Wars to End All Wars: Alternate Tales from the Trenches

by Elizabeth Moon

  I feel my heart pounding, thick against my chest, as I ignore Gerheld’s screams and run. I scramble to my feet and run back, back to the woods, away from the trenches, away from the cloud of death, from the still bodies and blood seeping into the blasted earth. An explosion sounds behind me, and the shockwave of the artillery blast hits me, pushes me forward to my knees. My ears ring, and I feel dizzy, my vision swimming.

  Another siren sounds, but I can’t get up, no matter how hard I try. I push my feet underneath me, grab at the grass with my hands, but I can’t get my balance. I fall with a thud, and lift my head just as the round hits. The trees ahead splinter into a thousand pieces, and I throw my arms over my head and shrink away from the blast.

  I know, in my heart, that I’m going to die. Luetnant Gerheld’s eyes hold me in contempt, and his glare tells me that I don’t deserve death.

  “Hauptmann Werner.”

  The monotone voice, buzzing from the speaker, snaps me awake. The light overhead switches on, a baleful sun that dims as I stagger towards the speaker. My foot lands on the speaker’s cover on the floor, and the loud crack startles me as the hard plastic shatters under my weight.

  “H-Hauptmann Werner, present.”

  I cringe at the sound of my own voice, at the tremble in my words. The dream is still vivid in my mind, locked there by Gerheld’s condemning eyes and the intimate knowledge that I was going to die. And yet I wasn’t. I should be dead right now, the nightmare so real, so right, and yet it doesn’t make sense. I was there at Verdun, at that exact spot, when that round hit. Wasn’t I?

  “Fourth level, Hauptmann Werner. Tower emplacement.”

  I regain my composure, and the sense of doom subsides as I focus on the now. It’s all I seemingly have left, beyond the nightmares. “Jawohl. I am coming.”

  Stepping into the hall, I glance in the direction of room seventeen, but the door is shut. There are handprints on the door, revealing the metal under the thin cover of dust. I wonder who is in there, and why.

  Answers may come later. The assigned task on level four is awaiting, and I will have little enough time to spare.

  I pass under a flickering light strip, wonder why it has not yet been repaired. Such a mundane thing when compared to the effort required of myself and the others, maybe it has slipped the notice of my superiors.

  The steel doors of the elevator rumble open, and I step through the breach into gloomy shadow. I push the button for the fourth level, and wait for the yank of gears and the engaging lift.

  Momentum carries me upward, and by the time the elevator doors slide open, I have forgotten my nightmare. Forgotten with it is my home level, and the occupied room.

  I wonder what might have troubled me, but only for a brief instant before it slips away, like a stray leaf in a strong breeze.

  The assigned task awaits.

  The work effort today consists of placing a new tower on the outer wall. A Hülsmeyer device will be stationed on the tower, so that our defenses can detect any potential incoming threats.

  This new technology is fascinating, but I do not understand it.

  The frame of the tower is lifted to the level by an immense crane, and I take it from there, ensuring the tower is secure as the straps are released. The crane lowers as I hold the awkward rectangular frame in place. I strain against its weight but hold the tower still, until the signal to proceed is given via radio.

  A man waits nearby while I position the metal frame of the tower on the dedicated platform. Lining up the struts, I hammer large spikes through the metal base until it is secured against the platform.

  Once I finish the last of the bolts on the struts, tightening them until they do not budge, I signal to the man that the tower is ready.

  He is a scientist, based on the symbols and logos on his jacket. He holds a device in both hands, which appears to be a generator of some kind. The device is encased in a metal shell, and cables jut from bored openings on both sides.

  I do not recognize him, and he ignores me as he makes his way up the narrow ladder towards the device mounts. He bolts down the device to the mounting points, biting his lip as he grunts against the wrench.

  Glancing upwards, I notice the dark, shifting clouds as the sun hovers over the western horizon. They frame the sky above, and I wonder how long before they unleash their deluge upon us.

  Satisfied he has secured the device, the scientist connects the cables to metal contacts on the frame, and then travels back down the ladder, radio in hand.

  He whispers into the radio, and after a short conversation he glances in my direction, a frown on his face.

  “Zurücktreten,” he says, holding out a hand, his palm facing me.

  “Jawohl.” I nod, obey the command and step back. He has poor manners, but even though he is a civilian I must comply as he is considered a superior.

  He confers with whomever is on the other end of the radio and nods, excitement written on his face. I cannot make out what he is saying, but it appears the device is now working as intended.

  The scientist speaks quietly, and then places the radio in a pocket. He tells me he has more testing to do, that I am no longer required on this level.

  “Jawohl,” I say, and make my way to the elevator within the inner fortress. I see no one else on the fourth level, and as I enter the elevator I hear the rain begin, a drizzle that soon transforms into a roar against the roof overhead.

  The doors grind shut, and I hear the squeal of the pulley as the elevator descends. I feel a hint of amusement, picturing the scientist outside right now in the downpour.

  The scientist deserves it, I think.

  My arms crooked over my head, as if I can somehow save myself, I curl into a fetal position and wait for the absolution of death.

  The shockwave hits, drives dirt into my face, into my mouth. My body floats on a forceful gust and I crash back to earth. I cough, sputtering, spitting out soil and grass, and a surge of pain envelops me.

  It is like nothing I have ever felt before. A brief instant, and I know that it can only have lasted for seconds at most, but I am held in agony’s grip for what seems an eternity. All at once I can feel and hear my bones shatter. Debris slams against my body, pierces my fragile flesh. A heavy, unmovable weight pins me against the earth. Something snaps, a loud crack against my ears, silencing the pounding blood.

  I hear screams now, wracking sobs drowned out by the sound of head-splitting shrieks.

  It takes a moment to register that the screams are my own, but then it is too late. I know that death is shortly at hand, and in the end, I remember that I welcome it.

  My eyes open, and it is still dark. I am lying down on a table, the metal surface a biting cold against my exposed skin. I reach out to the light switch, but discover my arms will not move.

  I call out for help, but hear no sound. I strain, struggle to move. It is like my extremities refuse my brain’s orders, or ignore them altogether. But my heart, it answers the call, and beats like thunder against my chest.

  A sudden terror grips me as I realize my body isn’t ignoring my summons. It’s that most of my body is no longer there.

  “Hauptmann Werner.”

  Voices, little more than whispers, carry in the dark room. Muffled, I can barely hear them, and I cannot understand what is said. They grow insistent, arguing back and forth, hissed whispers that seem to hover over my body. I wonder if this is Hell, if I am to pay for my sins in life with an eternity on a cold table, my broken body unable to break free, forever listening to incomprehensible voices that will eventually drive me mad.

  I cry out, a mangled, wretched sound.

  “Hauptmann Werner.”

  The light switches on. Snapping awake, I take a halting step towards the refrigeration unit. The room appears warped around the edges, my vision blurred. I focus on the far wall, on the mounted speaker, and slowly the room shifts back towards reality. Mundane, normal reality, where I am not dead. But I question, now, if I truly underst
and what mundane means. Or reality.

  “Hauptmann Werner, present.” I spit the words out quickly, fearful that my awkward silence has been noticed by my superiors. And I almost continue, almost blurt out the question that floods my mind. I hold it still, the question squirming, demanding answers.

  Am I dead? Or have I gone insane?

  Instead I wait for my assignment silently, and struggle to quiet the awful noise in my head.

  “Hauptmann Werner. Medical testing center, level 1A.”

  “Maintenance?” My voice catches. They know something is wrong with me. If I am not dead, then some part of me has broken. In my mind, or in my soul, a flaw that my superiors have finally seen.

  “Routine diagnostics, Hauptmann Werner. Report immediately.”

  “Jawohl,” I whisper.

  The crackle of the speaker ceases, leaving me alone in a decrepit room. The order hovers over me, the voice repeating in my mind. Report immediately. Routine diagnostics.

  Scenes from my nightmares flash by in my mind, vivid recreations that seem real enough to touch. The acrid touch of the gas seeping from shells, my shameful cowardice, the cries of my men, of my friends as I leave them to their fate. The blast of artillery, the cringe-inducing pain. Something else tugs at me, something buried within those memories, but I can’t pull it free.

  I want them to fix me. I don’t want them to fix me. I know that I need help, but I am afraid to seek it, afraid of the consequences.

  Afraid of what that truth might mean.

  The silence stretches for several minutes before I realize I am still standing in the room. Frustrated with my uneven state of mind, I move towards the door. The doctors will not be pleased at my tardiness.

  I seal the door shut behind me, and another door opens down the hall. A man steps clear of room seventeen, begins to tug the door closed. He pauses as he spots me on the far side of the hall. His eyes widen. Alarm? Panic?

  “Gerheld?”

  The name slips out before I realize it. I know it is not him, that it cannot possibly be him. But still, he looks so much like the Leutnant that lingers in my dreams. The blond hair, framing the young, strong face. The firm jawline, the slim form. His scream echoes in the hollows of my mind, and I see his fingers, his outstretched hand, reaching towards me.

  “Zurückbekommen!” the man shouts. He thrusts a finger at me, warning me away. He pushes the door open, backs in, his gaze never straying from me.

  I do not understand. Why would he fear me? Can he see the madness within? Is it written on my face, in my eyes? What would make him tremble at the mere sight of me?

  “Please, I mean no harm,” I say, taking a cautious step forward. “You resemble an old friend. I meant no offense.” I raise my hands to prove my intent.

  And that is when I see them. That is when I see my hands, truly, and I finally understand why I am left alone.

  My cry echoes through the hall as I flail towards the elevator. A door slams behind me, but it is faint, a distant, unimportant sound. The light strip overhead flickers, and I shove my fist against the light. The tube emits a loud pop as sparks fly, glass shards showering the floor.

  The elevator doors grind open, and I duck inside, thankful for the brief darkness. The buttons illuminate, and my hand hovers over 1A, the level containing the medical center.

  I want them to fix me, but I know now that there is nothing routine about this. Nothing at all.

  So I press a different button, leading to a different level, where I can think. Where I can be alone. The lift engages, and the elevator jerks into motion, momentum carrying it upwards.

  My hand flexes at my side. I hear the squeal of metal, cringe at the faint click of servos as my thick, steel fingers clench and unclench.

  Thunder sounds, not far off, as I lean out of the elevator. The low, ominous rumble matches my mood, and I am relieved to see that the level is as empty as I thought it would be.

  I step onto the outer platform of the fourth level, and I peer up into the sky, into the thick clouds. The rain continues to fall from the heavens, a downpour that I welcome as rain splashes against my upturned face.

  My attention shifts inward, and I look down at myself, like I was seeing it all for the first time. I see the lie now for what it is.

  They have not robbed me of my soul. Only my body. The German Empire, its greatness fading to dull ember, has stripped me clean, and their scientists have thrust me into the core of a machine. What remains of Heinrich Werner, Hauptmann in the German army, transformed into a metal colossus of gears and moving parts.

  My feet are enormous, steel plates overlapping the tops of each foot, which end in a flat block where my toes would have been. Thick, armored legs run up to the core of my golem body, strips of armored plates running along the seams of my abdomen.

  I spread my arms, raising my hands into view, and I can feel servos whine as my forearms shift. My arms are as thick and bulky as my legs, each upper arm like a squat artillery gun. My forearms are like pistons, with a central rod leading to my oversized hands, fortified by a series of smaller rods that run from elbow to wrist.

  Anger floods my senses, a rage I had forgotten ever existed. I am a mockery, a hollow shape that frightens those who see it. They have taken my memories, left them to me only in horrid nightmares that fade with the day. Left me an unnatural, misshapen monster.

  I should have died at Verdun, and the realization sparks the kindling within. I feel a sudden warmth, and my hands clench into fists, the steel fingers grinding against each other.

  Charging the tower, I shout as I latch onto the metal with my hands. I tear into the tower’s frame, right at the base, ripping out the struts. The bolts give easily under the pressure of my steel grip. I yank and tug, leaning back with all my weight, until the base jerks free of the mount platform.

  Lightning flashes, and I cry out into the pouring heavens as I hurl the mangled tower over the wide ledge of the buttress. I watch it fall, and the tower hurtles into the shell of the crane far below with a rending crash. A peal of thunder swallows up the sounds of destruction.

  It is not enough. I step back, my anger flowing freely, and scan the platform. There is another tower near the northern end of the platform, a slim connection of long metal rods that ends in an array at the top, and I move towards the assembly. The tower gives easily in my hand, the metal squawking as I twist, and I rip the tower free of its station. I feel a grim satisfaction as I force the tower down like a hammer against the platform, standing water splashed clear. The array splinters the first time, then breaks free as I repeatedly beat the tower against the ground until there is little left but a twisted hunk of metal. I toss the remains aside.

  Giant fingers trace a path over a central plate on my chest, thick bolts holding the rectangular plate in place. A raw nervous energy hits me, and I wonder if I am in there somewhere, or if I am no more than this great abomination, a pieced-together thing.

  I need to find out. I need to know.

  The first of the bolts come free, pulled loose of one of the short rods holding the central plate in place. A hint of nervousness comes over me, palpable like the storm overhead, but I force myself to twist off the next bolt, and then the next. I feel dizzy as the bolts clatter to the platform, but know it is too late now. I have to see for myself.

  The last bolt is in my grip, still tight on the mounting rod, and I pause.

  “Hauptmann Werner!”

  The shout catches me off guard, and I take a step back as my attention shifts towards the inner fortress wall.

  Two scientists stand on the platform, hoods raised over their heads against the torrent of rain. The scientists are flanked by several soldiers on each side, Füsiliers, and they are readied, Gewehr 98 rifles in hand. They eye me warily, hands tightened on rifle stocks.

  A man stands behind them, an officer, and he regards me with a steady, measured glare. I recognize him immediately as Oberst von Klaus.

  “You are not well, Hauptmann,�
�� he says, bellowing over the rain. “Come down to medical with me.”

  I spread my arms wide, looking down at my body, at the rivulets of water trailing down my steel carapace. I want to laugh. “Not well? Look at me, Oberst! Look at what they have done to me!”

  “I know,” he nods. His face shifts, his shoulders sag, and he lets out a heavy breath. “If you come down to medical, I will explain everything.”

  I wonder how well I know this man, if I can trust him. I wonder how long I have lived like this, how long they have maintained this great lie. No, there is no one here to trust.

  “Tell me now, Oberst.”

  The officer shakes his head, glances up into the bleak sky. “No, Hauptmann. Not here, let us go down to medical, dry—”

  “Tell me now!”

  My snarl cuts him off, and I see the frown on his face. He is not used to being interrupted. I take a step forward, realize the mistake instantly as I see the fear spring up on the soldiers’ faces.

  I see it before it happens, know what comes next. I see the flare of panic on one of the soldiers, a young Füsilier. He reminds me of a face in my nightmares, so young. Too young for such things.

  He twitches, steps back, and his rifle discharges with a crack. I feel the impact against my carapace, a light whine as the round bounces off.

  There is no pain, just a dull reverberation. I glance down at the small charred spot on my abdomen, and my memory flashes.

  I stand near another trench, on some unnamed hill, this one lined by French soldiers. The soldiers stare at me in their horizon-blue greatcoats and pants, steel buttons glinting in the sunlight. One of the men, an officer wearing a steel Adrian helmet, cries out orders, his words indecipherable as I move towards the dug-in soldiers. Rifles are brought level, and they fire in unison, aimed at me. I barely acknowledge the thump of rounds, bullets whizzing past, careening off my armored shell. I ignore the bodies littering the pockmarked ground and rush forward, feel the rush of adrenaline as I charge the trench.

  With a roar I leap into the channel, and then I am among the Frenchmen, my weighted fists pummeling men. Bullets ping off my body, ricochet harmlessly. A soldier lunges with a bayonet, falls under my bulk. His muffled squeal is silenced with finality by the heavy stomp of my feet. I grip the officer’s head in one giant steel fist, like a trap, and I squeeze the life from him. His sputtering cries are drowned out by the sound of crumpling metal, and I toss the body away like so much refuse.