Charles snapped awake and saw stars, the stars, he was outside, but couldn’t remember where. He tried to sit up but was met with excruciating pain in his shoulder and a heavy weight on his legs. He tried again, this time just lifting his head up to look at his legs and was met with the gruesome visage of his sergeant staring back at him, dead. He reached down with his good arm and kicked and rolled the dead weight of the man from his legs. With the weight gone, Charles pulled himself up and examined his shoulder. He had a dark stain on his fatigues and had lost the feeling in his right hand.
He looked around in the darkness, finding himself in a shallow crater. He pulled himself up to the rim and looked over the edge. He was met with mud, in every direction, mud and the stillness of a battlefield the night after the onslaught. He had no idea which way was back to his own line and which was towards the enemy, he became very scared and cold. If he didn’t get out of this hole soon, he would be joining his sergeant in death.