Survivor by Jasper C Y11

 Survivor by Jasper C - a 500 Words Malala Competition Entry

Cordite hangs in the air, grim grey skies merge with the sullen seascape, the horizon is just a bleak stripe in the far, far distance. Gentle humming breaks the eerie silence on the dirt path, pebbles click and clunk against the metal track, as the olive-green armoured beast of war trudges on over artillery crater holes and fallen trees. Wearily, the turret screeches to a halt and groans. The pure white star surrounded by a circle beams on the flank of the battle-scarred war beast as the engine roars to keep up with the marching soldiers, for tanks are slow.

Gravely, the platoon march on, eyes weary with their searching, evermore suspicious as the quietness is more terrifying than the bombardment they have just endured. In the far-off distance a tree falls, birds scatter rising to the sky like angels’ shadows. As the soldiers grip tighter and tighter onto the smooth wooden stock of their trusted rifles, in the hope that they will not have to fire or shoot to defend themselves once again. Behind them like a faithful hound, the tank trundles on, always steady, always near.

Far above a lonely siren wails, a siren thousands of soldiers have heard before, a siren of death. This wailing increases in volume as the soldiers’ heartbeats race with fear, faster and faster. The platoon as one in terror, horror and dread. Some cower and fall to the ground. The Stuka pierces the gloom and points its fateful finger at the panicked platoon. Firing into the sky with desperation in their eyes and pain and despair falling out with every tear they shed. Rapid machine gun fires from the sky, bullets hit the ground and dust rises and men fall. The siren ceases and a whistle starts. The helpless war beast retreats, in hope of survival. As the bombs hit the dirt, as quickly as the attack happened the earth shook and mud splattered with a crimson tinge onto the once pure white beaming star. Victoriously, the dark silhouette of the deadly aircraft flies back behind the unknown enemy lines.

The Sherman stands alone, as a survivor, with wreckage and death surrounding it, the engine whirs back into action, it moves on.

Then silence once again...