A short story in the perspective of a young German soldier in WWII.

Dog tags clinked together and feet pounded on the hard earth above. The sound of gunshots rang out, merciless and harsh. Rat tat tat. Yelling followed not a second later. Lukas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds of death. Orders were barked in a foreign language, maybe English. It sounded harsh and angry. Bits of dirt and rocks pinged off helmets and clattered to the ground. These were the sounds that everyone was far too accustomed to, sounds that haunted nightmares and let in demons.

Lukas' harsh breathing was visible in the air, rising in puffs like the smoke of a cigar. A dozen other soldiers- mere boys like himself- were pressed against the earthen walls of their trench. He himself was covering his head with his arms, knees pulled to his chest. A gun lay across his lap, unused and bulletless. The barrel was digging into his side.

"How much longer do you think this'll take?" Harold asked with a fake air of confidence. He was a city kid from Berlin and hardly eighteen.

"Hell if I know." Was all that Lukas replied with. He was tired. They all were. The entire platoon hadn't slept in two days, only focusing on fighting back the Yankees. So far, the odds were against them. At least two dozen men were dead or injured because of the vain hope that they could take down the opposing army.

He forced back a wave of tears that threatened to wash over his entire being. The air around him seemed to buzz with anxiety and fear. More yells. More gunshots.

Just a few months ago, he had been back home in Kiel with Liesel at his side. Now, a tattered photograph was all he had to remind him of her. Her beautiful auburn locks were stained with droplets of water and a smear of dirt covered the corner. More than half of it was wrinkled.

As more time passed, the grey of the clouds above mixing with the darker color of their uniform. Rain was drizzling ahead, so much so that the trenches seemed more like wading pools. Still, there was no headway.

A sudden flash of light caught them off guard, and Lukas flinched. In less than a second, there were more people in the trench. At first, he thought it was reinforcements. Until he noticed the light brown uniform and flag rested on their breast. Yankees.

Everyone scrambled for their guns, and Lukas held his with a white-knuckled grip. Without much thought, he aimed it at the chest of a man point-blank and pulled the trigger. It clicked pathetically. It was only then did he realize that his gun was empty. Harold had used early and hadn't bothered to reload it.

"Halten sie feuer!" The General screamed. Hold your fire.

Dutifully, the platoon dropped their weapons and watched as they splattered into the mud. This was a surrender. There was nothing to do but follow orders at this point. Under his uniform, Lukas could feel the folded photo of Liesel close to his heart. It was the only comfort he could fine in a situation like this. His heart was beating almost as fast as the sound of rapid gunshots outside.

The Americans said something and pointed their own guns at Lukas and his fellow cadets. The mood changed from worry to absolute fear.

"I don't know if you gentlemen pray, but if you do, now would be a good time," Harold murmured, head ducked.