And yet, you fight for us against Vendalia.”

“I’m a soldier. I do what I’m told. Lovari is a tiny country. It was our misfortune to be between Helica and Vendalia when war was declared, which made it impossible for us to remain neutral. Helica overran us in four days, threatening to exterminate everyone. We’re simple folk, farmers, carpenters, and factory workers. That’s why you Helicans consider us stupid and cowardly because we never fought back. To save the few thousand of us left, we agreed that our men would serve in your army.”

Hannah looks at him questioningly. “We were told your men volunteered...”

Francois huffs. “Would you volunteer if your people were used to clear land mines, charge barbed wire, tanks, and machine gun nests?”

“You’re saying my government lied to me.”

“Solus stultus credit omnia quae narrantur,” Francois replies.

“…Only a fool believes everything they’re told…”

“And you don’t look like a fool to me.”

                                               ***

Francois thrashes in his sleep.

“Hyacinthus! Hyacinthus!”  

“I’ve given him enough Seconal to stop a herd of Lovarians. What’s he wailing about now?” Hartmann asks.

“He’s talking about blue men,” Hannah replies. “He’s reliving a gas attack during the Battle of Sainte Lucia. The Vendalians sprayed the trenches with Bluge gas, killing hundreds of Lovari soldiers. It left their corpses with red eyes and blue skin.”

Hartmann looks at Francois’s pained features. “Poor stupid devil.”

                                               ***

Drury, an emaciated Lovari soldier, is brought into the room. The black circles under his eyes and his pallid skin make him look like he’s already dead.

He begins having a seizure. Hartmann jabs him with a long needle.

Drury’s eyes snap open. “Plura bombs! BOOM! BOOM!”

“His mind’s gone,” Francois explains. “He’s back in the trenches dodging bombs.”

Hartmann administers another shot. “It’s a shame I have to waste good medicine on a coward.”

                                               ***

Drury screams himself awake. “Dolenz, loquere ad me! Speak to me, Dolenz! He’s in pieces!”

Francois tries to calm him. “You’re safe now. You’re in the hospital. Alive.”

Drury holds his head. “I’d rather be dead! I’ve been branded a coward. I survived when two thousand other men died in an hour. BOOM! BOOM!”

“You’re shell-shocked,” Francois says.

“There’s no such thing as shell shock! There are only cowards!” Drury shouts as tears stream down his face. “Somebody went insane after every attack. Soldiers who’d bayoneted Helicans in the face developed tics in their own facial muscles. Soldiers who gutted enemy soldiers developed stomach pains. Snipers lost their sight. I remember coming across a Colonel… He was singing, ‘Carry me, carry me back home,’ and twirling in circles. He was carried off on a stretcher. I’d rather lose a leg than have shell shock. You never really recover from it.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be going home soon,” Francois says reassuringly.

“You can’t go home once the stink of death from war is on you. Not all of you. They already sent me home after the Battle of Rulon Ridge. The nightmares followed me. So, I tried to drink them away. I attacked my wife, thinking she was a Vendalian soldier. My Captain bailed me out of jail and took me back to the front. I didn’t want to be there, and I proved it by shooting him. He lived, but the next thing I know, I’m sedated, strapped to a gurney, and I wake up here. The Helicans have promised to make an example of me as soon as that witch doctor Hartmann says I’m healthy.”

“You’re going be court-martialed?” Francois asks.

“No, executed. That way, Lovari animals like you and me will know to stay in line and not disobey their Helican keepers.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You know how the Helicans treat Lovarians. We’re cannon fodder. I’ll be happy to see the backside of them.”

Drury begins to shake, his eyes rolling back.

Francois reaches for the buzzer beside his bed. Seconds later, Dr. Hartmann and a bulky orderly rush in. The orderly holds Drury down while Hartmann pulls a syringe out of his bag, preparing a shot.

“Wait! How do you know that’s not what’s causing his seizures?”

“Oh, now they’re giving out doctor’s diplomas to cowards, eh?”

Francois smashes the orderly on the side of the head. He releases Drury, staggering away.

Francois wrestles the syringe away from Hartmann, jabbing it in his arm.

The orderly grabs Francois in a headlock, squeezing him until he begins to pass out.

“Looks like someone’s ready to return to the front,” a drowsy Dr. Hartmann says.

                                               ***

Francois stiffly salutes Captain Axel Beckert of the Helican Army.

Captain Beckert looks through his monocle at the stoop-shouldered soldier.

“More Lovari trash. Take a position on the front line, dullard. Try not to kill any of our men.”

“He’s straight from the psych hospital. Shell shock,” Sergeant Dieter Grimm says as they watch Francois totter away.

“There’s no such thing as shell shock, Sergeant.”

“Then he’s got combat fatigue.”

Captain Beckert drops his monocle. “Just because we’re finally winning the war doesn’t mean you can disrespect the Home Office’s decrees.”

A soldier hands Captain Beckert a message.

He reads it, his jaw and monocle dropping.

“It’s over, Sergeant. Vendalia has surrendered. Pass the word.”

                                               ***

Francois and his fellow soldiers study the Vendalian machine gun nest on the hillside.

“Are we going to just sit here?” Francois asks the rugged-looking soldier lying beside him in the grass.

“I’m no hero.”

“We can take that nest. There’s only two men up there.”

“That we know of,” the soldier replies. He looks at Francois’s swarthy features and says, “Are you Lovarian? I get how you might wanna play hero. Your people have suffered the most and gotten the least out of this war. I’m sure you’re up for some revenge. But there’s no reason for…”

Francois is off and running before the soldier can finish his sentence.

                                               ***

Captain Beckert looks at the machine gun nest through his binoculars.

“Who’s the fool charging up the hill all alone?”

Beckert passes the binoculars to Sergeant Grimm. “He’s that retread Lovarian you just sent to the front. Guess he didn’t get the news that the war has ended.”

A dozen warning shots fail to slow Francois’s advance.

“He’s still running up the hill, sir,” Sergeant Grimm reports. “And he’s holding a grenade.”

“He’ll screw up the peace before it's had time to take effect. We have a sniper stationed near the front. Tell him what to do.”

“He’s one of our men, sir.”

“He’s Lovarian. Not worth sacrificing the peace.”

                                               ***

Francois activates the grenade.

He feels the hard steel of two bullets pass through his back.

Francois collapses in a bush, laughing as a thorn pierces his skin.

The grenade explodes.

Francois feels a gentle, warm breeze brush against his skin, propelling him back to his mother’s garden. The smell of roses envelopes him.