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Fertile Fields
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 ever 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 ever 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.
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 ever 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 ever 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.
The story starts out well, but becomes a little telly at the end. I think the prompt drop is where the telliness begins to turn things too much into an author tract. Try to say the same thing with a little more subtlety.
There is some slight awkwardness in the language, but nothing really painful. Just itches from here to there. Labell is not a French name, not without the final e (Labelle), nor was/is Gerald a common French First Name, especially at the turn of the 20th century.
Vineyards where the action is located (WW1) are mandatorily Champagne, and I'm not sure the whole story fits in with this inescapable framework. In any case, all that the story says is plain wrong. Where the earth was barren cereals and beet now grow anew.
The way you depict the dialogue is very – how to say? – unworldly. I can assure you that the few facts I know about life in the trenches during WW1 do not really point towards such peace and ease-of-mind. Try to dredge some images on the Internet, and I think you'll figure out what I mean.
Fairly written, but highly unrealistic.
Vineyards where the action is located (WW1) are mandatorily Champagne, and I'm not sure the whole story fits in with this inescapable framework. In any case, all that the story says is plain wrong. Where the earth was barren cereals and beet now grow anew.
The way you depict the dialogue is very – how to say? – unworldly. I can assure you that the few facts I know about life in the trenches during WW1 do not really point towards such peace and ease-of-mind. Try to dredge some images on the Internet, and I think you'll figure out what I mean.
Fairly written, but highly unrealistic.
Well I won't argue with Monokeras when it comes to any part of France but I found this story to flow a lot better than the average it seems. A moment of reflection in the trenches isn't that hard to imagine for me, much of the war was more grinding horror than artillery and big pushes after all, especially on the Western Front.
The idea of nothing ever growing again is a bit far-fetched in hindsight (after all 'in Flanders fields the poppies grow...') but I can see how the boots on the ground could have easily seen it that way and so I liked the message.
As an aside, Iron harvest is the name of the ongoing efforts to render these battlefields safe again (and possibly a few Fallout: Equestria OCs :P). A couple hundred tons of high explosive are recovered from the ground every year, which is just an unimaginable amount.
The idea of nothing ever growing again is a bit far-fetched in hindsight (after all 'in Flanders fields the poppies grow...') but I can see how the boots on the ground could have easily seen it that way and so I liked the message.
As an aside, Iron harvest is the name of the ongoing efforts to render these battlefields safe again (and possibly a few Fallout: Equestria OCs :P). A couple hundred tons of high explosive are recovered from the ground every year, which is just an unimaginable amount.
>>billymorph
I recently talked to someone who leads aerial magnetometric missions. A helicopter equipped with highly sensitive magnetic sensors flies above the area to probe, and the iron contained in the dud’s husk generates a minute anomaly in the overall magnetic field, which is registered and localised. It is then easy to dig exactly at the right place to pull out the shell.
I recently talked to someone who leads aerial magnetometric missions. A helicopter equipped with highly sensitive magnetic sensors flies above the area to probe, and the iron contained in the dud’s husk generates a minute anomaly in the overall magnetic field, which is registered and localised. It is then easy to dig exactly at the right place to pull out the shell.
>>Monokeras
Easy is a really strong word when used in association with old, unstable explosives where the fuse may or may not be ready to come late to work and blow the thing up. I admit that it may be a bigger problem with WW2 duds (they still recover a lot of them here in Germany) but even with older stuff I wouldn't really say it's "easy".
Easy is a really strong word when used in association with old, unstable explosives where the fuse may or may not be ready to come late to work and blow the thing up. I admit that it may be a bigger problem with WW2 duds (they still recover a lot of them here in Germany) but even with older stuff I wouldn't really say it's "easy".
>>Orbiting_kettle
Well, the “easy” was about digging at the right place. I didn’t imply the duds would be easy to neutralise after being recovered. That's a field I have no competence in and I agree handling those rusty deadly items is prolly very dangerous. But at least you don't dig haphazardly any more.
Well, the “easy” was about digging at the right place. I didn’t imply the duds would be easy to neutralise after being recovered. That's a field I have no competence in and I agree handling those rusty deadly items is prolly very dangerous. But at least you don't dig haphazardly any more.
>>Monokeras Huh, that's an awesome way to try and find these shells.
It still amazes me that after a hundred years there's still anything down there, but there was just so much metal and death in so little space it boggles the mind. I can imagine particularly clever archaeologists from a thousand years hence pinpointing these battles just by the sheer amount of stuff buried beneath those fields.
It still amazes me that after a hundred years there's still anything down there, but there was just so much metal and death in so little space it boggles the mind. I can imagine particularly clever archaeologists from a thousand years hence pinpointing these battles just by the sheer amount of stuff buried beneath those fields.
>>billymorph
That’s because you’re not familiar with archaeological discoveries. For example, the second Celtic Bronze Age, La Tène, was named after a Swiss hamlet when a treasure trove of weapons and sundry art objects was found. So, WW1 was no real innovation on that particular aspect. It's just the amount of it that's dumbfounding.
That’s because you’re not familiar with archaeological discoveries. For example, the second Celtic Bronze Age, La Tène, was named after a Swiss hamlet when a treasure trove of weapons and sundry art objects was found. So, WW1 was no real innovation on that particular aspect. It's just the amount of it that's dumbfounding.
Oooh! A discussion on unexploded ordinance! How can I pass this up? ;>
>>Orbiting_kettle
Really, after a hundred years the fuse is really unlikely to show up late to work.. It's far more likely to have retired and then shuffled off it's mortal coil. ;>
I'm not an expert on WWI era weaponry, but I seem to recall the explosives using a lot of stuff like Picric Acid and TNT, which are.... relatively stable? The fuses usually use more volatile chemicals to initiate the main charge, and if they haven't gone boom after a century of rain, rust, freeze and thaw cycles, and Mother Nature generally jumping up and down on them going "Ha Ha!" then I'm guessing they're probably pretty safe.
On the other hand, I do recall an article about a civil war collector being killed when a shell he'd dug up went off. Mind you, it was apparently a naval shell, and thus covered in tar (to protect it from the salty seas), it was filled with black powder, which is not exactly the most insensitive explosive in existence.... And I believe he was polishing it with an angle grinder or some such at the time. O.o
So, the lesson is.. Hundred year old buried bombs are probably perfectly safe... Buuuuuuutt maybe you shouldn't try cutting them open with an angle grinder.
>>Orbiting_kettle
Really, after a hundred years the fuse is really unlikely to show up late to work.. It's far more likely to have retired and then shuffled off it's mortal coil. ;>
I'm not an expert on WWI era weaponry, but I seem to recall the explosives using a lot of stuff like Picric Acid and TNT, which are.... relatively stable? The fuses usually use more volatile chemicals to initiate the main charge, and if they haven't gone boom after a century of rain, rust, freeze and thaw cycles, and Mother Nature generally jumping up and down on them going "Ha Ha!" then I'm guessing they're probably pretty safe.
On the other hand, I do recall an article about a civil war collector being killed when a shell he'd dug up went off. Mind you, it was apparently a naval shell, and thus covered in tar (to protect it from the salty seas), it was filled with black powder, which is not exactly the most insensitive explosive in existence.... And I believe he was polishing it with an angle grinder or some such at the time. O.o
So, the lesson is.. Hundred year old buried bombs are probably perfectly safe... Buuuuuuutt maybe you shouldn't try cutting them open with an angle grinder.
>>TheCyanRecluse
After a century of mother nature poking them they are a lot of things, but as far as I recall safe is not one of them.
I know slightly more (which is still not very much) about WWII ordnance. They still dig them up over here, and the experts have a nice book with models and data-sheets where it says if something cane be defused and dismantled (preferable if you want to limit damage) or if you have to blow it up in a controlled way.
Explosives are like people, the older they become the grumpier they are. And even if they lose explosive power, when you dig one up in a town even a little bit explosive is still too much.
After a century of mother nature poking them they are a lot of things, but as far as I recall safe is not one of them.
I know slightly more (which is still not very much) about WWII ordnance. They still dig them up over here, and the experts have a nice book with models and data-sheets where it says if something cane be defused and dismantled (preferable if you want to limit damage) or if you have to blow it up in a controlled way.
Explosives are like people, the older they become the grumpier they are. And even if they lose explosive power, when you dig one up in a town even a little bit explosive is still too much.
Not a bad story overall. Too bad >>Monokeras had to come in and spoil your fun with that pesky thing called reality. ;P
Perhaps you should have set this way back ancient times when soldiers would pour salt onto fields of their enemies to make sure that nothing would ever grow there.
I do think that the ending was weaker than the rest of the story, though I did enjoy the bit about time only healing the wounds of the survivors.
Perhaps you should have set this way back ancient times when soldiers would pour salt onto fields of their enemies to make sure that nothing would ever grow there.
I do think that the ending was weaker than the rest of the story, though I did enjoy the bit about time only healing the wounds of the survivors.
>>Monokeras
Interesting to know. I wouldn't have the history knowledge to point these things out, however I was going to comment on the dialogue. It's not that it feels particularly stilted - maybe a little, but I'm sure you'd get away with it perfectly in a conversation over the lunchtable. But it's just not what you would expect WW1 soliders to talk like.
The whole situation of living in the trenches is not reflected at all in the atmosphere of this story. Basically, you lie in a hole of cold, wet dirt, surrounded by our dead friends, as you listen carefully for the very particular sound of an approaching granade so that you could brace yourself and maybe not die. Add to that the smell of urine and feces, the rats, the hunger and spreading disease. It's a grim and ugly place to be in.
The approach the author takes on the prompt I actually find interesting, but the execution doesn't hold up.
>>TheCyanRecluse
>>Orbiting_kettle
To jump in on the discussion, I have to second Orbiting_kettle. So, I grew up in Essen, alright, one of the places where they still occasionally dig up WW2 bombs on construction sites, right in the middle of the city. And, sure, if they didn't go off when they were supposed to there's a chance they won't now - or they might blow up in your face at so much as moving them, possibly killing hundreds of people around you. That's not really a risk you're happy to take.
As Orbiting_kettle has already mentioned, the fuse also become more sensitive as they corrode, and sometimes, when it's too badly damaged, the bomb even has to be controlledly detonated on site.
Interesting to know. I wouldn't have the history knowledge to point these things out, however I was going to comment on the dialogue. It's not that it feels particularly stilted - maybe a little, but I'm sure you'd get away with it perfectly in a conversation over the lunchtable. But it's just not what you would expect WW1 soliders to talk like.
The whole situation of living in the trenches is not reflected at all in the atmosphere of this story. Basically, you lie in a hole of cold, wet dirt, surrounded by our dead friends, as you listen carefully for the very particular sound of an approaching granade so that you could brace yourself and maybe not die. Add to that the smell of urine and feces, the rats, the hunger and spreading disease. It's a grim and ugly place to be in.
The approach the author takes on the prompt I actually find interesting, but the execution doesn't hold up.
>>TheCyanRecluse
>>Orbiting_kettle
To jump in on the discussion, I have to second Orbiting_kettle. So, I grew up in Essen, alright, one of the places where they still occasionally dig up WW2 bombs on construction sites, right in the middle of the city. And, sure, if they didn't go off when they were supposed to there's a chance they won't now - or they might blow up in your face at so much as moving them, possibly killing hundreds of people around you. That's not really a risk you're happy to take.
As Orbiting_kettle has already mentioned, the fuse also become more sensitive as they corrode, and sometimes, when it's too badly damaged, the bomb even has to be controlledly detonated on site.
Overall not a bad story, though I honestly found the dialogue a little forced/contrived. The reason for that being that the soldiers seemed for the most part to be having a calm, almost unaffected discussion, almost as if they were exploring abstract knowledge rather than sitting in the middle of a fresh and brutal killing field. This would have been a very good opportunity for more showing than telling. Cutting back some probably unneeded dialog might help to overcome the word limit, in that regard.
I don't think it's fair to say that the soldiers making assumptions about the future of the land is incorrect. This story is dealing with our past as their present – they're in a unique position to believe that the land has been utterly destroyed, even if one was to remove the inevitable pessimism a hardened soldier would likely have by that point in the war. They wouldn't be thinking of actual methods to heal the land of toxins and dig up unexploded ordinance. Just staying alive would have been enough, I'd think.
Speaking of which, just to add to that discussion: like Leo said, they're still digging up unexploded German WWII bombs in London after all of this time (a 250kg bomb in London was found and disposed of just last year). Not only might they be inherently more unstable, but as the war progressed, the Germans actually started booby-trapping the fuses to set the bombs off first by slight civilian or bomb disposal contact, and later specifically to kill the bomb disposal engineers. If you're interested, Danger:UXB is an excellent British TV series that follows some Royal Engineers in WWII London, who's job it is to disarm unexploded bombs. It's on DVD, but it also seems to be on Youtube.
I don't think it's fair to say that the soldiers making assumptions about the future of the land is incorrect. This story is dealing with our past as their present – they're in a unique position to believe that the land has been utterly destroyed, even if one was to remove the inevitable pessimism a hardened soldier would likely have by that point in the war. They wouldn't be thinking of actual methods to heal the land of toxins and dig up unexploded ordinance. Just staying alive would have been enough, I'd think.
Speaking of which, just to add to that discussion: like Leo said, they're still digging up unexploded German WWII bombs in London after all of this time (a 250kg bomb in London was found and disposed of just last year). Not only might they be inherently more unstable, but as the war progressed, the Germans actually started booby-trapping the fuses to set the bombs off first by slight civilian or bomb disposal contact, and later specifically to kill the bomb disposal engineers. If you're interested, Danger:UXB is an excellent British TV series that follows some Royal Engineers in WWII London, who's job it is to disarm unexploded bombs. It's on DVD, but it also seems to be on Youtube.
I quite liked this story. The theme is dear to me (which means that I may be slightly less objective than I'd like to be, but I will try to keep that in mind) and I thought it was well written. I suspect that the first Gerald to be a typo (considering it becam Gerard later on), and I extend the benefit of doubt to Labell (without an e).
Regarding the type of wine, it is rare that in a region they would cultivate only ever a single kind of grape, but that detail is unimportant for the flow of the story.
Considering that depending on the part of the front the combat devolved into grind and (almost) boredom I can kinda understand the calm and almost fatalistic tone of the conversation. Remember that aside from the inhuman slaughter we also had the Christmas Truce (one of my favorite episodes in the history of humanity).
I admit that it became a bit too unsubtle at the end, but it's something that can easily be corrected, and maybe intermingled with a few details about Gerard.
Lastly, I really don't think that the soldiers can be faulted for thinking the land would never recover, I would probably think the same thing. It took decades of hard work and, as previously said, we are still finding traces a century after what people thought would be the last war ever.
At the end I think this is a really good story that needs just a bit of polishing to be great.
Regarding the type of wine, it is rare that in a region they would cultivate only ever a single kind of grape, but that detail is unimportant for the flow of the story.
Considering that depending on the part of the front the combat devolved into grind and (almost) boredom I can kinda understand the calm and almost fatalistic tone of the conversation. Remember that aside from the inhuman slaughter we also had the Christmas Truce (one of my favorite episodes in the history of humanity).
I admit that it became a bit too unsubtle at the end, but it's something that can easily be corrected, and maybe intermingled with a few details about Gerard.
Lastly, I really don't think that the soldiers can be faulted for thinking the land would never recover, I would probably think the same thing. It took decades of hard work and, as previously said, we are still finding traces a century after what people thought would be the last war ever.
At the end I think this is a really good story that needs just a bit of polishing to be great.
Agreed with >>Trick_Question, this gets didactic at the end. Generally smooth reading until then.
This is probably one of the most eloquent paragraphs of the Writeoff. I don't think it's saying anything we haven't seen in a dozen other stories, but I like the way it's phrased.
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.”
This is probably one of the most eloquent paragraphs of the Writeoff. I don't think it's saying anything we haven't seen in a dozen other stories, but I like the way it's phrased.