BritSoc Children's Writing Competition, 2nd Prize, Juniors
What did Harry do next?
Harry was so close to him that he could smell the sweat dripping down his face, see the fear in his eyes. Harry clenched his hands round his gun, and brought it up to the level of his shoulders with shaky hands.
“Nein! Nein, bitte!” cried the German soldier in a hoarse, desperate voice.
Harry made an effort to calm himself, breathing deeply, but his heart continued to race. His gun could kill That was what it was for, but even though Harry knew this, his fingers couldn’t pull the trigger. The man in front of him, probably the same age, who might have a family at home, waiting and worrying, just like Harry’s family, would be dead instantly at the slightest movement of his fingers.
What should he do?
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Harry had thought it was great when he had first joined the army. He loved the thought of fighting for his country and wanted the thrill of adventure and excitement. His training had been fun, and Harry had enjoyed every moment of it – from trench digging and excercises to target practice and assault courses. The buzz of the atmosphere gave him a tingle right down his spine. It was only when he was on a train heading across the battlegrounds to his trench – a muddy hole in the ground filled with rats and lice, to be his home for the next few months – that reality suddenly hit him.
The situation got worse. His life in the trench was awful, covered in filthy mud, ridden with fleas, with no decent food whatsoever. Letters from home were infrequent, but when they did come, all they did was make him homesick.
And then came the fighting. Every night bombs exploded, nearer every time, and so loud that the trench walls quivered and sometimes caved in. All day machine gun fire rattled through the air and pistol shots echoed.
But the worst thing of all about trench life had to be the deaths. They were everywhere – by disease, by gunfire, by shells…
One day Harry came back from a mission by the barbed wire that separated the trenches to find his friend Mathew wasn’t there. Harry panicked, imagining all sorts of terrible things that could have happened to him. German soldiers could have raided the trench and shot Mathew or taken him hostage. Mathew could have been in the trench when a shell hit it. But in the end it was so much worse than Harry had ever imagined. He found out from the sergeant that Mathew had been shot for cowardice – cowardice! He was the bravest person Harry had known.
Through all these times of hardship, Harry didn’t remember a single happy moment. He had become taller, grown a slight beard and there was something about his eyes that looked as if they had seen things – terrible things – and he couldn’t ever forget.
All his training had led up to this single moment – pointing his gun at a defenceless German soldier.
His miserable trench life flashed before his eyes and he tightened his fingers on the gun in anger. Every muscle was tensed, his knuckles white.
Harry took a long hard look at the German soldier. His decision was made.
(542 words)