Part 7 - The War Machine

The periphery was dark,
Filled with smoke and noise
And indistinguishable figures,
A horizon of flesh and machine,
Living and dead,
All grinding painfully.

Oil and mechanics were in short supply.
Both burned almost as soon as they arrived.
For my part I kept
As many machines turning as I could.
Much more durable than organic soldier,
They might have kept us alive longer.

Below the surface of battle,
In a trench wide enough for assembly,
I maintained equipment.
The enemy had not yet managed to reach this position,
Though a single forward trench-line
Kept that a true statement.

Close enough to hear them screaming,
Close enough to receive artillery fire,
Close enough to know it wouldn’t be long
Til my trench became the forward trenchline.

The assembly area next to mine
Was where the trench-wall gave way.
We’d been given no warning
By the forward line,
Mostly unattended bodies now.

A chemical agent spread,
And I watched through a mask
While other men rushed and collapsed.
And still I saw no enemy.

I followed my rifle’s gauge
Over the edge of the trench
And saw a friendly force
Flanking and retaking the forward trench.
The mask obscured my aim,
And I fired into the mass
Of where I assumed my enemy was,
Until a sheet of fire engulfed
The men and machines of both sides,
Flattening the trench to a ditch.

Survivors of both banners stumbled
Through the broken wall of my trench,
Some bracing each other through impacts,
Some hacking the other down,
Some with only one arm,
Some with fewer.

Blood and dirt and oil
Stained opposing uniforms
To a disgusting uniformity.

And I pulled my mask off
Just as a man tumbled over my wall.
We fell through my work station together,
And my hand found a wrench.

I struck him desperately
And heard his foreign accent beg,
But I was unable to stop
My second blow from silencing him.

Close enough to feel his body break,
Close enough to see his green eyes close,
Close enough to know
He was probably younger than me.

Both our parts were equally crucial
As each round, the mud,
The metal and burning rubber
In the air around us.

The noise, the smell,
The bloody blackness on my hands,
Covered him and everything
And marked my union with him.

The dead and living haunted this place.

I saw no difference between him and myself now.

I was sick,
Faces lost to the war around me.
We all ran.