1917 July
Outskirts of Ypres, Belgium

The war had been ongoing for around three years now, though if I were told it was three decades since I had last laid eyes on my mother, I wouldn’t hesitate to believe it. Almost nothing had changed since the first few months. Same frontlines, same trenches, same odds of death. Will it change? Maybe God has punished us with an eternal war. I’ve only gone above ground a few times in the past week or so, maybe month, I’m not sure. I’ve lost track of time down here. The lighting down here is dim, but enough to get around in the tunnels As long as you can see the nearest wall of earth it is enough to maneuver through the mole tunnels of the war. I’ve been informed this morning of a major attack initiated by German stormtroopers, but being underneath the battle I myself have not much to worry about concerning what goes on up above. However even with the constant bombardments of artillery fire and sounds of rifles firing from both east and west, the squad and I have to be increasingly quiet as the battle above roars louder.
The war has not just been trenches and bombs, but underneath it all lay a different battlefield, a silent and patient one. We all branch from different parts of the world, different parts of the empire, all to protect the commonwealth and her allies. My squad doesn’t consist of much diversity. We all come from Leeds or Manchester, however the listener of our squad is from the British Raj. Although he might have gone blind from a morter’s impact, it only increases his ability to listen for the enemy. Down here you have to be on alert, you can hear everything from footsteps to pickaxes from twenty five meters all around, it’s key to listen. On occasion the enemy will stumble upon our own tunnels whilst mining theirs. Although this has happened only a few times the past few months, I expect at least a dozen encounters just in the coming days alone. I go off of previous events, the last two major offensives of this war the Germans had pushed the urgency of their mining efforts, leading to these life threatening introductions to Jerry’s Elite.
I sometimes wonder if the enemy is as frightened as us. If an explosive goes off down here and kills you, the last thing you see isn’t the light of day nor the face of your beloved, but a flash of heat and shrapnel coming from a wall of darkness. The last thing you would see is death, not life. That is what I and many others fear most. This war with it’s many battles has killed many, injured some beyond belief, and has scarred the minds of those undamaged by the fire. But what I fear most in this underground battlefield is not the face of death, not even the feeling of death, but the sound of it. The slight ticking of the enemy’s pickaxes through the rocks. The rough German voices whispered through the dirt walls. Knowing that death is near is worse than looking it in the face. When looking death into it’s face you can sense what is to come next, you can observe the possibilities and avoid it. Hearing death is different, you have no clue what can come next other than the sound approaching closer and closer until you have the chance to stare into it’s eyes or for it to pass by. The Germans are death. Although we are all men fighting in this war, the war turns men to demons. Honor has been lost, we are no longer fighting for our empires, but fighting for survival in this harsh reality. The terrors of this war must get to the Germans. They have humanity within them just like us. They must get frightened by the sound of our pickaxes slamming into the rocks and our English whispers. They must if they are human like I.
Humanity is all but lost in this war. By the end of this war we have to urge ourselves to remember what has happened here these few years. We must remember the sounds of death. We must remember the rifle fire that haunts us so our children aren’t burdened with the same torment. We must remember so we don’t repeat what was done here in Belgium, France, Italy, Germany, and Austria-Hungary. This is of course if God lets this war end. I’m still not quite sure what day it is.