This story is the one I made first. The chapter title is a reference to one of Sabaton's songs. Props to you if you can find it. Enjoy!

Argh, damn it. The Germans have pinned my battalion down here. I know I shouldn't be writing journals in a time like this, but I need to get it all out. If any of my family reads this, I'm sorry for leaving.

I am part of the Meuse Argonne offensive. Armed with a wooden bolt-action rifle, a Colt M1911 and a few frag grenades, we marched through the line of the Fritz, determined to take them down and ease up the stalemate that is causing so much of our buddies trouble over at the Somme. We stormed through the German lines in a human wave tactic. "Overwhelming the enemy" don't really work well when the defenders have a dozen Emma Gees loaded and ready to fire. In three waves, we managed to capture the first trench. Many of my fellow comrades died in the suicidal attacks. I was lucky to survive unscathed. Unlucky to push on. At least the Germans had the decency to aim for the head. A quicker, painless death.

We reinforced the trenches, firing as many rifle rounds as we can to stop the German storm troopers from entering the trenches and slaughtering us all. Those soldiers, elite, professional and an undying will to defend their motherland. It almost scared me, how much determination they have to kill every single one of us. I even witnessed a German rushing into one of my fellow soldiers with two hand grenades in hand. A desperate attempt to take down at least another enemy with him.

Reinforcements started marching in. There are more soldiers entering the trenches, getting ready to push into the ballroom. Our platoon sergeant commanded us to get ready to push forward into the enemy lines. He told us that there will be five landships coming in, courtesy of the French. We heard the sputter of engines, the smashing of treads into the undergrowth. The landships were here to smash through the German lines.

We climbed out of the trenches with a battle cry. Sounds of a thousand men charging to their deaths, in hopes that their mothers and sisters back home do not suffer the same atrocities we did. We charged valiantly with our bayonets out. Our objective were to capture a tiny row of houses and fountain which had massive artillery guns. Those guns could lay waste to the entire city of London in a matter of minutes. It was vital to our next offensive.

The sound of bullets whizzing through the air. Charred dust scorching our lungs. The jagged rocks exposed, after thousands of artillery fire, stabbing our boots. The screams of men being shredded by the enemy machine guns. The walls of the shattered buildings seemed to cry, with black tears sliding down the walls. The mere sight of it could make any man tear up, but I couldn't let it get to me. We needed to end the Great War.

We captured the objectives and proceeded to push into the mansion. It was one of the most gruesome moments of my short life. Dismembered fingers lie on the corridors of the mansion. A man was brutally impaled with a makeshift spear made of a steel pole with a sharp, wooden end. Dozens of men lie in the dining room, with pale-green skin and blood on their mouths and noses. The mustard gas killed them before they could use their gas masks. Blood stained the brick walls of the compound. I still remember so vividly, the body of a German soldier with hundreds of bullet holes in his torso. He was turned to literal cheese.

After a long, gruelling battle, we captured our first main objective. The railway station. It was a supply depot for the Germans, moving food, water and ammunition through massive cargo trains. Capturing it meant that one of the supply lines of the Germans were cut off, potentially breaking a stalemate over on the Western Front. We slept on the hard floors, fatigued by the constant battling and mentally scarred by the death of fellow soldiers.

The next day, we marched out into the Argonne forest. We were to capture as many yards of land as possible to shift the Fritz' focus onto us. We'd buy our French and tea drinking buddies some time to prepare a counter attack. This also meant that we are sure as hell are going to die. Luckily for me, I was moved to the last battalion, complete with a fresh platoon to lead.

Well, I guess you know how this all ends. Halfway through the offensive, the Germans stormed in and massacred half of our men in a barrage of gas and fire. We retreated back to the Ritz bunker, awaiting our impending doom. We have orders to vacate the damned forest of hell immediately, but we have to hold the line. Letting the Germans retake the railway station is a terrible idea.

As I write this, we are waiting for the Germans to attack. According to my prior knowledge, it is now around midnight. This may be the very last moments of my life, but I will fight until my last dying breath. We will not go down without a fight. Mom, thank you for taking care of me for eighteen years. I know I have been rebellious and one hell of a kid to take care of, but deep inside, I love you very much. Thank you Dad, for supporting the family, slaving away in the factories to make sure we have three meals every day. I am sorry for all my sins and all the trouble I've cost you. May the spirit of Liberty be with us.