Page 77 - KCN 2020

SH ELL The firing squad seemed to be a far more pleasant way of dying compared to rotting in

No-man’s Land.
SHOCKED young men, sent to fight for King and country, could now return home. What he
At last, the despised Huns raised the white flag. The millions of once docile

IVAN CHOK felt at that moment was nothing short of euphoria, as well as an immense feeling
of relief that it was all over. He couldn’t wait to get back home, back to his work-
place, back to his lover. Above all, he couldn’t wait to live a normal life again.
The dull thud of distant shell blasts. A cacophony of screams erupt-
ing from terrified soldiers. That feared whistle which signalled it was Despite being back at the place he so fondly called home, he still felt withdrawn
time to “go over the top”. The ground vibrating unceasingly from the and out of place. He despised the fact that nobody understood what he had been through.
intense bombardment. The stench of the decomposing bodies of both He felt dismayed, angry at times, at the general ignorance of the masses regarding the
friend and foe. Rats and lice infesting the already miserable trenches. plight of him and his comrades. He was exasperated that strangers on the street, no,
He tried to get it out of his head all the time. Yet the nightmares kept coming, his fellow countrymen, would do nothing except stare at him with looks of horror
and they did not wait until nighttime. He would constantly be thrown into whenever he was hit by one of his frequent panic attacks. He felt betrayed by the fact
screaming fits, sometimes shivering violently, sometimes just staring blankly. that his lover, who promised to wait for him, and now unable to tolerate his occasional
His boss, so happy and relieved to finally have back that ardent worker psychotic behaviour, left him for another man, one untouched by the miseries of war.
after four long years, was, understandably, taken aback by his seemingly
insane demeanour. He was fired just two weeks after returning from France. Four years ago, he was a happy young lad; now he is nothing but a
fractured shell.
Who could forget the sporadic machine-gun fire, mowing down rows
and rows of flesh and blood? Who could forget the rumbling, formidable
monsters of steel called tanks, striking fear into the hearts of their adversar-
ies? Who could forget the never-ending artillery barrage, turning the once
beautiful landscape into an inhospitable hell? Who could forget the knee-deep
mud, caused by the torrential downpour, turning the terrain into a sludge?

Those were truly terrifying times when all one could do was
crouch in a corner, head in hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Times when
one could not bear to pick up a rifle and shoot, despite being screamed at,
abused, and threatened at by those above. He saw many of his friends suc-
cumb to the unbearable pressure of being at the frontline. Those once
confident, bright young men now reduced to frenzied, pathetic beings.

Yet, one could be court-martialed for cowardice. The Army
refused to acknowledge the psychological trauma faced by battle-hard-
ened veterans, and doctors were cold and simply uninterested. He
knew many of his friends who were arrested, some shot, because of
this. And that forced him to keep a cool head and focus on hating an
enemy whom he wanted nothing to do with. And fight well he did

Of course, he too was afraid. He was tempted to surrender him-
self, even if he would be treated rather harshly. He was playing with the
idea of shooting his. However, that idea still enticed him from time to time.

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