Dark, dank clumps of  dirt cascaded into the trench as Soldat Gerald Dubois scrambled over the lip to slide into the relative safety of the cool earth.  The thump and roar of artillery was at least a few miles away, but any time spent running between fortifications made his heart thunder in his chest from more than mere exertion.

It took but a moment to spot his fellow soldier in the earthen works.  Soldat Fabrice Labell was right where he was supposed to be, leaning against the side of the revetment with only his helmeted head exposed, keeping watch on the front.  Not that there was much to see out there.  Just mud, craters, and barbed wire.

“Good evening, Fabrice!”  Gerard called out as he slid into place beside his brother-in-arms.  “Another wonderful day on the front, no?”  He asked as he reached into his bag to extract a loaf of bread.

“As good as any other, I'd say.”  Fabrice accepted the loaf gratefully, quickly ripping off a chunk. “Better than most, with the German artillery focused up North.”  

“Ah, so not such a good day for out brothers up there.  But still a good day for us!”  

The two stood there in a companionable silence, slowly eating their loaf of bread and staring out across the wasteland as they kept watch. 

“You know, this used to be great farmland right here.”  Fabrice said thoughtfully, finally breaking the silence.

“You don't say?”  Gerard had grown up in Paris, and what he knew of farming could be written on the head of a pin.  But he had a hard time imagining anything growing in the blasted, cratered wasteland before him.  

“Yeah.  My grandfather owns a vineyard a few miles from here.”  A smile touched his lips at the memories of happier times.

Gerard chuckled and grinned.  “Well, why didn't you say so?  We should stop by! Perhaps he'd be willing to share a bottle or two?”  

Labell just shook his head sadly.  “It's in the middle of No Man's Land now.  Nothing left but mud and splinters, I'm sure.”  

“Ah.  A shame, that.”  

A brief silence lingered, and this time it was Gerard who felt the need to break it.

“You know, it won't be long before we break the German lines and send these Krauts running back across the Rhine.  Then your grandfather will be able to start his vineyard up again, no?

Fabrice shook his head sadly.  “No.  No, I don't think so.”

“Why not?”  Gerard demanded in mock anger. “As a connoisseur of wine I must tell you that this world is in dire need of more vineyards!”  

“No argument there, my friend.” Labell smiled wanly.  “But not here I think.  I don't think there will [i]ever[/i] be another vineyard in this place.  Or any sort of farm.”  He gestured widely at the moonscape before him.

“Look at this place.  Who is going to fill in all these craters and level the ground?  Who would plow it, when the blade will strike barbed wire every ten meters, and unexploded shells every twenty?”  His voice grew grimmer as he spoke.  “The top soil has been blasted away, and what's left soaked with Mustard Gas and blood.  Who will [i]ever[/i] want to farm here again?”

Silence descended over the trench once more, somber and heavy this time.  Minutes passed, with each man lost in his own thoughts.  The only sounds were the whistling of the wind, and the roar of distant artillery.

“It's not that bad, right?”  Gerard finally spoke, forcing a bit of hopeful cheer into his voice.  “It's like my mother always said, time heals all wounds, right?”  

Labell just snorted.  “A conceit of the living, my friend.  You and I are soldiers.  We both know that time only heals the wounds of the survivors.  Mortal wounds are forever.  And I can think of no place on Earth where man has sown as much death as here.”

Gerard let that sink in for a few moments, before nodding sadly in agreement.  There was no more to be said.

Eventually night fell across the fields of once fertile land, the darkness broken only by the light of the moon in the sky, and the flash of artillery on the horizon.  The ubiquitous sound of man made thunder eventually lulled Gerard to sleep.  

As he slept he dreamt of beautiful green fields...  crisscrossed by the dark black lines of trenches.  Scars forever engraved upon the face of the mother Earth.