Shipwrecked

On the last day of battle, in the wee hours, Sergeant Ulysses walked out in front of his men. He pointed out mines, and barbed fence. He told them, “Comfort to you all, for this is the last, we will not stay much longer, this battle we will cast.”

As his words bellowed from his mouth, the din and hiss of explosions rang out. Fire! Lava! And heat. It washed over the men, and sounded their defeat.

“Corpsman! Corpsman! Hurry over here!” Along the glade were littered the men, scorched earth and corpses mingled together, Sergeant Ulysses was felled beneath a still standing patch of heather. His face was blank, burned from his skull, and his hands were mangled with only the thumbs. The hospital men lifted his frame, and plopped onto a stretcher. From those woods they carried Ulysses, to a tent where masked faces floated in the odor of ether.