Overhead the moon shone bring and orange, hanging low in the sky, its light washing over the countryside. The air was cool and crisp in this late hour when even the creatures that come out at night had gone quiet, those passing of moments between night and morning when the world slept. A thick morning fog hung like a suffocating gray pillow across the emerald grass which had run high and unkempt. The scene was as still as as though a hand had reached down and painted the image, leaving it in place for others to see.
Then the picturesque was broken by movement, a shift of the dirt, subtle at first, but becoming more violent with each passing moment. Finally, the earth broke apart and pale pieces of wood ripped through the surface. No, not wood, flesh, bones, fingers. The wiggled and clawed, grasping and pulling, until more of the creatures broke the surface. Tattered clothing adorned bodies, uniforms once nice, once pristine, but now stained by the very nature of what had become of their owners. This eruption of soil and clawing of hands continued until well over a hundred bodies stood on across for each other, separated by a field of 50 yards.
On one side the bodies stood in clothing the color of the earth itself, belts attached at their waists which held canteens, ammo cartridges, and pictures of the people they loved and left behind when they left home. Some of them had the look of men who had seen years of life beyond their youth, but most were young men having not seen even 20 years of life. On the other side stood men that were similar in appearance except that their uniforms were dark where the others brown, and a red and white symbol adorned their sleeves.
Each group stared at the other for a moment, eyes open and staring, but not seeing. Then with hasted movements the men all grabbed at their feet, pulling up instruments of wood and metal, weapons, guns. The silence was broken then by the sharp explosion of the gun powder being ignited, the first shot being fired. Growing louder, the noise became a crescendo of violence. Bodies rushed at each other and though they did not talk, their scream of bullets and the clang of metal said as that there was to say. Some soldiers took shots to the chest, some took bayonets to the throat or legs. The soldiers fell, but moments later they were on their feet again, shooting and stabbing, fighting in their futile battle.
In the distance the first rays of sun began to appear, creeping across the land and through the tall grass. Just as quickly as it started, the battle stopped. The soldiers stopped fighting, they stood tall and still once more. Then they began to fade from the view, their bodies turning translucent, and upon their faces, the faint sight of relief. In a matter of moments they were gone, with no trace of there existence except for the slight scent of smoke that lingered in the air, mixing with the fog and morning dew.
“Does this always happen?” asked the young man, his tousled black hair blowing slightly in the breeze that had picked up.
“Everyday,” came the somber response from the older man. His skin was wrinkled and worn with the passage of many years. “The first time I heard it, i nearly had a heart attack. I thought the shells were coming down again.”
With bright blue eyes staring off into the distance at the site of the battle, the younger man simply nodded in response.
“We were just boys. We had no buisness killing one another. But it was an us or them situation.” The older man continued to speak, his words soft with a sort of rambling tone, direct not to the man by his side, but rather just letting the words slip free to mingle with the mist. He turned his head then to look at the man by his side, thinking how the man was really more of a boy, about the same age he was when he went off to the war.
The younger man still was silent, nodding in response, but his eyes were fixated on where the scene had taken place.
“Some of those faces i see are the faces of my friends. I should have died there with them that day, i should have died fro my country.” The older man’s voice trailed off once more as he though back the events and how they had unfolded. ”I think they want me to help them, but i dont know how and im too old anyway.”
Finally, the boy turned, his eyes alive with the thought of it all, a smile crept onto his face. “Well, you were right to call me then. I will make sure that rest is given to these lost souls.”
Reaching into his coat, the old man pulled out an envelope that had worn yellow with the passing of years. The stamp on the outside was old enough to be a relic of its own, and the whole thing had the strange smell of something slightly acidic. “Here is what you asked for. It was all i could scrape together.”
Taking the envelope from the older man, the other peered inside at its conents, a large collection of currency, a torn photo of a group of men, a tarnished gold badge with the symbol of a metal helmet with crossed swords, and a red and white arm band bearing the swastika.
“Very good. This will do just fine.” Without another word to the man, the boy tucked away the envelope and began stomping through the high grass towards the place where the battle had been. What a fool, the boy thought. I will give him these spirits their rest, i will give them their vengeance.
