Waiting For The Whistle

• Alexander Senese-jones, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

As the miserably dark clouds rolled overhead, the unnerving sound of gunfire and death overwhelmed the desolate, disrupted plains of Flanders Fields.
I sat within the mud encased trenches beneath the ground, a feeling of discontent invading my very being.
All around me, within the walls of these dirt holes resided hundred of young men, petrified beyond comprehension.
In the game of war, there were no winners. The comrades around me had signed up for the 'great war' with only thoughts of appraisal and declaration concerning their future after warfare, but that was not to be.
In fact, it was all about to come to an abrupt end here on these bloody fields, with only each other and the occasional scurrying animal or pest for company.
A boy to my right had begun to cry. Gazing into his eyes, it was clear that he was undoubtedly younger than the required age for war, and thoughts of home and family would have been quite profound within his mind.
My time in war thus far had proved to be quite beneficial; I had befriended almost every soldier in my platoon, and we respected each other like family.
But as I lay slumped against a dirt wall in the safety of this trench, those very people were being gruesomely killed by the assailants on the other side of the fields.
Their screams resonated within my mind as the emphatic sound of a whistle came from within the trench somewhere. The whistle was a signal; it called upon a new wave of young men to come forth and charge into the fields to join the lifeless bodies of countless soldiers.
The crying boy to my right was amongst those who now stood to attention, waiting for the next blow of the whistle to meet their end.
For a while, we were encased in silence; there were no soldiers above who were alive, and so, the enemy had ceased their fire.
Then the horrendous whistle was blown, and the soldiers jumped up onto the fields after saying their final prayers and goodbyes.
It was not long before the first scream was heard, which was followed by countless others.
I began to reflect quietly to myself as it came to my attention that my wave of soldiers was next in line for death.
I thought of my home far away, and the warm, cheerful faces of my loved ones. They would be completely unaware of the situation I now faced, and that my death was imminent.
I thought to myself- what was the point of all this? What was the point of wasting the lives of a generation of young, spirited Australians? It was clear that our generals and leaders were completely out of their depth in this battle, and were throwing our lives onto the ground to meet a pointless, deadly end.
As silence once more slipped into the trenches, amongst my comrades, I heard the blowing of the familiar, dreadful whistle; my final call.