Tench Heads ch.1

Samson’s lay face down is the mud, rain dripping down his sides. He could feel it penetrate his shoes, and as its cooling tendrils began to lick at his toes, with this he could feel the sudden energy to stand. As he stood, he could see the remains of his squad. Each lay as he did just moments earlier, in the mud with red staining their torn trench coats. One was still moving, and driven by what he assumed was instinct, Sam moved by his side. The man who was once his lieutenant, lay shaking on the cold ground. He reaches one trembling hand and grabbed Samson by the collar. “Please” the man struggled to say “tell my wife-”, he pause silently clearing his throat “-that I’ll be home by 7:00”.
At that moment every ounce of drama left the scene. “Really” Sam said flatly “Rick, I’m not yer frigen secretary”
“But I can’t I’m dead” the fallen soldier stated humorously “You know the rules, no losing your character until the bombard stops.”
Sigh “great” Samson stated as he cautiously pulled out his phone to make the call as a purely fictionalized hellfire raged just above his trench.
“HELLO, ANDRI?!” he said trying to yell over the noise with a finger in one ear, “YES……….YEAH HE BE HOME BY THEN………OK BYE THEN!!”
As he hung up, and put away his cell phone, Samson could hear the high pitched whistle of rocket pass over head followed by a hollow thud, signaling its detonation.
In response Samson simply rubbed his eyes, and sighed exasperatingly. “They’re not paying me enough for this” Samson coughed as he strung his paint rifle over his shoulder. “But at least it never is boring.” He said to himself while spying the directional signs.
Identifying where he was meant to go, Samson began walking in the direction of the local command post. The raining still wouldn’t stop.