DON'T WORRY, THE STORY STAYS THE SAME AND ALL ORIGINAL OCs WILL REMAIN. I RAN INTO A BLOCK IN THE ORIGINAL STORYLINE AND HAVE DECIDED TO REDO IT IN A WAY THAT WOULD HELP CARRY IT FURTHER AND MORE FREQUENT UPDATES!

The all too familiar whistle and faint explosion of a distant mortar shell missing its targeted trench by a few dozen yards echoed across the once green fields of France as US Army troops sat in the muddy trenches. Across the battlefield, only by a few football fields away, sat the enemy trench with the German army waiting in the same conditions as their American adversaries. No orders of heading over the top into No Man's Land had been given and there were no signs of the order being called any time soon. With the normal rainy weather having all but passed over, many men took advantage of this dry weather to begin divulging themselves in their rations of cigarettes. Whoever's match could actually spark a flame would be carefully passed around to light multiple cigarettes before it went out. One of the few young men that possessed one of the few burning matches was a young man of about 6' with short black hair swept back into an undercut, a tan complexion, and a stocky build for someone in the military and was often mistaken for someone older than what he really was.

"Hey, Arthur, hurry up and pass the match before it goes out!" a soldier sitting on the bench located against the trench wall demanded.

"Calm down, you greedy bastards, it's still burning," the young man with the match said with an accent thick with Southern origin.

Coming from origins deep rooted within the South of the United States, Arthur Mannix hailed from a long line of soldiers and farmers within the Mississippi Delta. His grandfather was a poor farmer that had fought and died in the American Civil War and his father was part of the posse that had played a part in the legendary tale of the feud between the Hatfield and McCoys. When the threat of war loomed over the horizon Arthur was quick to follow in his father and grandfather's footsteps to serve in a combat role. The minute America became involved in the Great War in Europe Arthur was already standing in line to enlist in the Army as a doughboy. Arthur's father avoided conscription due to an accident that left him missing his left leg below the knee. Arthur stood much taller and larger than those he trained with due to him working on his family's farm the minute he could properly ride a horse and hold a hoe. Living a secluded life in rural Mississippi brought both drawbacks and benefits to the young man. However, his home life and his previous occupation mattered not in the muddy trenches of once green fields of France now scarred with barbed wire and crates. The day before Arthur was to board the ship to leave for Europe, his mother gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Hope. His mother was a very religious woman, same as his father and himself, and believed doing this would somehow save her eldest child from a horrific death on the frontlines. So far, it seemed to work.

Now, a few thousand miles away, Arthur had been assigned the duty of machine gunner and had been given a standard Lewis gun with a few spare drums of ammunition. He rarely left the trench and was held back from the advances towards the German line. Time and time again, Arthur would witness countless numbers of men no older than him charge towards the enemy and be cut down before they could even reach halfway. Weeks had passed since the last advance from either side and had slowed down to snipers on both sides attempting to pick off whoever was foolish enough to poke their heads from the trench.

When Arthur no longer had the burning match, he reached into his canvas satchel to retrieve a leather journal to write in and a pencil. The journal was a collection of letters to be mailed back home and personal entries detailing his life in the trench. He had served since the beginning and had been in countless trenches, but they all had a habit of looking the same and reeking the same stench of death. In the letters to his home he made sure to refrain from the details of fighting and the killing to keep his mother from worrying too much about him. In truth, Arthur had long since had his first kill and had already charged with many others towards enemy lines. These were the facts that he was trying so hard to hide from his family back home.

"How can those krauts keep fighting? I know they're up to their knees in shit like we are," a soldier sitting next to Arthur grumbled to himself as he took a long drag from the cigarette in his lips.

"Same reason we're still here: the assholes sitting comfortably a few hundred miles away from here, sipping wine and eating cake, while we freeze and starve out here," another replied coldly.

"Ours or theirs?"

"Both," Arthur answered without looking up from his journal as he wrote.

"Damn, I'd even settle for more of those shitty biscuit in our rations right about now. Haven't eaten a thing since yesterday morning," the same soldier as before said as he rubbed his stomach as he spoke.

"You ate yesterday?" Arthur asked jokingly, receiving a few weak laughs from the rest of the men in the trenches. The laughs instantly ceased when the familiar stomp of officer's boots on the wooden planks could be heard on the approach as all men stood at attention. Just as expected, an officer appeared with two other men following behind him, all three of their uniforms still neatly kept and smelling of soap.

"New orders have just been received: the Germans have not been seen or heard in their trenches for three weeks now, which has left command to believe that they have abandoned their trenches. I need a small group to go over and scout it," the officer commanded as the soldiers around him remained silent. After a few more moments of silence, the officer grew impatient and began to pick soldiers at random.

Arthur, unfortunately, was among those that had been chosen to go forth.

The German trench was located in a forest that had not yet been blown to splinters by mortars or burned to ash by flamethrowers. It was unclear just how far away the Germans really were, but it was certain that they were shrouded by the forest before them.

Those who were to remain in the trench began giving those chosen spare ammunition and filling their canteens with their own water to help them in their mission. After trading a few muddy rifles and rusted bayonets, the group of ten chosen by the officer prepared to climb up the wooden ladder. Arthur had to relinquish his Lewis gun for a Remington Model 10 and whatever spare shells the soldiers could scrounge up. Cocking the shotgun to ready a shell, Arthur kissed a cross hanging from his neck before tucking it back into his uniform and followed the others up the ladder into No Man's Land.