Question

"The Soldierly Spirts Of The First World War" - By Rom Mosher

Chapter 1.
Prologue.

1917, Flanders Field, Belgium. “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. Whistles 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 a dugout, 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 dugout 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."

Answer 1

Chapter 3.
The Soldierly Spirt.

"During the writing of this letter, I was called to lunch. It is done, I'm the British Army. 6 of us had to read it together, the others were terribly scared and read the wrong paragraph until the Sargeant stopped them. "Kiss the book." He said, one gives it a little tender kiss, The other a loud smacking one. I was called up to the train station to join the 2nd Manchester. This is a regular regiment, so I've come off very swell. There is a fine heroic feeling about being in France, I don't think it's the real front I'm going to."

He arrived with the Regiment right after their 6 weeks of rest. "I will not describe the awful visitube of how we got here. It was a place of a luxury. Carpets as deep as the mud here. Since I set foot on kelways keys I've had not had clean feet. We're at the Camp of Sir Percy Cunningham, one of the finest camps this side of the front, or least the nicest one I've seen so far."

"I can see no excuse for discarding you these last 6 days, I've not been at the front, I was in front of it. I held an advance post, which was a dugout in the middle of no man's land. We had a march of 4 miles on a shelled road then almost another by a flooded trench. Then we came to where the tranches had been blown flat out. It was, as almost always, dark. Not even the German flares could aluminate us. The mud where was not mud, not sloppy mud, but a swill of sucking clay 5-8 feet deep only relived by craters full of water. Men have been known to drown in them. Leaving their gear, helmets, rifles, and even sometimes their clothes."

"When we were three-quarters dead we reached the dugout and relive the reaches they were in. My dugout held 25 men, tightly packed. The Germans knew we were staying there and decided we shouldn't. Those 39 hours were the most agonizing hours of my happiness in my life."


Chapter 4.
The Fires Burning at Home.

"As I write to you my dear, the great fire burning in me longs for you and the others. To be out of here, to be home in Tipperary. The longest is yet to come. Keep your fires burning at home."

As he stays in the dugout with the other twenty-four men, he dreams of the warmth of his family and his home city. The smell of the fresh bread of the bakers and the smell of the fresh fruits of the stand down the street. Now he's sleeping in a hammock of chicken wire and old ragged cloth of jackets and pants.

Chapter 5.
The Medel Pined on His Chest.

"Many think I do not deserve this medal, all I did was stand my ground in the face of the enemy, and my fear. I ended up being up down as a casualty for a serve cold I had gotten from the incident. I'm being sent to a field hospital behind the line. This Victoria Cross may get me to place someone of my statured may not want to go. Forever yours."


Alexander's Ragtime Band.

"The Soldierly Spirits of The First World War" By Rom Mosher
Based on the true stories of the men and music of World War 1.
Sources: "The Pitty of War" Disc 2.
The intellectual property of myself.
https://open.spotify.com/album/0pXnUia49JX60ALbJoGeXD

Answer 2

|-|Repost so I can bump it|-|

Answer 3

is this for ms melvin

Answer 4

No

Answer 5

Noice