War is hell!

My position had been carefully chosen after hours of painstaking selection. From here I couldn’t be seen. My camouflage was perfect.
My face was blackened and streaked with green and with a handful of the soft dirt that surrounded my position.
My long-range snipers rifle was similarly blackened and wrapped with the same grass in which I lay comfortably concealed.
I blended naturally into the thick grass on the crest of a hill that afforded me a wide vista of the terrain that lay before me.

Here I had lain for hours in No Man’s Land;that area between the two advancing armies.
I idly wondered how many lives would be lost over the battle for this worthless piece of scrub-land.
Land on which shepherds had grazed their flocks for centuries, now a prized possession to both countries.
How many sons would never be returning home to their families after this skirmish?
How many wives and children would be without a husband and father, alone and lost, left to struggle for their very existence.

I shook my head to clear these unwelcome visions.
I’d a job to do, and I had to do it well.
There could be no time allocated for maudlin thoughts to cloud my judgement which was just as well, because I’d just sighted the first of the advancing scouts.
He moved quickly and deftly, using every inch of cover he could find.
My orders were to let the first three pass unharmed.
My colleague, suitably concealed about two-hundred metres behind me, would take care of them. I was to take the next three out. A proficient sniper should be able to kill three targets before being detected.

Lying stock-still I watched the first three pass close to me.
They looked so young. The sweat was running down their faces, and they were being driven by fear.
They were scared! They had been well trained, but the fear in their eyes showed that they were novices in this war game.

The next group appeared in my sights and I had a good field of fire.
Now I’d only to hear the crack of my colleagues rifle to commence my own onslaught.

Yes, war was hell when you allowed your sensitive side to struggle to the surface.
Will it ever end?.


A really effective story Kitos, I liked it and also the way you used to make a clear image of that for the reader. My favourite word in your story is “painstaking selection”. It sounds really cool too me.


What an extraordinary story! Good job Kitos. I just wish someday I can write an essay in English as proficiently as you do, so I can also express my disgust for the damned war.
I still learn some new words for me from this essay.Such as “skirmish”, “novice” and the list will go on.


Keep er lit Bill :slight_smile:

Writing an essay and writing a story are two very different tasks.

To write an essay you are being asked to work within certain parameters, and it is difficult to stray beyond those boundaries, … whereas, in writing a story you are allowed to fire your imagination, and your imagination and use of vocabulary are your only restrictions in writing an interesting story.

My old English teacher knew the value of giving free reign to young imaginations. He never asked us to write evaluations of great works. He encouraged us to write stories, about the sea, nature, wars, anything we wished

Now THERE was a teacher! Mr. Clarke, a man ahead of his time. God bless him.


Hello Bill,

I totally agree with you, although I like a story to be at least researched so the content is more credible and to give a story substance. Not even Fantasy is completely boundless and should at least follow the laws of physics, lol.

I like this story.


Thanks for your comments Claudia.

If I were an established writer I would be able to afford to have paid researchers doing the leg-work for me.
As it is, I’m not, so I stay within the confines of believable reality, although I do sometimes stray over that invisible line.


Like this US soldiers take on war


Stick with it to the end