This story is by Alec Adsett and was part of our 2016 Winter Writing Contest. You can find all the Winter Writing Contest stories here.
Three days of ferocious fighting. Three days of rain and fog. However, the soldiers from Australia’s Ninth Battalion held fast in a defensive line of trenches they’d nicknamed the glue pits because the rain and humidity turned the red soil into a sticky gelatinous paste.
The long undulating ridge the Australians defended, rose from the jungles like an infected green boil. One, the Japanese Eighteenth Army planned on lancing before December twenty-fifth, nineteen forty-two.
In one of those boggy dugouts, two soldiers, Jack and Curly, stared into the humid air filled with hovering clouds of insects feeding on the bloated and torn bodies scattered between the blackened craters of the battle ploughed clearing. The soldier’s faces were taut. Their hearts heavy with a sense of loss and despair.
Ill-equipped and unprepared they doggedly survived the savage Japanese assaults, disease and the unforgiving terrain. Yet, the recent and fatal wounding of their platoon Sergeant, their leader and their friend cut deeper than all those combined horrors of jungle warfare.
Curly, the older of the two men, lowered his eyes to the crumpled body lying on the wet earth under Jacks ground sheet. Curly felt sure the death of his best friend meant there would be no tomorrow for the platoon. Despair turned into frustration, “Christ, what are we gonna do now?” Curly slumped on an empty munitions crate, “we survive Rommel and the desert, only to get the chop here in this stinking bloody mud hole.”
“We do our flaming jobs. That’s what we do,” Jack confronted the bald veteran of Tobruk, “So pull your head in, and start acting like a flaming soldier.”
––––
The subject of Curly and Jacks debate awoke under a pale azure glow to find a woman in her early forties bent over him and lifted back the ground sheet as the light faded.
Confused, the Sergeant pushed himself upright. “Who the hell are you?” he barked at the woman who stood in his trench, carrying a briefcase and wearing a pinstripe skirt, matching jacket and cream blouse.
“You may call me the Magistrate.” The woman replied as she adjusted the fringe of her dark hair.
“Magistrate?” The Sergeant scowled suspiciously at the intruding woman, “How in blazes did you get in my bloody trench.” The Sergeant reached for Curly.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that,” the Magistrate gently touched his shoulder. “Besides they can’t hear or see you.”
With her touch, the Sergeant found himself frozen, unable to move even an eyelid.
The well-dressed woman turned her nose up at the digger’s, torn, dirty and sweat-stained fatigues, splattered with semi-dried mud. She opened her briefcase to take out a leather bound, rectangular, glowing glass plate, which she then turned on before tapping his shoulder again.
The sergeant almost stumbled after she touched his shoulder the second time. On regaining his balance, he noticed the object’s glow. “Shit! Turn that frigging light off. Jesus, it’ll bring the whole bloody Jap army on us.”
The Magistrate raised an eyebrow, “No it won’t,” she shook her head, “as I told you, nobody can see us. Therefore, no one can see this.”
“What the hell does that mean?” The Sergeant pointed towards the illuminated piece of glass, “I can see that… thing and I can bloody well see us too.”
“Ahh,” she consulted her screen, “William, you are one for stating the obvious.”
“It’s Bill or sarg. And I’ll tell you what’s flamin ‘obvious’, is I’m either dreaming, or I’ve got the chop.”
It took several minutes before the Magistrate could calm the confused and irate soldier down enough to explain he was neither dead nor dreaming.
“As for the blue light,” she said, “We use it as a transitional portal into a zone referred to as nether-space.”
“Nether-space. Dead but not dead. And if we’re invisible then why freeze me?”
“In their plain, and with your emotional state, you would be– what is the term– a poltergeist.”
“A poltergeist. What a bunch of malarkey.”
“It most certainly is not malarkey,” she flared, “such merges create havoc to everyone concerned and their plans.” the Magistrate tapped the glowing plate.
“Alright, Magistrate, am I in the dock then?”
“In a manner of speaking. You see my role considers a case when a plans juncture brings a person, such as yourself, to nether-space. I then rule if that person moves into a place of peace and harmony, or one of misery and torment. However, on a rare occasion, there have been circumstances to argue a case for the return to their previous continuance.”
Before the Sergeant could respond, the night around them erupted into a firestorm. He stared at the strange woman and her total indifference to the surrounding Japanese assault as she scrolled, tap and read her glowing folder. Then the Sergeant realised the unfolding attack occurred in deafening silence.
Bewildered, he watched the muted clash in impotent anger as her hand brushed his shoulder. Once again, he couldn’t move, while nearby, the Magistrate disappeared into a warm amber light.
By the end of the failed Japanese offensive, his anger turned to dread. Is this nether-space what she meant by misery and torment? He should be there directing his men and supporting his mates. Tears filled his eyes because he could do neither.
Behind the Sergeant, the amber light reappeared. A hand touched his shoulder, and he collapsed against the trench wall. He cuffed away the tears watching the radiant light fade behind the Magistrates silhouette. The air smelt of lavender and iron filings. The Sergeant immediately paired the odour with the enigmatic woman. Pleasant with a tang of metallic hardness.
“Where the hell did you nick off to?”
“My apologies, I needed to plead your case.”
“Who with?” Bill crossed his arms. Plead my bloody case. He just wanted an end to this nightmare with its over-dressed, dour peahen.
“The Chief Magistrate of course.”
“The chief–” Flamin bloody hell. “Look, Missus, I’m starting to get a little pissed off with–”
“Good grief. I can assure you I am not married!” the Magistrate rolled her eyes.
I reckon I know why too. Bill pushed himself off the mud wall, “what’d you mean by ‘plead my case’?” He peered over her shoulder at the luminescent screen full of intersecting multi-coloured lines and streaming letters. “Is all that frigging gibberish my life’s plan?”
“My, you are a clever boy,” the Magistrate flashed a condescending smile. “I went to plead your case for continuance because your plan, and that belonging to one of your men has developed a paradoxical fault–”
“You mean it’s busted?”
Her curt smile confirmed question.
“Hang about… Did you just say the plan for one of my boys is also stuffed up?”
“Yes.”
“Ugh,” the sergeant scratched the back of his neck, “I’ll lay odds it’s Tommy. He’s a good lad and all, but struth, the lad near wets himself when a monkey farts.”
“I am afraid it is not Tommy–” she noticed the expression on the Sergeant’s face. “Oh, don’t fret William, Tommy will live to see the war out.”
“Then who? Curly? Shit, it’d serve the old bastard right.”
“Why would you wish a friend dead?”
“Jesus you’re dry… It was a bloody joke,” The Sergeant shook his head, “well then, who is it?”
“Jack.”
“Jack?” The Sergeant looked across to see Jack peering into the darkness behind his rifle.
“Yes.” She closed the leather case, “You see Sergeant; Jack is one of those who is required to be around for the sake of others; to guide and help them,” She plucked some lint from her sleeve, “many of whom will simply be better people because of him.”
“Struth you make the bugger out to be a saint.”
“Jack is a good man, but I doubt he is ‘Saint’ material.” The Magistrate moved between Jack and Curly, “Jack isn’t destined for greatness as such. But the reasons for his continuance is no less important.”
“Not being dead, keeping Jack alive and meeting you. Bloody hell. I don’t reckon anyone will believe this yarn.”
“Ahh, I am afraid there will be little of our encounter you will recall or remember.” The Magistrate pointed towards the ground sheet, “now, I need you to lay back down.”
Eager for the return to his men, the Sergeant, surrounded by the azure light, lay back onto the damp, tacky soil.
––––
Curly took over the watch from Jack who glanced to his right as the Sergeant’s arm pushed back the ground sheet from his face.
“Bloody hell!” Cried Jack.
Bewildered, the two men leapt over to their sergeant.
“Christ Sarg. You scared the shit out of me,” overjoyed; Curly hauled his friend upright.
“Just knocked for a six I reckon,” the Sergeant gathered his Owen sub-machine gun. “All right you soppy bastards. Get your flaming arses back to the wall.”
The Sergeant returned to where he belonged. Alongside his men, in a place of true misery and torment.
i like the style of your story telling makes to think and it takes you sticky gelatinous paste and not let you leave
congratulations
Thank you for taking the time to read my story and thanks for your compliment. I am glad you enjoyed it.
Sincere regards,
Alec.
Alec,
This is one of the best I’ve read so far. It also has many similarities to the story I entered. ‘Get up and Ride’.
It plays with a subject that should be interesting to everyone. Near Death.
Your brief descriptions where colorful and brought me right into the battle. Enjoyed it! DJB
Hi David,
I’m so glad you enjoyed it and thanks for the compliment. I admit the idea has been explored in many forms of media and no doubt through out history. But it is an interesting concept which alway provides an opportunity to tell it in a different way.
Sincere regards,
Alec.
Great read. Good luck with this story.
Hi Pauline,
Thank you for taking the time to read it. And best of luck with your story.
Sincere regards,
Alec
An okay entry, but nothing makes it stand out from others of its kind…
So a guy has a near-death experience, learns only about the “plan” for someone else, which doesn’t seem to pertain to him, really, and then is given back to life… what was the point?
What did he gain from the experience? Why was he chosen to come back? There is a lot missing, for me, as to what the purpose or meaning was in any of this experience.
The story wasn’t bad, as far as setting the scene and moving things along. But the dialogue was lacking in credibility. Also, what’s with use of the word “flaming,” as a replacement for the less-polite “f-bomb?” Yet words like “shit,” and “what the hell,” are perfectly fine to print. If wanting to avoid swear-words, why not avoid that type of language altogether? Granted, it’s a war scene, but I would rather read authentic language: either real-to-life cursing (as most soldiers seem wont to do when fighting to the death) or just skip those words altogether; the substitute terms took me out of the story, for a moment. Especially, “like a flaming soldier,” makes me want to snicker at the homosexual connotation… seriously, “flaming soldier?”
I suggest a working with this story until it has a flaming purpose to the whole near-death experience: and while the ending line says they are in a place of “true misery and torment,” it gives this totally uplifting sense because the Sergeant returns and Hooray – they fight happily ever after…
The writing is decent, I felt, and the author could do something with the idea, but the story, as it is, lacks any real meaning for me.
Hi CRS,
Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I am sorry you feel it was lacklustre. As for the language and the use of the word “Flaming,” it was a word used in the era of the time.
By you comments, I can assume you actually read it so I will clarify a couple of points you made…
The sergeant needed to return to keep one of his men alive through the war. I also tried to highlight how he felt by not being with his men. Perhaps the premise is a little too subtle but the point I tried to make was people who are, or should be dead, come back for a greater but less acknowledged cause.
I will take your comments on board and again I thank you for reading the piece.
Sincerely,
Alec. Adsett.
Well aren’t I just the typical, arrogant, ignorant American asshole! Ha! Now, I’ve got egg on my face: it’s a saying, here, obviously I’ve no idea how that translates to you lovely folk down under. I once learned something about use of the word, “Mate,” – in Aussie-speak – when you’re getting ready to possibly fight a bloke in a bar. So I suppose Alec could’ve responded to my first comment with, “listen here, mate!” but he didn’t. I’m grateful.
Talk about live and learn, Mr. Adsett!
Admittedly, my commenting process has been more for my learning experience than anything else… I have yet to submit any stories to contest. Honestly, I’m just exploring and trying to learn. Tonight I learned that “flaming” was a word used in the jazz age – something I think i probably knew – perhaps from “All Quiet on the Western Front?” But it’s surely solidified now! 🙂
Your response to my rather obnoxious commentary is upstanding. Well done, there.
“come back (from dead) for a greater but less acknowledged cause,” is actually a premise that totally intrigues me. I’m sorry I didn’t get that from this story. And I would ask, do you mean all people who have those near-death experiences return for a less-acknowledged cause? Also, isn’t it more common for a person to return with a greater sense of purpose in their life? (See, told you I was intrigued.)
HI CRS,
It’s all good mate 🙂
I like the idea that somebody comes back not because they can offer the world a life changing event. But rather they do something that helps the other person on their way to either creating that world-altering event.
In the original concept, a former colleague of the magistrate misconstrues a plan and saves Hitler from a tragic event when he was a corporal in WWI. So the premise can go anyway. Sadly with only 1500 words somethings had to end up on the cutting room floor.
regards,
Alec
Hi Alec,
I enjoyed your story. It certainly got the imagination working.
Good luck.
Thanks, Michelle.
I’m glad you liked it.
Beautiful story & well written. I’m glad Sandy showed me this story this morning, look forward to more of your writing. Congrats. Nicky W
HI Nicky,
Thak you for taking the time to read it. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
regards,
Alec
I enjoyed the colorful language and descriptions which made me feel as if I was in the foxhole with your soldiers. There were a few word choices that made me pause. I just took those as being more authentic to not only the time period, but also as Australian lingo I may not be familiar with.
Good story! Thanks for sharing.
Hi Christy,
Thanks for taking the time to read the story and I’m glad you liked it.
You’re right about some of the language being based on the Australian lingo for the period. I suppose I could have dropped the big blunt ‘F’ bomb but I biased towards a softer dialogue tone simply because of not knowing what language would be acceptable in the competition. Live and learn as they say.
Regards,
Alec.
I enjoyed your story. I felt the horror of the battle and the real human emotions expressed on both plains. to achieve this in the short story form is admirable. The language was true to the diggers of the time, perhaps a little hard for younger readers to understand the language of 70 odd years ago, but that is all part of the learning experience all writing should offer to the reader. I hope to see more of your work. Well done Alec
Hi Yvonne,
I’m glad you liked it. I hope you’ll see more of my work too 🙂
Regards,
Alec.
Hi Alec,
Congratulations on an evocative, well set-up, well-written story.
I enjoyed your use of imagery and dialogue. Being Australian myself I was drawn in.
A job well done.
All the best to you.
Kylie
Hi Kylie,
Thanks for your comments and for taking the time to read my Story.
Regards,
Alec.
Well done, Alec, and I think the Aussie lingo works just fine!
Hi Rosemary,
Thanks for ready my story. I’m glad you liked it.
Regards,
Alec.
Hi Alec, I also enjoyed your story and, as an Aussie and a Pom, the use of ‘flaming’ didn’t bother me whatsoever! I thought the sergeant’s dialogue was very authentic and was one of the aspects of the story I liked most. I wasn’t 100% convinced by the explanation of the Magistrate character and didn’t engage with her, but I love the idea of the system and judgement and world that goes with it.
Very imaginative and creative, thanks for sharing!
Good luck in the contest, Georgina
Hi Georgina,
thanks for taking the time to read it.
I agree the Magistrate is that likeable as a character. I didn’t start out to write her character as unlikeable, but with the sergeant being a strong character, in the end, I needed her to be harder than him.
I hope your story does well too.
Regards,
Alec.