Unnamed Project (Work In Progress) By Rom Mosher

Chapter 1.
Monologue

1917, Flanders Field, Belgium. Lance Corporal Wiliam Smith. “The Lieutenant of the sector said that there will be a charge today over the line. I’ve heard stories about German machine guns and how they can rip through a charge just like that. It scares me to think millions have already died. The best thing about this is that the Americans join in April. How the men and I long to be back at home.” Rifle fire rings out across the land the alien look of it would scare anyone to it thinking it was. Artillery was leaving craters; 4 million shells were fired in one offense in Flanders. Whitles rang out from every sector around the trenches. Men ran across land, thousands of them. The Corporal Was in an advanced position in no man's land. Artillery and whizz bangs ran out. He was in dought out, Most of it was water 1-2 feet deep. Only about 4 feet of air left inside. Shell on shell hammered the roof but never broke through. The rain came down in waterfalls into bunkers and officer quarters. With water came floods. The flooding, the rushing of the water the sounds it made when the debris. The body, laying in the water.

Chapter 2.
The Sentry

As the water poured throughout, and the artillery raining down. They ran down the stairs the water followed. "Not just the water but the slush it, the thing they called mud the mixture of blood, shells, and gunpowder, filled the room up so quickly." He said to himself as he wrote. "Sadly, the sentry was unable to make it down with us."

Shell upon shell hit the roof, but not yet bursting in. Rain yelling down like waterfalls and lakes. The smell of men who gave their curses and their bodies to this". Crash, bang, boom. His body fell down the stair, and then his rifle. "Oh sir, I'm blind! I'm blind!" I stuck aflame by his eyes and said if he could see the faintest light he wasn't. "I see your lights! I see your lights!" Yet ours had long gone out.

There is no sign of light on the horizon, not a blade of grass. The distortion of the body outside of the dought out just there, and when you come back to the next morning to see them in lifeless piles. Day after day, Now that's what saps the soldierly spirit.

Chapter 3.
The Soldier Spirt.

Based on the true stories of the men of World War 1.
Sources: My personal research and "The Pitty Of War" Disc 2.
https://open.spotify.com/album/0pXnUia49JX60ALbJoGeXD

Question

Unnamed Project (Work In Progress) By Rom Mosher

Chapter 1. 
Monologue

1917, Flanders Field, Belgium. Lance Corporal Wiliam Smith. “The Lieutenant of the sector said that there will be a charge today over the line. I’ve heard stories about German machine guns and how they can rip through a charge just like that. It scares me to think millions have already died. The best thing about this is that the Americans join in April. How the men and I long to be back at home.” Rifle fire rings out across the land the alien look of it would scare anyone to it thinking it was. Artillery was leaving craters; 4 million shells were fired in one offense in Flanders. Whitles rang out from every sector around the trenches. Men ran across land, thousands of them. The Corporal Was in an advanced position in no man's land. Artillery and whizz bangs ran out. He was in dought out, Most of it was water 1-2 feet deep. Only about 4 feet of air left inside. Shell on shell hammered the roof but never broke through. The rain came down in waterfalls into bunkers and officer quarters. With water came floods. The flooding, the rushing of the water the sounds it made when the debris. The body, laying in the water.

Chapter 2. 
The Sentry

As the water poured throughout, and the artillery raining down. They ran down the stairs the water followed. "Not just the water but the slush it, the thing they called mud the mixture of blood, shells, and gunpowder, filled the room up so quickly." He said to himself as he wrote. "Sadly, the sentry was unable to make it down with us."

Shell upon shell hit the roof, but not yet bursting in. Rain yelling down like waterfalls and lakes. The smell of men who gave their curses and their bodies to this". Crash, bang, boom. His body fell down the stair, and then his rifle. "Oh sir, I'm blind! I'm blind!" I stuck aflame by his eyes and said if he could see the faintest light he wasn't. "I see your lights! I see your lights!" Yet ours had long gone out.

There is no sign of light on the horizon, not a blade of grass. The distortion of the body outside of the dought out just there, and when you come back to the next morning to see them in lifeless piles. Day after day, Now that's what saps the soldierly spirit.

Chapter 3.
The Soldier Spirt.

Based on the true stories of the men of World War 1.
Sources: My personal research and "The Pitty Of War" Disc 2.
https://open.spotify.com/album/0pXnUia49JX60ALbJoGeXD