The French countryside bathed in an orange ash smeared dawn. A wasteland of mud and bodies replaced the once lush fields and forests filled with wildlife.

Johann wandered down the line with a stoop while men cowered in their holes. Letters decorated the earthen walls. Bayonet fixtures held them in place for the medics to take when there was nothing left. The common infantry man stared at him in bewilderment.

A Jäger, a hunter of men on the battlefield.

The fresh trenches were not as deep as the myriad surrounding Verdun or other regions where the fighting had been going on for months or even years. Still, German engineering instilled basic necessities and housing for the thousands of troops and support personnel that wandered along the middle to rear sections of the front.

Johann pulled out the periscope from Hans’ rucksack and peered over the trenches, down the light incline to where the enemy had dug themselves in. A crisscross of lanes allowed them to operate on a defense in depth tactic should the German forces take the first line. He stepped away from the visor and nodded to Hans. From there he had an excellent position with numerous options for him to take.

“Splendid,” Hans said, setting his bag down and taking the periscope. “Let’s give them a German good morning and be on our way. It’s mail day, so let’s take a detour on our way back.”

“You wrote her another letter?”

“What else am I going to do out here but write every day how much I miss her?” Hans stepped up to the wall. “Katarina invited you over for dinner, you know. It would mean a lot to us for you to join us next time, and she does makes the best soup east of Berlin.”

“And west of it?”

“Our company cook, no doubt,” Hans said with a chuckle.

Johann remained silent as he inspected and reassembled parts of his rifle. Happy couples reminded him of Charlotte. He didn’t want to think about her or the fate of the people he killed. One minute you’re alive and breathing, the next you’re dead in a ditch and nobody cares.

“Let’s see if we can spot an officer,” Hans began, peering through the scope. “Perhaps an American officer. Let them get a taste of the front line after coming all this way.”

Johann blinked, grabbing a handful of bullets out of his pouch. He cocked back the lever and plucked them into the chamber. “You seem a little too eager to come face to face with them.”

“This isn’t the wild west,” Hans snorted. He turned the box to take in the curve of the front. “These cowboys will not come charging in at the last minute and save the day. We’ll be celebrating Christmas in Paris and I’ll bring a case full of wine back to my darling.”

“I’m sure she’d prefer the wine to you,” Johann said. His lips curled into a grin for a moment before folding back into a line. Out of the half dozen friends he knew from university, only Hans remained. Each new day became bleaker than the last.

The war stole four years of his life and any future he dreamed of. Johann couldn’t imagine returning to his astronomy studies and picking up as if nothing happened. He received a leave over the New Year to prepare for the great spring offensive and found his way back to Königsberg. The roads and shops became faded memories and turned him into a foreigner in his own home.

Hans squeezed his shoulder and drew him out of his troubling thoughts. They shared a moment of silence.

“Let’s get it over with,” Johann mumbled, turning his attention back to the ridge.

The early hours were the best. With the sun against their backs, it made it difficult for the Entente to spot them. Johann cupped a heap of dirt and smeared his face and hands over. Blending in kept him alive and his white skin would only be a giant target. He replaced his helmet with a uniformed hat. The light blond hair needed to be tucked in to help meld with his surroundings. He stepped onto the ladder and glimpsed over the parapet with his own eyes. A thin bush obstructed him but the charred frame allowed him to peer through. The first line of trenches were a death pit he avoided at all costs. It’s also where most of the French spotters would keep watch for assaults. Camouflaged sniper shields were set up as safe alternatives to his risky play, but moving along the line gave him a fresh perspective.

Johann pulled the rifle off his back and cradled it in against his shoulder. He breathed in through his nose and peered through the scope. The French lines suddenly appeared much closer, as if he were standing a few feet away without the soldiers on duty recognizing him.

“Quadrant F. Third line, just left of the barbed wire,” Hans announced. “Mortar crew, 800 meters out.”

He skimmed over the tops of metal helmets. They could be real people or traps designed to pinpoint sharpshooters. Johann adjusted the scope to 800 meters and found the group of soldiers huddled together. They were busy carrying mortar equipment forward and stopped for a break. “Target located.”

“Take the shot.”

Johann licked his lips and squeezed the trigger when his line of sight became obstructed. The image sharpened, and he made out a woman standing in the trenches with her back to him. “Invalid target. Civilian in my crosshairs.”

“Say again.”

“There’s a woman standing in front of the target. I can’t take the shot unless she moves out of the way.” Johann cursed, searching for the other member.

The woman spun around and stared in his direction. His heart froze as he got a good look at her face. The reticle centered on her chest and she somehow picked up his intentions and laid a hand where he was aiming. Long black hair swayed in the breeze and framed intense green eyes that shimmered with the morning light. A remarkable beauty at the wrong place.

Johann eased his finger off the trigger and leaned back from the visor. A cold sweat broke out across his brow and he took a deep breath. He couldn’t get himself to shoot her, even if that meant taking out a mortar crew that would end the lives of his comrades in the hours to come.

“Negative on the civilian,” Hans shouted. “Targets are clear. They’re getting ready to move again. Take the shot!”

He cursed, picking up his rifle and found the mortar crew again. Fortunately, there was no sign of the woman. He wrapped his finger and the trigger and squeezed. A quick jolt bumped the stock into his shoulder while the snap of the shot rang in his ear. The mortar crew perked up in time for the bullet to burry itself in the lead man’s chest. Johann cocked the next round, centered on the rear target and took the second shot before the soldier knew what was happening.

The soldier’s jaw fell open, hands reaching to his gut as he fell face forward into the mud. All around Frenchmen sprang up to where they had fallen and inspected the bodies from a distance, careful not to expose themselves.

Johann watched the scene for a few more breaths in case an officer showed up and eventually decided not to risk it. The French deployed sharpshooters as well and, however unlikely, they might have spotted the muzzle fire. “Let’s pack up and go. I don’t want to stay here and wait for them to pin down our location.”

“Hold on,” Hans said, continuing to peer through the periscope. “There’s a lot of commotion going on the other side.”

“Of course there is, I just took out two of their guys.”

“Across the entire line.”

Johann’s attention snapped back to the escalating scene playing out in front of him. Thousands of soldiers swarmed out of their bunkers and filled the trenches. A closer look revealed their true colors. Americans. A sense of dread eased its way into his bones. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

It began to rain.

Thunderous metal rain that plowed through the defenses and tossed up limbs through the air. A barrage that worked its way from the rear to the front. The screaming grew, and he froze.

His surroundings darkened, and he saw himself in the forest, a thin layer of mist around his ankles. Wild shots whizzed past him. Desperate Russians attempting to break out of the encirclement. Screams echoed around him. One, two, five. After an hour he had thirty marks etched into the frame of his 98k.

Hans tugged on his boot, drawing him out of the past. “Let’s get inside a bunker, double time.”

“Go ahead, I can still take out a handful,” Johann shouted as he leveled his rifle and picked out the next target. An automatic sequence kicked into place and he fired shot after shot into the enemy trench as artillery focused on pounding the front line and destroying the layers of barbed wire and defenses built up.

Hans pulled him down off the ladder and shook him up against the wall. “We need to get to safety. Katarina would never forgive me if I left a friend behind.”

Johann nodded, and they darted along through the thin rows leading to the bunker. Shells crashed beside them, showering them with chunks of rock and dirt. He made out the faint reply on their side as German artillery launched a counter salvo.

The response fell short by a cacophony of explosions. Johann paused to stare as their entire artillery position and the munitions bunker were demolished in a ball of fire. Bits of metal and shrapnel were flung across the hill top. He tightened his grip around the rifle and pushed on towards the bunker.

Shelling shook the bunker interior but failed to land a direct hit. They may be sturdy but he knew they weren’t impenetrable. Inside, soldiers were slumped against the walls with their knees tucked against their chests. A few prayed to make it through.

“Just in time,” Johann said. He stopped and scanned for the familiar face, realizing he’d wandered in alone.

A shudder ran down Johann’s body as he approached the door leading back outside. The screeching continued on outside but Johann ran back out with his head ducked as he searched for Hans, screaming his name over the explosions and gunfire rattling in the distance.

“Johann,” came a wheezy cry from a nearby ditch. Johann raced over and helped lift his friend’s head. Hans held onto his stomach, trying to keep it all in place. He coughed blood and gazed at him with empty eyes. “I mned your ‘elp pullin’ it out.”

“No, no, no! What the hell are you— ah, this doesn’t look good.”

Johann watched in horror as blood continued to seep out of the wound and through his fingers. The arid stench filled his nostrils. He couldn’t help the dread that came with being unable to remedy a situation. The war was hundreds of feet off, not in front of him. Now he needed to be a medic but all he ever studied was astronomy. The stars did him little good in helping his friend. A handful of fingernail sized shrapnel dug its way into his gut. “Medic! I need a medic here. You're going to be all right.” He tore off his sleeve and pressed it against the wound.

“I can hear them singing,” Hans said, no longer looking at him. His face was as pale as the moon. He stirred and reached into his pocket, pulling out the envelope he'd stashed earlier. “Make sure— knows I loved her ’til end.”

The shaking and stammering stopped. The pain and fighting etched in his face eased away for a cold serenity. Johann, still holding his hand, squeezed a little harder while trying to keep the tears out of his eyes.

Two men popped their heads out from the bunker and spotted him. They came and helped carry Hans inside the bunker and set him down on one side. They spoke but he couldn’t make out the words in the blur that stretched through his mind.

After a few minutes, he stood and spun around.

“Gefreiter, where’s the phone?” Johann barked at the only man left standing.

“It-it’s just over there.” The private raised his hands as if Johann had his gun aimed at him. He pointed at a small side room where the phone hung on the wall.

Johann regretted his outbreak but didn’t have the nerve to think things through all the way. He stomped over and snatched the phone. The stressed communications officer on the other end quickly directed him to Captain Gruber.

The man picked up the phone with a heavy sigh, no doubt already annoyed with having to deal with the sharpshooter. Gruber was a career man before the war. Had his own office and oversaw training in Prussia. “You better still be in one piece.”

“Klaarson…he’s gone.”

There was a long moment of silence where all he could hear were the explosions and static. Enemy fire could destroy the lines at any minute. Then, finally, the captain spoke, “Pull back to headquarters and await reassignment.”

“Pull back? Herr Hauptmann, we’re under attack. I can’t just leave Hans behind, not when he was this close to reaching Paris.” Johann knew, that if he stopped fighting, and the line collapsed, there would be a 1919 and a 1920 spent in the trenches. The only thing left for him to do was continue fighting until he won or died as the hero people around him imagined him to be.

“Boelke, Immelmann, Richthofen,” Captain Gruber said, listing up the ace pilots that were renown on both sides of the war. “We’ve lost too many heroes to lose the Sharpshooter of Tannenberg as well. Hauptgefreiter, this is a direct order from Crown Prince Wilhelm von Preussen. Get out of there, now.”

With a clack, the line went out and Johann stood there staring idly at the wall. Gruber gave him the perfect opportunity to pack up and leave. He turned around, noting the men he knew would not live through the day. Nine soldiers to fight until reinforced by the rear.

Hans’ body laid on the damp ground, sending Johann’s heart lurching in all directions. Anyone he cared about was gone or had moved on in their lives without him. His gaze dropped to the bloodied envelope in his hand. The only thing left for him was to make sure Katarina received Hans’ letter and then take a final stroll over No-man’s-land. He pulled Hans’ lids down and took the letter, folding it up into his breast pocket. Johann didn’t want to leave him there like a sack of potatoes but he didn’t have the strength to carry him three kilometers. Hans deserved a proper burial and he would see to it once he got back to headquarters.

The barrage came to a swift end, one in which Johann didn't know if they were preparing for the next round or halting their fire to prevent hitting their own troops. Either way, it meant little good for him and the other members of the squad.

Johann picked up the rifle and checked the chamber to make sure he had a round loaded. He smacked the anchor shut and waited for the others with his knuckles going white from the tight grip he held onto his rifle when a soft hum drew his attention outside the bunker.

Thousandfold. Similar to the rhythmic chaos at headquarters with hundreds of typists let loose on their typewriters. It gradually came closer until he could feel the vibrations crawling on his skin.

The sergeant used a visor to confirm that the guns were silent and the enemy advancing. “Okay men, let's move out and help our brothers. Let’s make them pay for every foot they set forward. How hard are we?”

“Hard as Krupp steel,” the troop replied in unison.

Once the squad all left the bunker, the sergeant paused under the door way. A coat of grey dust smeared his forehead. “What’s with you? We could use a man of your talents.”