Read Online Articles of War by Nick Arvin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nick Arvin
Tags: Fiction
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way. The column passed by and out of sight, and he felt relieved when he seemed to be alone again.
The odors of phosphorous and cordite still hung in the air. He took a C-ration from his pack and ate quietly. It tasted horrible, but he ate it. Gnats swarmed in vague patterns over the field before him. Shots and occasional artillery exchanges could still be heard in the distance, but they sounded very far away and had nothing to do with him. In his mind he was still trying to assimilate the events of the night before. The sensation and the echo of his terror would not leave him, kept returning him to the darkness, the explosions and wrath, the sound of howling, Anthony shouting at him to move out.
He took the music box from his pocket and opened it and closed it, thinking vaguely of Claire. He smoked a series of cigarettes. Slowly an understanding of his actions came to him. Evidently he had waited too long after Anthony told him to move out. Probably he should have gone to talk to the Americans who went by with the tanks. Still, not until midafternoon did he feel sufficiently calmed to consider stepping into the open. Even the distant sound of artillery had stopped, although there still erupted, at unpredictable intervals, crackles of gunfire in town. It occurred to Heck, suddenly, that if he did not make an effort to find his unit he might be considered a deserter. This was an appalling thought and it startled him into motion. He closed his pack and settled it on his shoulders and, gripping his rifle tightly, ventured onto the field where the gnats moved.
He did not look carefully into every hole, but it appeared that the only casualty was the man he had stumbled on earlier. Heck maneuvered around him and avoided looking at the body. He could still feel his fingers going into the dead manâs side, and he glanced at his hand to be sure it was not wet with blood. He wondered if the screaming he had heard had come from that man. Maybe another man had been wounded and the others had helped him escape. Heckâs sense of the events of the preceding night was vague, uneven. Only the memory of fear ran continuously through it, like a thread connecting otherwise discrete beads.
When he stepped out into the cobblestoned streets he found a town that had seemed much larger in the night. The blocks had been longer, the buildings taller. Much of the town was in fact destroyed, reduced to skeletons or simple rubble. Littered along the cobblestones were packs, gas masks, shell casings, a boot, a grenadeâevidently a dud, although Heck did not go near enough to examine it. The smell of burning and char was in the air. Wisps of unenthusiastic smoke rose from smoldering buildings.
He progressed vaguely, moving in oblique directions, tacking like a ship into the wind. It was strange to see how a house could stand pristine, even its windows intact, immediately beside a house that had exploded, burned, and collapsed into its own foundation. He passed two burn-scarred tanks, one just behind the other, a naked blackened corpse extending from the turret hatch of the second, locked in a position of dragging itself away. It had a terrible quality of suppressed life, as if it might yet make a last inhuman effort. He left these behind and turned a corner and moved down a street where the houses were close-set and all of them had taken damage. He came to another building that had fallen into its cellar and across the rubble glimpsed someone moving in the next street. He stepped behind a corner. But he thought it might have been an American uniform he had seen. And now he heard American voices. Tears came to his eyesâhe was surprised by the intensity of his relief. âHello,â he called, stepping forward, waving his arms, then more loudly, âHello!â There were two men, he saw now. They turned to look at him, one leveling a rifle. Heck started gingerly forward across the ruins of the collapsed building between them.
The odors of phosphorous and cordite still hung in the air. He took a C-ration from his pack and ate quietly. It tasted horrible, but he ate it. Gnats swarmed in vague patterns over the field before him. Shots and occasional artillery exchanges could still be heard in the distance, but they sounded very far away and had nothing to do with him. In his mind he was still trying to assimilate the events of the night before. The sensation and the echo of his terror would not leave him, kept returning him to the darkness, the explosions and wrath, the sound of howling, Anthony shouting at him to move out.
He took the music box from his pocket and opened it and closed it, thinking vaguely of Claire. He smoked a series of cigarettes. Slowly an understanding of his actions came to him. Evidently he had waited too long after Anthony told him to move out. Probably he should have gone to talk to the Americans who went by with the tanks. Still, not until midafternoon did he feel sufficiently calmed to consider stepping into the open. Even the distant sound of artillery had stopped, although there still erupted, at unpredictable intervals, crackles of gunfire in town. It occurred to Heck, suddenly, that if he did not make an effort to find his unit he might be considered a deserter. This was an appalling thought and it startled him into motion. He closed his pack and settled it on his shoulders and, gripping his rifle tightly, ventured onto the field where the gnats moved.
He did not look carefully into every hole, but it appeared that the only casualty was the man he had stumbled on earlier. Heck maneuvered around him and avoided looking at the body. He could still feel his fingers going into the dead manâs side, and he glanced at his hand to be sure it was not wet with blood. He wondered if the screaming he had heard had come from that man. Maybe another man had been wounded and the others had helped him escape. Heckâs sense of the events of the preceding night was vague, uneven. Only the memory of fear ran continuously through it, like a thread connecting otherwise discrete beads.
When he stepped out into the cobblestoned streets he found a town that had seemed much larger in the night. The blocks had been longer, the buildings taller. Much of the town was in fact destroyed, reduced to skeletons or simple rubble. Littered along the cobblestones were packs, gas masks, shell casings, a boot, a grenadeâevidently a dud, although Heck did not go near enough to examine it. The smell of burning and char was in the air. Wisps of unenthusiastic smoke rose from smoldering buildings.
He progressed vaguely, moving in oblique directions, tacking like a ship into the wind. It was strange to see how a house could stand pristine, even its windows intact, immediately beside a house that had exploded, burned, and collapsed into its own foundation. He passed two burn-scarred tanks, one just behind the other, a naked blackened corpse extending from the turret hatch of the second, locked in a position of dragging itself away. It had a terrible quality of suppressed life, as if it might yet make a last inhuman effort. He left these behind and turned a corner and moved down a street where the houses were close-set and all of them had taken damage. He came to another building that had fallen into its cellar and across the rubble glimpsed someone moving in the next street. He stepped behind a corner. But he thought it might have been an American uniform he had seen. And now he heard American voices. Tears came to his eyesâhe was surprised by the intensity of his relief. âHello,â he called, stepping forward, waving his arms, then more loudly, âHello!â There were two men, he saw now. They turned to look at him, one leveling a rifle. Heck started gingerly forward across the ruins of the collapsed building between them.
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