Holidays: Chapter 1 – Ghosts of Christmas Past

Christmas Truce

Winter now grips this great war and we can only tuck ourselves into our coats and our trenches, tuck our minds away in the midst of much suffering. It will be a long, cruel season and, for those of us who survive it, we will see more before this conflict ends.

Red and Gangrene

It’s Christmas eve and we’re dying down here in the trenches. I do my best to tend to these men, but here I am no healer. At best, I am a stopgap until they are pulled from the battlefield or buried beneath it.

• Another shell bursts nearby, showering us with frosty dirt. I don’t flinch. I keep my hands steady as I stitch the torn cheek of a soldier’s face. Nobody calls out for me; I hope it missed.
• Gibbons squats against the wall. He pulls off his boot and shows me what’s left of his foot. It’s gone rotten. If he’s lucky, he’ll just lose his toes. I don’t put much faith in luck out here. I tell him to keep his boot on. Keep it dry.
• A man appears at the top of the trench. Buckley. He’s got Crawson on his back. I try to help them down, but incoming fire shreds Buckley! Both men tumble down onto me. Buckley’s stuck in a stare, mouth agape. Dead.
• Crawson’s breathing shallow and he’s got a dent in his helmet. I carefully remove it but when I do, blood spills out onto his face. His limbs dance in violent spasms.
• I climb the ladder and peek over at the battlefield. It is littered with the bodies of my squad-mates. I scan them, eager to help. These men are beyond my help.
• Enemy artillery halts. Soon, our own does as well. In the distance, we hear singing. Have we lost?

Silent Night

The frolicking song from the enemy lines grows louder, but it is not a taunt. Maybe they want us to let down our guard? No—they are singing to us, projecting their voices. Has the war ended?

• Our commander transmits a coded message to base requesting instructions. The code comes back … PWO. Proceed with orders.
• Our boys reload their weapons and prepared for the next assault, but then some of them begin to sing. Christmas carols! Of course!
• Our scouts take to the field. We expect gunfire, but are answered by none.
• The Germans have decorated their razor-wire with scraps of colored cloth. They’ve lit candles and decorated the trees around their camps with makeshift ornaments.
• Some of the enemy soldiers have begun to walk out into no man’s land, arms raised, singing with boisterous vigor! They have no weapons.
• My hands still stained with Crawson’s blood, I follow my squad-mates to the field to see with my own eyes. It is true! The Germans seem to be calling a truce. Smitts suggests that we should take advantage while they’re distracted. Some of the boys answer him with outrage.

All is Calm

The Germans come bearing gifts. Mostly things they can replace like badges and buttons. Their English is as poor as our German, but they are nervous. They realize the risk they take and they’re not sure how we will respond.

• We scramble back into the camps to find our own offerings for the German soldiers. From my pack, I pluck a novel and some candies I have brought from London.
• I catch Smitts cutting buttons from the corpses of our dead. I scold him and he scurries away like some frightened vermin.
• I return to the field, where the lines have now disappeared. English and German troops mingle as one, all of us victims of the same horrible war.
• The Germans try to teach two of our soldiers one of their carols. When our boys repeat the tune, it sounds like an awful parody. The Germans are not offended, they can sense the good intentions.
• I give my novel, which is a study of the Italian Renaissance, to an enemy medic. He admires my uniform and we compare some of our tools. He notes the blood on my hands and frowns.
• I pass out the sweets to the German troops. They pretend to toast me before eating them and I cannot help but laugh. I wish they were better candies. Both sides begin to kick a ball back and forth in friendly competition.