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Darkness had fallen by the time Axeell dared to open his eyes. The moon was shrouded in cloud and the soldier had to crawl along by feel in the darkness. The sound of feasting crows was all around, enveloping him in their eerie calls.

He tried to block out the sounds of the groaning wounded, some shrieking as the carnivorous birds looked for warmer, fresher flesh with which to fill their bellies.

His hands sunk deep into the wet, blood soaked mud sending his face ploughing into the sticking soil of no man’s land. It was as he lay there, screaming muffles shrieks into the mud that he heard the Canadians. They were but mere feet away from his prone body.

“We gave those Brits what they deserved,” muttered one voice.
“Damn imperial Dog’s,” came the reply. Blood boiled in Axeell’s ears and he risked a quick glance around. A small light shone from five feet away where the Canadian bunker began, the men who owned the voices would no doubt be drinking a hot cup of bitter coffee and chowing down on salted beef that had seen its better days vanish a year ago.

Inching slowly forward through the slippery mud Axeell positioned himself on the lip of the bunker. Two men were sat on tiny chair below him, they were drinking coffee, trying to swallow the beef and gambling on a game of cards. Their guns were propped up against the bunker’s wall, just beyond their immediate reach.

The bayonet seemed to scream into the air as Axeell slowly pulled it out bit by bit. He winced at the sound of metal but the enemy below him didn’t move an inch. The small pile of coins in the centre of their table grew as the gambling made them forget about the hell in which they had found themselves.
With the blade in his hand Axeell moved to a crouch. With a loud pop Axeell leapt into the trench landing on a Canadian and spearing the other one through the neck with the bayonet. Blood hissed from the ruptured arteries and the man dropped to the ground, his hands desperately trying to halt the last few pints of blood pumping into the ground. His legs spasmed once, twice and then went still as his life finally gave up its tenacious hold upon this world.

Axeell pulled back the head of the Canadian he had jumped upon. The man’s mouth was full of blood from the broken nose and before he could scream his throat was severed, his eyes glazed over and Axeell through his head back to the ground.

The scuffle was over in seconds and no warning had been raised and no one had heard a thing. Private Axeell had infiltrated the enemy. He quickly heaved the two men over the side of the bunker, replacing his British uniforms with one of their Canadian ones.

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“Morning Sergeant.” Saluted the Sentry before turning back to keep watch in case of another British charge.

“Yes good morning private,” replied Axeell before thrusting his blade through the young mans heart.